It’s Mostly Reblogged Smut

🔞 rEd, 29-She/her

[thefact0rygirl]

If you are under the age of 18 or are not considered a legal adult in your country, do not interact with my blog in any way.

This includes liking, reblogging, commenting, following, etc. Please respect my boundaries as I am not comfortable interacting with minors. If you are under 18 and I see you interacting with my blog, I will block you. Do not take this is as a personal attack, I am doing this for my own peace of mind and protection.

[daimyosprincess]

WORTH THE RISK

—PAIRING: Dad's Friend!Boba Fett x F!Reader

—SUMMARY: Pushing your luck has its rewards.

—WORD COUNT: 10.8k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, dad’s friend!Boba, reader has parents mentioned in the story, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), secret relationship, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, oral sex (m receiving), throat fucking, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), light choking, this is straight up filth y’all I’m not even joking, if the previous things are not your cup of tea this will not be the fic for you 🥴

Please let me know if I missed anything!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'll post this fic in a couple weeks! literally a month later here we are besties, the dad's friend Boba fic inspired by @maybege's post!! this fic ended up taking waaaay longer than I expected since the story took a turn I didn't plan for, but I'm really happy with how it turned out in the end! big shout out to Moss for betaing and all the besties who sent me incoherent emoji scrambles for my snippets along the way 💖 enjoy y'all!

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

Setting out the last of the dessert trays on your parents’ patio table, you swipe a hand over your forehead. A delightfully cool breeze ruffles the hem of your dress, signaling the coming summer evening and carrying the pleasant mixture of laughter and music from the backyard. Satisfied with the arrangement of treats, you look out over the party of family and friends gathered on the lawn: neighbors, coworkers, and family of all sorts gathered together for your parents’ annual cookout, which your father fondly calls the “Bar-bo-polooza” (and which your mother decidedly does not). 

Scanning the crowd, you spot her bouncing their neighbor’s baby girl on her hip while your father diligently lectures her partner on proper grilling techniques over his beer. A swarm of kids darts around the party in what appears to be a high stakes game of tag, while a gaggle of your aunties and Uncle Steven are clumped together in tight conversation over the latest gossip. A smile curls up your lips—nothing bridges the generational or cultural divide quite like a juicy piece of insider knowledge.

Giving the yard a final skim, you give up on locating your boyfriend and head for your chair by the fire pit. You’re no sooner settled when you feel your phone buzz.

<boba 🖤🧸🧋: Better give me those panties now, princess>

Your cheeks heat immediately reading Boba’s message. You still can’t see him from your seat, but you know wherever he is, he can certainly see you. Crossing your knees, you make sure your hem rides just high enough to still be considered appropriate for a family setting. Your phone vibrates again and your eyes dart to the new message on your screen.

<boba 🖤🧸🧋: I’m not going to ask twice>

A heated shiver snakes down your spine, pooling in the dampness already nestled between your thighs. Your plan to tease Boba to the edge of insanity is already taking its toll. 

Logically, you know you shouldn’t be riling him up like this at a family function, but you can’t seem to stop yourself after he’s been out of town. You’ve missed his bone deep comfort, his small touches, and the safety of his arms. Hell, you’ve even missed the smell of him, breathing in that balmy spiciness that’s all his own. 

Of course, you’ve also missed his keen knack for making you black out with pleasure. But who could possibly blame you for that? The man is nothing short of a god when it comes to making you feel good, so it’s not your fault you rubbed him half hard in the driveway or brushed up against him in your flirty new sundress during the party set up. Besides, you’d been an absolute angel in his absence: texting him that you remembered to take your meds, drank enough water every day, and not touched where you wanted him most just like he asked.

Really, you’d been a complete saint. You only texted him those two dirty pictures because he asked for them. If anything, Boba should be rewarding you for your restraint instead of making you survive this cookout aching and desperate before he took you home and made good on all his filthy promises. Just the thought of what he said he’d do has your thighs pressing together. So, with a sly grin sneaking over your lips, you tap out a response.

<Or what? You can’t do shit with all these people around, old man>

Adrenaline pumping hot in veins, you hit send and click of your screen. You make a show of stretching so your tits press together, sure Boba’s got a laser focus on you after that message. 

Feeling supremely pleased with yourself, you chuck your phone into the seat you’re saving for your cousin, Ari. You search for their telltale blue hair and catch it over by the drinks table. No surprise there, of course.

“My, my, my, such a dirty little mouth on such a pretty little girl.”

A hot shock of electricity shoots down your spine. Boba’s sinful voice races across your skin deceptively gentle, like a blade wrapped in dark velvet: sheathed, but no less dangerous. 

Your pulse jumps under the thin skin of your throat. You don’t need to look up to know you’re in treacherous waters. His tone alone tells you everything you need to know—your “good” deeds never went unpunished with him, especially when you acted like you could get away with them. Putting your most dazzlingly innocent smile, you turn your face up to him, acting like you’re making pleasant conversation. “Wanna find out how dirty it can get?”

The corner of his lips twitch up. “Careful, princess.” His umber eyes burn with the unspoken magnitude of his threat. “You already owe me those pink panties of yours… don’t make me add to that list.”

Something hot and dangerous spikes in your core. You can practically feel his lips on your overheated skin, the scrape of his teeth down your neck. Luckily for your rapidly evaporating self-control, however, you catch Ari waving at you and you signal at their saved seat. The reprieve gives you a moment to swallow back the well of desire pressing against your throat. You’re already playing a dangerous game with your relationship—you really shouldn’t be adding to it by tempting fate, or Boba, in your parents’ backyard.

After moving to town two years ago, Boba and your dad had become fast friends, bonding over their love of classic cars and good whiskey. Freshly cut in your former employer’s downsizing, you had come home just after they had started spending weekends drinking and working on the old Chevy in your dad’s garage. It was over for you the second you saw him: broad shoulders, tanned, and impossibly gorgeous, Boba Fett was everything you ever wanted, wrapped up in a tight black t-shirt and well-fitted jeans. You never stood a chance.

For a torturous year you danced around your simmering mutual attraction, months filled with “accidental” touches and excuses to see each other more than strictly necessary for a daughter and her father’s friend. He gave you rides when your poor 2003 Toyota finally met its end, helped you move in with Ari, and even let you drunkenly cry on his shoulder at last summer’s cookout when you were sure your life was a failure. You really fell for him then. Hard.

Always teasing you with winks and flirty smiles, things finally came to a head at your parents’ New Year's Eve party. Scrabbling down the stairs for the countdown, you’d crashed right into him, his arms wrapping around your waist to halt your fall. By the time the voices outside yelled “Happy New Year,” you already had your hands (and mouths) all over each other.

The instant chemistry between you has only become more explosive since. In the almost six months of your relationship, you’ve orgasmed harder, louder, and more often than you thought was possible for a human being. But more importantly, you’ve also grown and learned a lot about yourself, with Boba coaxing you to embrace your needs without shame, both sexual and not. Mentally, you’re in a much better place than you were after you were let go from your dream job; and physically, well… you’ve never been more satisfied.

Of course, you’re not nearly ready to reveal all this to your parents. 

Boba has respected your choice to keep your relationship a secret, despite his desire to claim you as his own every time your mother introduced you to some nice boy from her temp agency. Her mentioning that she invited “Kevin from Jimenez Landscaping” today is partially what made you decide on wearing the particular little sundress you had on. Not for him of course, but to drive Boba wild while you humored your mom and talked to the guy. The rest of your scheme—putting your hand down Boba’s pants behind his truck and digging yourself into a very deep hole over text—had been more or less spur of the moment.

Staring up at him now, dead serious with little patience left for mercy, has your insides twisting in tight, needy knots. Boba is a man of his word and not above leaving you unfulfilled when he thought you deserved it. Maker did he know how to make you squirm.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, doing your best to tamp down the need leaking into your voice. “I swear I’ll take them off when Ari gets back.” 

You might be a brat but you’re not stupid: you know when you’ve flown too close to the sun. 

He smiles then, smug and shining, leaning down to plant what appeared to be an unoffending, fatherly kiss on the crown of your head. “That’s more like it. Not so hard to be a good girl, now is it, darling?” 

The sensual rasp of his whisper calls forth memories of love made sweet and long, making your stomach flip and tighten. Praying for the heat to leave your face, you clench your thighs together to ward them off.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Your head snaps up to see Ari’s freckled face plastered with a sardonic expression. Your confidant since childhood, your cousin is the only person who knows about your relationship—and isn’t afraid to give you shit about it.  

“Of course not,” Boba answers breezily, patting your shoulder, “we were just commenting on how perfect the weather turned out.”

Ari scoffs, dropping down next to you. “Yeah, sure. If anyone else here actually had eyes, they would see right through the two of you.”

You grin and accept the offered lemonade. “What? Can a young lady and a handsome older gentleman not talk at a party?” 

Boba’s hand squeezes your shoulder in a silent warning to behave. Still glowing with his praise of “good girl” echoing in your ears, you opt to stay so.

“Last I checked, they can,” Ari gestures back and forth between you. “It’s just the ‘fuck me’ eyes that make it totally obvious you’re screwing.”

“I myself prefer the term ‘making love’ over ‘screwing,’” Boba chuckles.

Ari immediately makes retching noises, their face screwing up in disgust. “Making love?! What are you, like a thousand years old?” They hold up a hand. “You know what, never mind, I don’t even want to think about that more than I already have to.”

Despite your cousin’s reaction, his words bloom heat in your stomach. As good as Boba is at straight up fucking, he also loves you so tenderly and slowly some nights it nearly brings you to tears. With sweet kisses wrapped in praise and gentle touches laced with assurances that you were his and he was yours, he crafted a devotion more sincere and pure than you thought your heart could hold.

Ari elbows you, pulling you back to reality. “Now unless you got tea to add to this conversation, sir, I’m gonna need you to beat it. Me and your girlfriend have some important information to discuss. Auntie is three margaritas deep and just told me some very interesting things about her divorce.”

Boba’s fingers drift across the nape of your neck in a subtle reminder of delicious possession. He makes a show of sighing in exaggerated defeat and comes around your chair. Sticking out his hand, he nods. “Ari.”

“Fett.” They shake and Boba heads over to where your dad is flipping burgers on the grill. Somehow even his walk made you thrum with electricity.

When he’s out of earshot, Ari whispers behind their drink. “Finally. Now, she said that she was the one who instigated the divorce…”

It’s not until you head inside to pee that you remember your promise to Boba.

<boba 🖤🧸🧋: Clock’s ticking, princess. Panties. Now.> Received 6 minutes ago

Shit. You groan and throw your head back on your shoulders. Why is there always a line when you want to use the bathroom? Especially when you need to get your panties off before your boyfriend reaches up your dress and rips them off for you?

When the door finally opens, you rush in. Clicking the lock, you immediately yank off your underwear, taking the briefest moment to admire them. Pink, cute, and soaked in the middle, you feel deliciously dirty holding up the scrap of fabric in the mirror to snap a pic.

<All yours 😘> 1 image attached

The urge to run and take another picture in his truck is extremely tempting, but a knock on the door has you rushing to finish up. 

Boba’s waiting for you when you step outside, looking handsome as sin as he leans against the deck railing. As casually as you can with a naked cunt and a pair of panties balled in your fist, you slip next to him and press them into his large hand. Maker, the sight of him stuffing the illicit garment into his pocket should absolutely not be as fucking hot as it is.

Seeing the scrunched look on your face, he chuffs a quiet laugh. “I can smell how wet you are, babygirl. Something’s got you all worked up, huh?” His tone is molasses, thick with self-satisfaction. “Brats do always love it when the consequences of their actions catch up to them.”

In an attempt to diffuse his pride, you pout and cross your arms over your chest. “I thought you said I was your good girl.” 

He flashes you that jaw-dropping smile of his. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

Before you can get any more hot and bothered, you see your mother approaching with a gangly young man in tow. You curse under your breath; you’d forgotten about Kevin-from-Jimenez-Lanscaping. 

Boba snorts. “Speaking of consequences…”

Suddenly you’re very aware that you’re going to have to make polite small talk with your mother and a stranger with your panties stuffed in your secret-boyfriend-who-makes-you-scream-with-pleasure’s pocket. 

You’re also aware that it turns you on an embarrassing amount. Fortunately (or not), you don’t have much time to contemplate the extent of that particular depravity before Kevin and your mom stop in front of you. 

“There you are!” she exclaims happily. “Kevin, this is my daughter I’ve been telling you all about.” The young man smiles and shakes your hand politely and your mom turns to the older man. “And this is Boba Fett, our neighbor and family friend.” She drops her voice conspiratorially. “Now he’s very protective of her, so be careful. Even worse than her father.”

Boba bares his teeth in a sharp-toothed smile, gripping the younger man’s offered hand harder than necessary for the brief shake. The act of possessiveness has your blood boiling even hotter as the poor boy’s eyes widen in surprise. After a couple minutes of tedious conversation that’s mainly Boba glaring over your shoulder, Kevin excuses himself, thanking your mother for inviting him and apologizing for having to leave so soon. 

Watching him dart for his car, she levels a scolding tone at your boyfriend. “How is my daughter supposed to find someone when you stare murder at every single person I bring over?”

Unrepentant, he shrugs and smiles. Your shared secret dances on his lips. “I just want what’s best for her. Surely you can’t blame me for that.” Seeing your mother still unconvinced, he throws an arm around her shoulders and plants a kiss on her cheek. 

He sneaks a wink at you and you make a show of rolling your eyes even as your insides warm at his attention. Morally, you’re sure it’s wrong to enjoy this deception so thoroughly, but in this moment you don’t care; it lights some infernal fire inside you that burns hotter than any desire you’ve ever had.

“I hate to say it, but Boba’s right,” you play along. She still looks skeptical and he looks entirely too smug, so you elaborate. “I mean, what good is a guy that’s too chicken to even have a conversation with this grandpa?”

She bursts into a round of laughter that wipes away the previous exasperation from her face. “Oh, be nice to Boba,” she admonishes, lightly smacking your shoulder. “He’s no older than your father.”

A grin splits your face. “Gosh, you’re right, Mom! Boba’s only what, twice my age? I should really have more respect for my elders.” The words barely leave your mouth before Boba turns out his solo cup of ice water out over your head. Shocked with the sudden cold pouring down your face and neck, you instantly resort to tattling and finger pointing.

“No, ma’am, don’t come crying to me!” she manages through a peal of laughter. “You earned that one fair and square!”

Boba is positively dripping with his own self-satisfaction. “Sure did,” he brandishes a double-edged smile, paternally crossing his arms over his chest, “And I hope you learned your lesson, young lady.”

Your skin burns so hot you can feel the rivulets of water trickling down your neck heat up. Memories of your tits pushed up against the chilled hood of Boba’s truck flash across the backs of your eyes—you had complained you were cold after a skinny-dip in the lake and he wasted no time in warming you back up.

“Careful, princess,” he panted damply against your neck. “You scream any louder and you’ll have people come running. What would they think of a pretty young lady like you soaking an old man’s cock?”

It’s a miracle that you don’t immediately buckle when you catch his hand digging into his pocket to fist your panties. Keeping your eyes decidedly off him, you rush through an excuse to go up to your room to change. Before you can scurry off, however, he catches your elbow. 

“Here, take this.” Boba pulls off his overshirt and wraps it around your shoulders. “Can’t have you catching a cold, now can we?” Your mom nods approvingly before she’s pulled away by another guest. Once she’s out of earshot, he drops his voice low. “Go inside and meet me in the garage. I’m going around front.”

Even as you repress an excited shiver, your heart warms in your chest at Boba’s caution. He never made you feel bad for wanting to keep things private and always structured your affairs so you were never seen going or leaving together. And although you look forward to the day you’ll be ready to hold his hand and steal kisses in front of the world, sneaking around in the meantime did add an extra layer of excitement to your sex. 

Sandals slapping wet against the tiled floor, you race across the kitchen to yank open the door to the garage. Thick, sun-warmed air hits your face with a pleasant staleness, smelling of cardboard and motor oil. The quietness of the space clashes with the clamor of excitement pumping through your veins. Sweeping your eyes from one side to the other, a frown weighs on your lips when Boba is nowhere to be seen. 

No sooner does the displeasure darken your expression than you’re scooped up into a pair of strong arms and whirled around. 

Familiar lips and a suede voice swiftly gentle your startled yelp. “Quiet now, darling,” Boba purrs, practically preening with the pleasure of your surprise, “you don’t want to get us caught now do you?”

Your gleeful giggles of realization are smothered by his barrage of kisses, each one an intoxicating mix of passion and urgency. Boba hooks your legs around his waist, not caring about the water soaking into him as he walks you deeper into the garage.

The intense press of need pushing against your chest melts under his touch, releasing your lungs and draining to pool in your thrumming core. It’s been so long, too long, without him, your body surviving on the mere scraps memory could provide you—nothing in comparison to the sustenance of the man himself. Having him back in your arms, his marred skin beneath your fingertips, his thick torso filling the empty space between your legs… it unhooks the final thorns of discontent left from his absence. 

A wave of relief washes away the tenseness of separation, leaving you pliable and radiant once more; the release has Boba’s lips parting in a gratified groan at the satisfaction of being your sanctuary. You take the greedy opportunity to lick your way into his mouth to savor the way his taste fills yours. Lost to the sensation of your tongue sliding along his, a hiss escapes your lips when the back of your thighs hit the freezer’s lid. 

The chill dissipates quickly in the glow of Boba’s urgent heat. “Fuck I missed you, babygirl,” he pants against your pulse, “Even if you’ve been a karking terror all afternoon.”

“S’not my fault,” you slur, dragging your teeth across the tan skin of his throat, “missed you too much.” His salt seeps into the warmth of your mouth, spurring memories of late nights pressed together under a quivering lake water moon. Seeking that passionate warmth, your heels dig into Boba’s thighs to press him deeper into your eager desire.

Unyielding and unrushed as ever, he pulls back, refusing to let you usurp his control. Bereft, a whine flies from your throat and you keel towards him in a desperate arch. 

Boba catches your cheek in his palm and sharply angles your face to his. Pure dominance radiates off him in the unwavering set of his shoulders and the gleam in his eye, their darkness glinting like two sable jewels in the dim light. His raw power, sanctified by his restraint and your willing submission, shimmers in the air between your bodies—the ephemeral calm before his storm’s consequences. 

He knows that disquieting stillness of his never failed to draw your desire. Without a word, his free hand disappears into his pocket to free your panties.

“Mmm, is that the problem?” His strong fingers dig into your cheeks and he turns your head towards the dangling bit of bows and lace. You can feel how the visual evidence of your arousal affects him. He presses the damp fabric against his nose, sucking in a ragged breath. “Your needy little cunt making you act out?”

Your answer comes out more as a whoosh of air than a word, your insides twisting with the searing heat in his tone. “Noooo…” 

“So you’re just a naughty brat then?” 

You want to protest that you’re nothing but innocent but your throat is too tight with the thrill of his wrath. He balls the frilly underwear into his fist. “Shame. I was thinking about taking mercy on you for your good behavior while I was gone.” He cuts his eyes back to you, smirking. “Too bad brats don’t get that privilege.”

You jolt, panic locking your ankles at the small of his back in an attempt to keep him close. “No! No! That’s not what I meant!” you cry, your voice taunt with distress.   

A dangerous chuckle sounds in his throat. You’d shown your desperation, giving him the easy advantage. “Better start explaining then, princess. Or else I’m just gonna come all over these pink panties and you’ll get nothing.”

You blink up at him with pitiful eyes and a swollen-lipped pout. “It’s because I missed you,” you simper, tracing a finger down his chest. “Seven days is a long time. Too long.” 

Even through the haze of your shared arousal, Boba resists temptation. “Too long? Babygirl, we talked on the phone every night.”

He lets you press your face into the crook of his shoulder and your fingers begin to loop into the soft cotton of his shirt. “It’s not the same and you know it! There was no falling asleep with you, no lap to curl up in…”

“No thigh to get off on?”

You squeak when he pinches your ass, the subconscious roll of your hips halting.

“As cute and sincere as you may be, my darling girl, you still have a debt to settle for your behavior today.”

That’s fair, reasonable even. You had pushed him further than you yourself would have been able to stand. You slip your fingers under his shirt hem to graze your nails over the dark hair trailing into his jeans. “What if I gave you a little apology?” you offer with a fluttering of lashes. “Show you how sorry I am?” 

Boba’s breath hitches but he turns up his chin like he’s uninclined to accept your offer. “You really think a handy is gonna cut it after everything this afternoon?” 

The fevered dream from his absence flares white-hot in your mind. Grabbing his belt buckle, you haul your hips forward to press your slick folds against his bulge. “Not even if that apology is you fucking me into the mattress in my childhood bedroom?” 

Boba curses, his hips bucking into yours.

“Not even if it’s you ruining me in the room where I learned to touch myself? Where I’d cry out into the pillow thinking about what it would feel like to have a real man fuck me instead of stupid, silly boys? Not even then?”

“Princess-”

“I’ve been fantasizing about it for a while, you know… what it would be like to bury my face in those cute flower sheets while you fuck my tight little cunt till I’m sore. Had to take a cold shower while you were gone just to keep my hands off myself.”

In a burst of strength, he forces you flat back against the freezer. “Enough,” he hisses through locked teeth. “For Maker’s sake, enough.”

Despite his protests, he’s rutting his twitching cock into the slick mess at your apex. You grin into his kiss—you’ve got him right where you want him. 

“Awww, pleeeease?” you whine, sticking your bottom lip out. “Pretty please… Daddy?”

The sound that scrapes up from him is so utterly depraved that for a second, you think he might’ve come in his pants.

“Fuck, you’re… you’re…”

“A filthy little princess for a dirty old man?”

Boba pushes his hand over your mouth. “You… you have ten seconds to get in your room before I’m fucking you where you stand. And I don’t give a karking shit who sees. Do you understand me?”

“So, apology accepted?”

“One.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Two.”

“Okay, okay! I’m going!”

“Three.”

You’re flat out running for the kitchen door, wrenching it open without checking if someone is behind it. Luckily, your path is clear as you fly up the stairs up to your room. The lavender paint and neat rows of school awards are nothing but a pastel blur when you fling yourself onto the twin bed. Quickly positioning yourself, you hike your dress up around your hips so you’re completely on display. 

At this point, you don’t even care about the danger; you drop your hand between your legs and delve two fingers between your wet folds. The friction burns delightfully after days without so much as a finger to your clit. The relief is so sweet you have to bite down on your neckline to halt the sounds of delight from spilling out. Imagining just how much better it’ll be when Boba gets his hands on you has you bucking under your fingers.

“Just can’t help yourself, can you, little brat?”

It’s no use snatching back your hand—he’s seen your transgression and is all too ready to add it to your growing list. Grabbing your wrist, he wrenches you up off the bed and whirls you around so your back digs into the door. 

“Oh, babygirl,” he husks in a low, cruel voice. “You’re so fucked.”

He’s pressed so far into you the damp fabric of your dress burns, absorbing his overwhelming heat. Pure, wanton desire floods your brain, drowning any hope of sanity until all that remains is him.

Boba yanks down the ruffled sleeve covering your shoulder and sinks in his teeth, groaning when you buck against him. “But that’s what you like isn’t it? You like it when I put you in your place, when I treat you rough.” His large hand snakes up your chest to grab your throat.  

“Yes-yes, Daddy!” you gasp, writhing with prickling pleasure when he greedily palms your breast. 

He grunts, his hips thrusting into you. “You think calling me that will get you out of trouble?”

“I mean being in my old room… seems kinda fitting, doesn’t it-oh!”

Boba shoves his hand over your mouth. “Now don’t look at me like that, princess. I’m just helping you make better choices,” he grins, his smile sharp with intent. “That’s what daddies do, right?”

Fuck that should not make your clit throb like it does. Just when your knees start to tremble from the sweet friction he’s smoothing over your nipples, he tears himself away. Your cry of displeasure is choked off by a squeeze of his hand. With big, shining eyes, you blink pitifully up at him in a bid for more.

“Don’t bother with the kitten eyes, darling. It won’t save you… and neither will anything else you say.” He rubs his thumb gently over your pulse point, a jarring contrast to the pressure on your throat. “After your little attitude this afternoon, you’re going to have to earn the right to speak.”

Boba just tuts when you pout, a wicked flush of darkness shadowing his expression. “Brats don’t get what they want, especially not such disrespectful ones.” Licking his lips, his voice sinks even deeper. “Still think I can’t do shit with all these people around?”

When you don’t answer, he releases his grip on your neck to run his fingers up your skull and jerk your head back. Taking his time, he kisses you, devouring you until you’re fighting for air. “Little princess, I can do whatever I want to you no matter who’s around, do you understand that? Do you?” 

Your answer is nothing more than a pitiful waver but he takes it all the same. “Good. Now take the dress off before I tear it off. I’m gonna fuck that pretty throat until I’m satisfied you’ve learned some respect.”

You’re out of the offending garment before he even has time to unfasten his belt. Despite the heat in your veins, goosebumps blossom across your skin, heightened by the moisture from your dress. When Boba sees you rubbing away the chill, he smirks and snaps you to his chest. “Looks like you need some warming up…” 

Sliding his hands over your ass, he hikes you up into his arms with a puff, chuckling at your small sound of surprise. When he lowers you gently onto your bed, you wriggle into the position you know he wants: laid out on your back with your head hanging off the edge, ready for atonement. 

It feels almost like relief. This was the reason you tested Boba’s patience with your antics and attitude; you crave the way he gives you no choice but to comply, the thrill of a fantastical danger shaping you into something vulnerable and eager to please.

The fire in his eyes dampens some as he caresses a hand over your cheek. You lean into his palm, nuzzling into the soft gesture. “Look at me, babygirl,” he prompts gently. When your eyes drift up to his, a smile warms his face. “I know you like it rough and I’m going to give it to you, but I need you to promise to mind your body, okay? Let me feel your three taps to stop.”

As you’d practiced many times, you reach up and slap your palm against his thick thigh. His white smile gets even bigger and he bends to plant a quick kiss on your forehead. You glow with his affection. “Boba?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you grab a towel for me to lay on? I’m going to soak a spot on the sheets if you keep talking like that.” 

A devil’s grin stretches across his bronze features. “Stay right there and don’t move,” he instructs, his voice already husked smoke, “or I will make you only watch while I jack off with those panties.” 

If he’d waited a second before darting to the adjoining bathroom, he would’ve seen the way your slicked entrance clenched at his threat.

For a fleeting moment you consider sneaking a hand to your peaked nipples, but the threat of him making you watch and not touch is far too distressing to test. Before you can get too tempted otherwise, Boba strides back into the bedroom with a towel in hand. Without a word spoken between you, he bends and you hook your arms around his neck so he can lift you and lay the towel down.

Boba hums in appreciation when you stretch back out before him, biting back your longing under his gaze. He lets his belt loose and his pants slide down his thighs, finally revealing the gorgeous image of his thick cock. Flushed rosy with want and beautifully slicked with desire, it bobs against his belly full and ready for your touch. 

He steps back so you’re forced to crane your neck to see him. The baneful fire has returned to his dark eyes. He pumps his length once and your mouth waters in anticipation. “Hope you don’t think I’m going easy on you just because you finally decided to behave.”

You shake your head. 

“No talking and no hands, understood?” 

Now you shake your up and down. You know far better of him than to disobey.

“Good. Now we don’t have much time before someone comes looking for you, little princess, so open up that mouth and make Daddy proud.”

Thank the Maker for that towel.

Tilting your head back to make your throat one smooth channel, you stick out your tongue wide and ready. Just seeing the way his expression darkens with desire at your obedience has fresh slick wetting your thighs. Hell, your obedience turns you on. Not just any man could make you want to give yourself over to him and you’re sure there are next to none who could possibly deserve it. 

Boba steps forward, cupping your cheek in his rough palm and dragging the slippery head of his length over your lips, coating them in his arousal. You stay still, enjoying his taste and gentle attention; he would tell you when he wanted more.

When he rocks forward to let your tongue slide down the vein that runs the underside of his cock, you claw your fingers into the floral sheets beneath you. Your heart pounds against your ribs and your lungs bellow more air into your chest. He’s so close yet so far from where you want him. Spit begins to dribble from the corners of your mouth and your jaw twinges from its wide angle, heightening your need for him even more.

Boba continues his leisurely pace across your tongue, rumbling a few low, pleasured sounds. He notices your frustration—he always notices everything—and chooses to ignore it. It’s a lenient punishment in light of your behavior but it doesn’t make the waiting any easier or your cunt any less desperate.

The whine that escapes from you when he lets his head graze your front teeth is so small it’s almost silent, but he hears it all the same. “Mmm, is there a problem, darling? Something the matter?” The slow drag of him doesn’t stop. 

You flick your tongue over his frenulum in a wordless response. Although you can’t see him, you know his pretty brown eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Aaah hah hah,” he chuckles through a groan, “is this not enough for my princess? Is getting her tongue used while she’s naked on her pretty pink bed not enough for her?”

Again, since he hasn’t given you permission to speak yet, you stretch your head up to capture the head of his cock between your coated lips, lightly suckling his sensitive tip. When he doesn’t stop you, you let your tongue snake up to lick the pearled drop from his slit. 

A faint tremor runs through him, making his length thrum in your mouth. Boba curses and stoops to lay a hand on your throat. No pressure or grip to it, just his hand resting over the exposed column of your neck. 

“Swallow.”

His simple command races through you like a spark up a gunpowder trail, igniting the tinder of aching pleasure between your thighs. Reflexively your body snaps to follow his order, your jaw closing and your muscles pushing him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth. 

“Fffff- that’s it, babygirl. Juuuust like that… let me feel how good you take me.” 

The jagged sound of his enjoyment shoots bright seams of glittering ecstasy into your veins. Conscious of the lack of permission to touch him, you dig your heels into the mattress to push further up his shaft, sucking in a final deep breath before letting his girth slide down your waiting throat. 

The next seconds dissolve into a filmy timelessness where every single one of your senses are his—your every sensation and fiber belonging to Boba. Your breath, your sense of smell and taste, sense of direction, everything is all in his control, all his to direct and decide. Even as the need for air burns through your ribs, you feel impossibly free, weightless and perfect within his care.

Retreating into that protected soft space of submission, your mind goes blissfully blank, your sole happiness being Boba’s grunts of pleasure as he pumps his cock down your throat. Sweat slicks your skin and hungry breath claws at your lungs but they’re none of your concern, all you have to worry about is keeping your jaw open. Though it had taken some time to learn to get there, now you rejoice in finding this quiet place within his storm, relishing the way you fall out of time and into his world. Even with the strain and weight of him pressing down onto you, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

After some wonderful, unknown period of time, air hisses through Boba’s teeth as he retracts from your warmth. Still blinded by submission, you gasp in big bubbles of air, blinking against the tears of exertion pricking your eyes.

You feel the muted thump of him dropping to his knees near your head. His thumbs are brushing away the salty trails as he cradles your head like a fragile flower against the wind, a smile blooming radiant on your damp face.  “Baby… my darling girl,” he pants through seeded kisses, “you did so good for me, took it all… can you believe it? Almost couldn’t stop myself from coming down that perfect throat.”

You’re still hazy, drifting through the fog of your accomplishment, but you manage to pull apart your wet lashes to see his beaming smile. Its luminance turns up your own lips. “I… I did?”

Before now, you’d never managed to get the last thick inch of his cock down your throat—though not for the lack of trying. As oxygen flushes through your system, your head clears. “See,” you croak, buoyed by your success, “doing it in my old bedroom was a good idea.” 

Genuine mirth crinkle up his eyes. “You haven’t seen anything yet, princess.” Boba turns and scoops you into arms, pressing you close to take in your scent. “I still gotta make you scream into the sheets, remember?” he murmurs against your temple.

You happily slide against him, relishing the way he fits perfectly against you. “Pretty sure I said ‘screamed into my pillow.’”

He snorts, caressing his hand along your jaw. “How about I make you do both?”

Taking your wild giggle as confirmation, he flips you onto your back to hover over you. You bite your bottom lip against your laughter as he trails tickling kisses down your neck and over your sternum, your breath hitching when he latches onto a pert nipple.

“Tell me…” he rasps through his mouth’s divine suction, “tell me how you would touch yourself.”

The great, crested wave of fire that crashes through ignites your limbs, making you jerk like a puppet on tangled strings. You never felt ashamed with Boba, he has always been your safety, your refuge; he’d wiped more tears than you’d let anyone else ever see and you’d twisted fantasies into his ear that would make the devil blush. But telling him how you rutted into your hand, sweating and barely keeping in your breathy sounds as you tried desperately to understand why boys your age never turned you on suddenly felt absurdly embarrassing.

He must have felt you stiffen under him because he prompts you again. 

“I, um… I mean…” Why was this so embarrassing? It’s not like he didn’t know you were into the more seasoned male age range. Sucking in a steadying breath, you realize he’s stopped his ministrations to observe you with a keen eye.

It only makes your unforeseen shame bruise darker. You force a chuckle from your gut. “Sheesh, you know how to get a girl to blush, don’t you?” Your words are too high and paper thin—your façade not remotely convincing, not even to yourself.

Boba’s eyes flick over your strained expression, his lips pressing into a thin line before he bows his head to place a small kiss on your stomach. “We can talk about this now, or we can talk about it later,” is all he says. It’s all he has to.

You blow out a weighted breath. His way of making you confront life while still giving you a degree of choice could be as infuriating as it was liberating. If you talk about it now you likely won’t have time for the down and dirty you’ve been craving all week (and, at this point, might shrivel up and die without), but the thought of soldiering on in this cold shadow of shame is utterly unappealing. 

Maker, you’re a buzzkill. 

Boba slaps a smack against your hip and you yip at the sharp sensation. “No apologizing,” he warns. “Just answer the question, princess. Don’t worry about anything else.” His palm opens to rub away the lingering sting.

Feeling your anxiety swarm like wasps, you try to sink back into your warm mental refuge where things were easier. Try as you might, however, your brain refuses to release itself from its nervous confines to slip into that softer shape.

It had been so terribly confusing back then. Watching your friends swoon over boys in your grade or just above, you tried to see what they saw in them: the supposedly hot guys on the basketball team with their burgeoning height or the apparently dreamy, mysterious poet laureate of your high school. You never understood what they saw in these lanky, acne covered boys or why they would cry so profusely over them. A real partner wouldn’t make you cry, you’d thought, he would take care of you, show you the love you were told you deserve.

But oh how you had wanted to understand, to have a believable answer when the subject of crushes came up at the lunch table or someone’s sleepover. Everyone else did. 

You only made the mistake of saying the school’s head coach was hot once—the grossed out looks and “old enough to be our dad” comments made sure of that. Eventually you settled on the safe choice of the football team captain for your obligatory answer whenever the subject came up. Even though it wasn’t true, the pressure was off then.

When you went to college, things didn’t change, no matter how much you hoped they would. You thought maybe it was just the boys at your school you weren’t attracted to, that maybe you were normal after all. 

Tears lodge in your throat at the memory of the guys you’d fucked trying to fix what was surely broken inside you, the nights you spent wishing it wasn’t the kind eyes and visible signs of life experience that drew you to the men you desired. Trying to pursue the older guys at bars and social events never ended well for you either; their kindness always dried up when you didn’t want to go back to their place immediately, followed by cutting comments about “daddy issues” and all the mean things that came with them.

Finding Boba, finding acceptance had been a taste of heaven. A golden slice of peace, the vindication that you weren’t some freak or wrong to want a partner who cherished and cared for you. Your stomach drops at the thought of that pure, devoted love. He gave you all of that, asking for nothing in return but your happiness, and you can’t even bring yourself to claim your relationship in public.

Shame curls in on you like leaden weights. He deserves so much better than you. Someone who isn’t afraid to tell the world they love him and proudly walks at his side—not some scared girl who can’t even bring herself to face her own parents. The wound you thought had long healed rips open inside you, spilling its tainted blood into your heart and a scalding brine down your cheeks. 

Before the first sob can sound from your chest, you’re pressed tightly into Boba’s front, held fast by thick, warm arms that stall your rising grief. A watery stream of words tumble out of you all at once. “Back then, it was-I thought-and I couldn’t, I mean I tried-”

“Shhh, baby, just breathe. It’s okay, everything’s alright… yeah, just like that, princess, that’s my good girl.”

His gentle touch and storm soothed voice has your sobs ebbing under his care. “I-is there something wrong with me?” you whisper in a fragile voice. 

Boba presses his mouth to your temple, pulling you somehow even tighter into his warmth. “Babygirl, why on earth would you think there’s something wrong with you?”

Because I’ve only ever wanted an older man who babies me even though I’m a grownass woman. 

Because I think you fucking me in my childhood bedroom while I call you Daddy is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. 

Because I’ll never love anyone else the way I love you but I’m still too scared to tell people about us.

You’re vaguely aware of being pulled under covers and tucked in tight to his side. Despite the furnace warmth of him and the blanket, you can’t seem to stop shivering against some inner cold. Piece by patient piece, Boba pulls out your discontent, wiping away new tears and kissing the old ones from your lashes. Somewhere in the back of your mind you register the darkening sky outside your window but he assures you Ari’s got your absence covered.

Tracing his roughened fingertips up and down your spine, he tilts up your chin to kiss your forehead. “Darling girl, why did you never say anything? That’s all too heavy to have to deal with by yourself. Especially when I’m here to help.”

Why did you? You’d shared so much of your other burdens—your disillusion after losing your dream job, your struggle coping with your life not following your set mental timeline—why had you kept all this to yourself?

“I don’t know…” you whisper, letting your pointer finger trace along the collarbone of his newly revealed chest. “I guess I felt like… like even though what I like isn’t normal, that being with you would make those bad feelings go away… and you make me so happy I thought maybe they would disappear if I never looked for them.” Hearing these half-baked assumptions out loud makes you hide your face in his shoulder. You feel like an idiot. No, worse. An idiot who’s wasted all her sneak-away time crying instead of getting railed by her boyfriend.

Boba makes a sympathetic sound, squeezing you closer to him. “I want you to listen to me, princess. Really listen. Number one, no keeping things from me that hurt you or make you upset. If you need to cry the whole thing out or scream about it until you’re hoarse, that’s fine as long as you tell me. Understood?”

You make a noise of agreement and borrow deeper into his hold. He allows you his comfort for a few more moments before gently unfurling you to run his thumb across your cheek.

“Number two. There’s no such thing as normal. Not a fucking thing. You like what you like just like everyone else likes what they like. Being attracted to handsome men like myself is not anything different than having a preference for blondes or brunettes, yeah?” He kisses you on the tip of your nose and you can’t help but smile up at him. “Besides, you wouldn’t find anything wrong with me being attracted to special princesses who have dirty little mouths and dirtier minds, would you?” 

Heat rises to your cheeks. “As long as I’m the special princess,” you mumble into his palm, suddenly self-conscious under his attention even as you revel in it. Maker, how do you still want him to pound you into the mattress after an emotional breakdown? All his patient love seems to only make you hornier now that your tears have been shed and your fears have been voiced.

“Always.” Boba chuckles and chucks up your chin for a kiss. When you slip your tongue into his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, he pulls back just far enough to murmur, “Still needy, darling?”

How could you not be? Your need for him feels different now, though. Not so much more or less intense but an entirely different kind altogether, like a fire that burns just as hot but with a different fuel than its predecessor. Treading carefully around this new flame, you hold a tentative hand out to test its heat. “We don’t… if the mood isn’t right, we don’t have to… and we’ve been gone for too long already-”

Boba drags his hot mouth over your jaw, positioning you beneath him. “Then a couple more minutes isn’t going to change that, now is it, babygirl?”

You frown even as your hips seek his. “But the whole ‘sexy fantasy’ thing is kinda ruined.”

Taking your hand in his large one, he draws it down his chest and over his stomach until you feel the hardness of his arousal filling your palm. “Does it feel ruined to you?”

Rock hard and fire hot, he leaks into your fingers. Your stomach clenches. Not too distant memories burn bright and vivid behind your eyes: recollections of impossible fullness, banished thoughts, and the generous stretch to accommodate him. 

“Tell me,” he commands, knowing his firm tone always had you melting like silvery mercury in his palm. “Does it feel like I don’t want to be buried in your sweet cunt? Ruining your ‘innocence’ all over again like you want me to so badly?”

His roughness, the obvious tint of desire in licking up his neck and cheeks all have their intended effect: you succumbing to your desires within the paradise of his control. “N-no, it feels like-fuck-it feels like I want you inside me,” you pant, desperate and breathy. You arch up in offering and he bows his head to enjoy the fruits of your desire.

Sliding a hand down your waist, his fingers trail torturously close to your wet heat only to skim over it with the barest of touch. “How did you imagine it back then?” The crackling weight in his voice sinks through your skin to light in your core. “Soft and sweet? Gentle nothings whispered in your ear as you came apart?” 

Without warning, he slaps at the wet flesh between your thighs and covers it with his broad hand, claiming it for himself. Perfect nettles of pain flash across your mind and you jerk against his hold. “Or did you want something a little rougher? Want a man who knew how to treat this pussy like it was all his?”

You can’t help it now. The fire he coached is burning you from the inside out, blossoming from you with slips of petaled flame. “A-all yours,” you manage thickly, twisting against him for more. “Wanted to be taken care of, wanted to be fucked without having to think…”

“Yeah, I know, baby, they didn’t know how to touch you, did they?” Two of his thick fingers push past your lower lips to slide through the slick seam there. Trailing over your slit for a languorous second, the pad of his middle finger circles your swollen hood. “They didn’t know how to rub that cute little clit so you screamed, huh?”

“Not at all,” you sob, your voice quivering as you shake from the electric sensation of his fingers. “Never knew, never knew-”

Boba smothers the rest of your pathetic sounds in a kiss that pushes deep into your pillows. “Awww, my poor princess,” he croons. “So achy and needy with no one to help. No wonder you were all over me that first time, whining and riding my dick like you would die without it.”

Never mind that he had been equally out of his mind, pounding into you that night like a man possessed with adoration. 

He notches a finger at your fluttering opening, ringing it around your flushed entrance just to see you squirm to get him deeper. “Remember how you begged me to fuck you, princess? How you didn’t even want to wait for me to stretch out your tight cunt?” Sinking in an effortless finger, he dips to lap up the beads of sweat from the hollow of your throat.

By the time he’s pressing in the blunt head of his cock, you’re face down and ass up, shimmying your hips back onto his length through a babble of pleas. “Please, Boba, please I want it deep, so fuckin’ deep I cry.”

Huffing out a breath that curls over the dampness of your spine, Boba grips the back of your neck to snap that first delicious thrust into you. Your broken sob is muffled by the rucked bedding, matching the slap of skin in a salacious accompaniment. Never one to do things in half measures, he digs a hand into your hip, anchoring your body to drive into you harder. He hits that divine spot that you didn’t even know existed before him.

The air whooshes from both your lungs in a blurred haze of ecstasy. “Shit, baby,” Boba squeezes your nape, “I’ll always give it to you… always, darling girl. Anything you want, I’m always yours, forever.”

You know it with every breath in your body and hair on your head—Boba loves you with every fiber of his being and he never hid that fact from you. From the way he looks after your safety to the care he takes just to see you flash a simple smile, you never had to wonder if he loved you the way you love him, not even for a second. 

The realization happens suddenly then, tipping your axes so you could center on the one truth that had orbited just out of your consciousness: Boba is worth the risk. He always has been. No matter what you might lose or gain by sharing your relationship, he would always be worth the risk.

You swirl with dazzling vibrancy, this epiphany developing in full splendor within you. “Yes-yes-yes!” you repeat mindlessly, flinging an arm back to search for his tethering touch. His hand disappears from your hip to intertwine with yours. Face crushed into the rose covered sheets of your old bed, breath tearing into your lungs as soon as it’s knocked out again, you smile. It had all led to this: all those years wondering if you were somehow broken, all those loves lost trying to fix what didn’t need repair, that one New Year’s night when you stopped denying what you truly wanted—all of it, everything, had been worth the risk.

Boba pulls on your hand, forcing you to arc farther back so that last sweet, solid inch of him is finally able to press into you. “Ffffffff-that’s it, that’s fuckin’ it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “You’re better than heaven, babygirl, you know that? Sweeter than anything I’ve ever had.”

You want to tell him the same but your head is filled with hot, sparkling clouds of stardust and your throat is tight with cresting pleasure. “Yes, Daddy, yes!”

“Shit, you calling me… say it again. Say it again and don’t fucking stop.”

You’re chanting now, watching how the room around you shrinks to a pinpoint as you draw higher and higher with him. The prick of light and the chorus of your glass-thin cries shake with impending explosion when he drags his blunt nails down your back, swelling over your hip to find your throbbing center. “Is it as good as you imagined?” he husks, his own voice leaden with delicious strain. “Getting fucked into the mattress you dreamed on?”  

Each snap of his hips sends your clit skating over his calloused fingertips. “Better, so much better!” Crushing your eyes closed, you surrender to the scorching wave waiting to take you. “Please, Daddy! Please fill me up so everyone knows I’m yours!”

Boba jerks forward, breaking the pattern of his thrusts to fold over your back. His sweat dampened skin melds to yours and fuses you into one splendid being. His hand travels from your shoulder to clasp around your throat. “You really want that, darling girl? You really want everyone to know you belong to me?”

Your answer doesn’t waver, solidified by your new-found conviction. “As long as they know you’re mine, too.” 

Muscles rippling to lock at your affirmation, Boba’s head drops to your shoulder. The groan that heaves from his chest rattles through your bones like a welcome spirit charged with animating the last gasps of your union. “C-come for me then,” he chuffs in your ear with his last dregs of restraint. “Come for me so they know what you fucking do to me.”

Would he ever truly know how easy, how intrinsic to your being coming apart for him is? How your world had only ever been ordered by his particular equation, even before your eyes first met? Unraveling to be respun with his thread is your very nature, and you would always yearn to be in his weave, stitched and re-stitched by his expert hand. His fingers press tight against the glowing center of pleasure at your core and you burst into a glorious, unbound tapestry of light. Undulant patterns of pleasure flow through your every inch, anointing your entire body in golden thread from the crown of your head down to each individual toe.

Feeling the hot claim he spills inside you is the final beautiful detail in your joint creation. These final fleeting moments where it feels like your very souls mesh together are always your favorite; Boba’s guard comes down and you rise to catch him, your usual roles reversing as he burrows into your warmth. “Always, baby. Always yours,” he promises, his voice thick and sweet as honey.

Echoing his sentiment in utter bliss, you tighten your grip on his hand, joy taking flight when he does the same. Content and at peace, the pair of you roll so you’re pressed flush together, still joined in the middle when your limbs re-tangle. Boba pushes your hair back from where it had stuck your forehead and plants a kiss in your hair. 

You’re happy to smooth your palms over the scarred bronze of his chest to rest them lazily around his neck, his heartbeat jumping under your touch. How could you not realize this, that he, is worth more to you than any fallout from revealing your relationship? Was this not what you shed all those tears for, what you wished for every single time you tried to fit into another man’s mold? 

A resplendent joy feathers out in your chest, floating down your arms, then your legs with soft announcement. “Boba?”

His finger traces up your spine. “Yes, my princess?” His voice is dense as goose down and packed with comfort. 

You swirl your own shape into his skin. “I meant it, you know. I want… I want everyone to know we’re together. I don’t want it to be a secret anymore.”

He goes silent, his only sound the movement of air in and out of his lungs. Even as you know he always takes time to consider his next move, your pulse still ticks up with a spate of nerves. The lines on your spine continue and you do your best to temper your unease as the long moments inch by. 

Eventually, a rumble reverberates in his chest. Your ears prick up.

“You don’t have to do that, babygirl, not before you’re ready. Just because it slipped out in the heat of the moment doesn’t mean it has to be set in stone.” Boba shifts to wrap his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly closer. “I know there are more risks for you than me in our relationship.”

You hate the far off note of despair in his voice. You hate the way he sounds like he’s resigned himself to a truth that isn’t at all what it has to be. “No,” you sit up on your elbow to cup his cheek, “there’s not. Not in any way that matters to me. You’re-”

“Princess, it’s okay, I-”

You silence him with a kiss, suddenly feeling like you have to get the next words out of your body before they explode. “You’re worth the risk, Boba. You always will be. Every single day since I met you, you have done nothing but prove that to me.” Your pace picks up as your truth spreads its wings. “I was afraid before, not of being with you but of what others would think about my preferences. I didn’t want them to judge me and think I was only with you because I have “daddy issues” or whatever, not because I love you more than I thought people could. And I know my parents will be shocked but all they want is what’s best for me, and you’re what’s best for me. I know this now—and I’m not ashamed of it.”

As quickly as you started, you run out of steam. No longer inflated with the sense of frantic urgency you had before, you sag back down onto his chest. A quiet second flicks by, then Boba’s grabbing you, hauling you up into his arms to kiss you like a man desperate to live. He says nothing, his lips working against yours in fervent passion but you can feel the sentiment he doesn’t speak. Each pass of his tongue and nip of his teeth communicate more than any words could: his joy in your self-realization, the excitement of proclaiming your love to the world at long last. Your only wish is that you could have given him this sooner.

When he finally lets you break for air, his handsome face is lit up with a smile more radiant than any sun. Whispering your name with a reverence of only the truly devoted, he brushes his nose over yours. “Babygirl, I… I’m so proud of you. You never cease to amaze me.”  He sweeps his lips over yours again. “I love you. Always have, always will.”

Besides his love, Boba’s greatest gift is his forthrightness. You never have to guess with him and now, no one else will have to either. They’ll know where his loyalties lay. 

“That’s a good thing,” you tease into a quick kiss. “Because all my aunties, and uncle Stephen, are going to be very jealous that you’re off the market.”

Boba chuckles in that bone-deep way that always makes you warm all over. “I didn’t realize I was in such high demand.”

You push yourself up on his chest. “Oh, don’t lie to me, Boba Fett. I’ve seen the way you flirt and wink at them. They eat it up and you know it!” 

Sitting up with you, he grins. “Just being polite, princess. You’re not jealous, are you?”

Maker, how could you ever be jealous of anyone after the sex you’d just had?

“Oh, not at all. Because at the end of the night, you’re coming home with me.” You smirk up at him. “Speaking of which, we better get back out there before those same aunties start tearing the house up looking for you.”

“Only if you promise not to clean up and put these panties back on for me, darling girl,” he counters with a devilish smirk of his own.

Giggling, you bite your lip. “Anything for you, Daddy.”

He’s worth the risk.  

[vodika-vibes]

I have another Jango x female reader smut scenario idea~ The reader regularly hires Jango for jobs, there's mutual attraction between them; strong enough for Jango to suavely suggest waving his fee in exchange for her sharing his bed, while she is tempted, she always refuses as it doesn't feel right to not pay him,or to sleep with a client, no matter how attracted she is. He's always gracious and somewhat amused by her refusal, but he always puts the same offer on the table. Because he knows she feels the same and wants him just as much too. Then one job almost goes completely sideways, Jango was completely fine and handled the situation wonderfully, but she realizes she could've lost him forever and throws caution to the wind, practically jumping him with a kiss when he lands, pushing him down onto the bed on his ship and they have the most mind blowing sex they have ever had.

Just Once More

Summary: Jango Fett impresses you, as a man and as a bounty hunter. But, as much as you might want to, you’ve never taken him up on his offer to join him in his bed. Well, not yet, at least.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 1905

Warnings: Smut

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is close to what you had in mind. It turns out that I had more plot than smut for this story, so I might, possibly, continue this. Maybe.

The holo flickers to life in front of you, and a bright smile crosses your face. Jango always answers holos from you, no matter what he might be doing. “Jango,” You greet him with a fond smile. 

“Cyare,” The familiar pet name falls from his lips with ease, and you know enough Mando’a to know that it’s a very affectionate pet name, though you can’t remember exactly what it means. “Are you calling to say that you changed your mind about my offer?”

His voice is light, and conversational, and you can’t help but to lean back in your chair and release a quiet laugh, “Not yet.” It looks like he just stepped out of the fresher, as he’s shirtless and the bottoms of his undersuit are hanging low on his hips.

“How many more times am I going to have to make the offer before you take me up on it?”

You pull your gaze from his chest, a small grin playing on your lips, “Just once more, as ever.”

He chuckles lowly, and you release a silent sigh, he really has no business being as attractive as he is. If only you had met him in, literally, any other way other than by hiring him. Then you wouldn’t have a problem accepting his offer to join him in his bed.

“I have a job for you, if you’re interested.” You offer as you pull yourself out of your, increasingly salacious, fantasies about the man on the other end of the call. 

“You do send me to the most interesting places,” Jango replies thoughtfully, “Sadly, I’m on a job already.”

Your face falls, disappointing, but not unsurprising. He is the best, after all. “I see. Well, if you’re too busy, you’re too busy. I’ll comm someone else-”

“Wait, hold on.” Jango interrupts, “What’s the job?’

You glance at him, “Well, you remember the fiasco on Rishi several months back?”

“Of course I do.”

“Right, well this is a continuation of that.”

Jango frowns, “I thought I cleaned that mess up.”

You hold your hands out to the side, “So did I, but I got an incredibly hostile message from the person who runs that basically ordering me to Ord Mantell to deal with this-”

“You’re not going, are you?”

“Do I look that dumb to you?” There’s an amused smile on your lips, “No, Jango, I know a trap when I hear one. But-”

“But-?”

You hesitate, and then sigh, “Since I ignored that message it’s started to feel like I’m being followed.”

Jango’s frown deepens, “You said Ord Mantell?”

“Yeah. On one of the islands.” You rub your nose with the palm of your hand, a nervous habit from your childhood that’s reared its ugly head due to the situation you’re in, “I know you already have a job, Jango, I’ll pay triple your regular rate…just…I trust you the most.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jango replies, “No charge.”

“Jango-”

“Someone’s threatening you, cyar’ika. No charge.” Jango interrupts, and then he glances to the side, and his lips twist, “This Tyrannous guy will just have to find another bounty hunter to do his job.”

You tilt your head, “That’s quite a name.”

“Tell me about it.” You hear the sound of Jango’s fingers tapping against metal, “I’m coming to you. We’ll go down to Ord Mantell together, but you’ll stay on the ship while I deal with this situation.”

All of the tension drains from your body, “Thank you, Jango.”

“Thank me when you’re safe, cyar’ika, not a moment sooner.”

Ord Mantell is a nice planet.

Or it would be if it wasn’t home to con artists, smugglers, and criminals of every background. Oh sure, the Republic makes a good showing of having soldiers garrisoned here, but all that happens is that the soldiers become smugglers, or con artists, or criminals.

Jango leans over the back of your seat as you avoid the major city and head for one of the small islands. The one located in the message you were sent all those months ago.

“That must be it,” Jango notes, his eyes narrowing at the warehouse just barely visible though the viewport. 

“I’m not sure how comfortable I am bringing the Orphan in close to that building.” You admit as you tilt your head to look at him, “Options?”

He rubs his gloved knuckles against the back of your neck, the action soothing to you, even if he didn’t mean it that way. “What about over there, in that clearing?” Jango asks, “The Orphan isn’t that big, after all.”

“Mm, that should be fine.” You finally say after you eye the clearing critically. You bring your ship over and set her down in the middle of the clearing, and then turn in your chair to look at Jango.

“Alright, stay on the ship.” He says, as he pulls his helmet on, his voice distorting halfway through his sentence. “Lock it up tight behind me.”

“You think someone will come and attack me?” You ask, your brow furrowing in anxiety.

Jango reaches out and smoothes the line off your brow, “I’m not going to let that happen.” He sounds so sure, so confident, that the anxiety fades away as though it never existed in the first place.

You follow him over to the door, and press the button to allow it to slide open, the stairs lowering as it does so, and you favor him with a small smile, “Happy hunting, Jango.”

He tilts his helmet towards you as he descends the stairs, “Remember, cyar’ika, lock up behind me.”

“Got it.” As soon as he’s on the ground, you press the button to recall the stairs, and you watch as he vanishes into the forest, as the door slides shut and locks. And then you head back into your cockpit and prop your feet up on the console and wait.

Forty-five minutes later, you yelp as your ship is rocked by an explosion. And, for a moment, you think that someone shot at your ship. And then you see that the warehouse, barely visible in the distance, is now burning, and your heart drops into your stomach. 

You scramble out of your seat and over to the door, your hand hovering over the door panel, before you curl your hand into a fist and forcibly drop it to your side.

Jango said leave the door shut and locked.

He’s fine, you’re sure. He has to be fine.

Fifteen minutes later, your comm chimes as a familiar comm code slides across the screen, and you smack the answer button hard enough that you’re worried that you’ll break the small device, “Jango?”

“Yeah. Problem solved.” You hear the sound of movement, “I’m on my way back to the ship right now.”

“Are you…what happened? The warehouse blew up!”

“Yeah, it was a trap. I decided to trigger it.”

“You decided-” You trail off, and exhale slowly, “Please don’t ever do that again, I thought you were dead.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, “Worried, cyar’ika?”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice is much softer, “I’ll be back in a bit. Promise.” And then the connection cuts.

This time, when you head to the door you don’t hesitate to unlock and open it. And then you descend the stairs and settle on the bottom step and wait, your mind racing.

You could have lost him.

He could have been killed, because of you. 

All of a sudden, all of your worries and hesitations about a relationship, or whatever, with Jango seem much less important.

You lift your head when you hear movement from the forest, and Jango steps out from between several massive bushes. He pauses when he sees you, and then tugs his helmet off.

“That’s not on the ship, cyar’ika.” He chides as he heads towards you.

You scramble to your feet and cross the clearing to him, flinging your arms around his neck as you tackle him. Jango’s helmet falls from his fingers as he’s forced to catch you.

You don’t say anything to his comment, though, as you crash your lips against his. And Jango responds immediately, his arms tightening around you as he slides his tongue against the seam of your lips, and then against your tongue as you part your lips for him. 

He breaks the kiss before you do, delight sparkling in those pretty brown eyes of his, “So, all I had to do to get you to jump me is almost die?” Jango asks breathlessly.

“Not funny,” You mumble.

“Not trying to be,” His lips capture yours again, and this time he carries you towards your ship, his hands sliding under your clothing as he kisses you. And then a breathless curse falls from his lips as he pins you against the cool metal of your ship.

“Get down, cyare.” Jango rasps against your lips, and you whine in response. 

“Jango-”

“I’m not fucking you for the first time against your ship,” He says against your lips, “You deserve a bed.”

You shiver, but slowly drop your legs to the ground, and Jango takes a step away from you. You fight the urge to step back into his personal space, and instead climb the stairs until you’re back on the ship.

Jango crowds into your personal space as soon as the door shuts, his nimble fingers popping the seals on his armor and dropping the metal to the floor. The second he's not wearing his armor, he’s pressed back against you, his hands gliding down your body while his lips trail down your throat.

“You left your helmet-” You gasp out as he walks you backwards to your bunk.

“It’ll hold.” Jango replies as he rips your shirt off and tosses it to the side, before moving his hands to your hips and pushing your pants down your legs. You kick them over your feet and to the side, just as Jango lowers you to the mattress. “Kriff,” He mumbles as he hastily removes his own clothing and climbs over you, “Wanted you for months. Can’t believe you made me wait-”

You lean up and pull him down into a deep kiss, no longer having the patience for him to keep talking.

He chuckles into the kiss and moves so that he’s kneeling between your legs. “Wrap your legs around me, cyar’ika.” Jango orders, a pleased groan falling from him as you immediately move to obey him. “Gonna make you feel so good,” He breathes out as he grinds his hard length against you, “Going to make you mine, cyar’ika.”

“Please-”

Jango slides his hands down your arms, and catches your hands, before pinning them to the bed next to your head and threading your fingers with his. And then, and only then, does he slowly push in you.

“Keep your eyes on my, cyare,” He murmurs, when it looks like your eyes are going to shut with your pleasure, “Keep looking at me.”

You squeeze his hands, “I will.”

And then Jango starts a painfully slow pace, pulling nearly all the way out, before easing his way back in, making sure that you can feel every single movement. “You’re mine,” He breathes, “All mine. No one else will ever have you.” 

His grip tightens around your hands, and you squeeze back reassuringly, “Yours.” You agree through a breathless moan. “All yours.”

[imarvelatthestars]

Be With Me

Pairing: Boba Fett x gn!Reader

Content: sfw, gentle fluff

"It's late," he says.

He needn't say anything else, you both know he's right. You've been sitting at this desk for hours now and your body's gone stiff, your belly is empty, and your cognitive skills have severely decreased. You need rest and food, but you just can't bring yourself to leave your work.

"I know," you answer, voice whisper soft as the late evening breeze drifts through the gauzy curtains. Your fingers press into the circles beneath your eyes as the holopad before you shifts in and out of focus. "Almost done, cyare. I promise."

But Boba Fett is a determined man. What he wants, he gets, and right now, it seems what he wants is you. The sound of his footfalls hit you first, then the subtle rush of air as his frame cuts through the wind. Your body starts to curl in on itself, back still turned in his direction, because you know if you can just finish this, then you can finally rest and be with your lover, and if he'll only give you a moment-

The hand that grips the lip of your chair is strong and has you spinning around in an instant. First you see his armor, the sigil on his breast and the cowl that spills over the front of his chest plate, then his chin above it, the gentle slope of his nose, his eyes, as dark and wondrous as ever. Then there's that faint little freckle above his brow, the one you love.

"How long?"

You spare a glance over the edge of the balcony to where the suns are just setting behind the dunes, and feel your face flush with embarrassment. "Too long, perhaps."

But then you feel him. The worn fingertips of his gloves have gone soft with use. He'll need new ones soon. Still, you let him guide your face back toward his, and you suddenly feel so overwhelmed with - you don't even know what. Affection? Love? Respect? Whatever it is, it fills your chest so quickly and so fully that you're almost unable to breathe when he fixes his eyes on you and just stares, most likely assessing just how bloodshot yours are, the exact frequency at which your fingers are starting to shake from going so long without food, how slowly and hesitantly you blink.

"Boba." It falls from your lips like a prayer.

Something about the way you say his name always makes him smile, which only makes you want to say it again so he'll keep smiling and never stop.

He tries to be serious, but the smile wins out in the end. "Your work can wait," and you know it's not a suggestion.

Your chin drops. "I know. I just wanted to get it done, and I'm almost there! I just need a-"

"Be with me," he implores as he surges forward to fill all your senses. His breath fans across your face and oh, how your lids immediately drop once you catch a whiff of his scent from beneath all that armor and cloth. "Sarad. Let it wait."

So you do.

He knows your habits by now, so he knows you've half starved yourself today, not intentionally of course, but you always forget to take care of the important things when you're fully immersed. The armor has been removed and replaced by the time one of the droids comes up with some food, and the lights are dimmed once you finish eating.

And once he is satisfied that you've been taken care of properly, Boba Fett comes to bed and pulls you atop his chest so he can kiss you until the stars fall from the heavens.

taglist: @moodymisty @wolffegirlsunite @clonemedickix @bobaprint @freesia-writes @deewithani @wings-and-beskar @rain-on-kamino @wizardofrozz @anxiouspineapple99 @multi-fan-dom-madness @deejadabbles @dystopicjumpsuit

(please let me know if i forgot you or you would like to be added/removed from the list!)

[crankyphlebotomist]

Oh man, this hits so close to home! I need Boba to remind me to eat some days 😭😭

[vodika-vibes]

The Daimyo's Cyare

Summary: You get to spend some time with your favorite person in the galaxy.

Pairing: Daimyo! Boba Fett x Reader

Word Count: 1356

Warnings: Tongue in cheek teasing, there is an age gap, but Boba is only 41, and the reader is, at the youngest, 30.

Songs: None

Prompt: N/A

A/N: This is my first time writing Boba, so I'm a little unsure about it. But I think I'm happy with it? Also, 3 stories in one day! I love DND Sundays~

Divider by Saradika

When you ran away from home at 20 years old, you kind of expected your story to have a bad ending. But you ran anyway. At the time, it was the only option you had. At least, it felt like it.

Your parents always expected too much from you. “You can do better” and “you’re smarter than this”, are mantras from your childhood, said daily by your parents, sometimes even hourly. 

Your parents had ambitions for you. In their mind you were going to be a doctor or a lawyer or an Imperial Officer. And they pushed, pushed, pushed…until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You ran until no one knew your family name, and then you shed their name like a second skin, and you kept running.

Eventually you found yourself on a Cruise Liner. Playing bartender to the rich and famous. People who don’t care who you were, so long as you continue to ply them with copious amounts of alcohol. While living on the cruise liner, which you did for well over ten years, you created yourself a dozen different times, until you became the person you are now.

You left the cruise liner when the Empire fell, and you found yourself on Tatooine, still as a bartender, only instead of serving drunk rich people, you were serving drunk bottom feeders.

The only real difference being the amount of credits you make in tips.

That was where you met Boba Fett for the first time.

The first time he came into your bar, he was clad in his armor, and was dripping malice. You mentally prepared yourself for a fight, and having to clean blood off the floor, but that’s not what happened.

Instead he walked over to you, and sat at the bar and ordered a drink that you hadn’t made since your time on the Cruise Liner.

You weren’t going to make it for him, originally. It’s an expensive drink, made with expensive drinks, but he swore that he could pay for it. And you decided to take him at his word.

He watched you make his drink with an intensity that made you feel like you were being interviewed. And when you finished, he pinned you in place with a stare you could feel, more than see. And then he set a handful of credits on the counter, and offered you a job.

And, well, your mama didn’t raise a fool, so you accepted the job. 

That had been a year ago, and you’ve never been happier. Never felt safer. You’re happy enough, in fact, that you’ve started considering reaching out to your family to let them know you’re alive.

“Credit for your thoughts?” You don’t even start when a calloused hand slides around your hips, instead you turn your head slightly and you smile up at Boba.

“Just remembering.” You reply lightly as you turn against him.

“Remembering what?” He asks as he adjusts his grip.

“How I ended up here.”

“Here on Tatooine, or here in my arms?” Boba teases gently, “Because those are different stories.”

“Hm. Both.” You beam at him and slide your hands up the worn material of his shirt, “Have I ever thanked you for getting me out of that dive?”

“You have, repeatedly. But you can always thank me again.”

You stand on your toes and kiss the corner of his lips, “Hm. Maybe later.” You slide your hands across his broad chest again, “No armor today, love?”

“I’m on vacation.”

You nod thoughtfully, “Fennec kicked you out of the throne room, didn’t she?”

He huffed out an amused laugh, “Maybe I should name her Daimyo, and retire somewhere.”

You laugh quietly, “Oh, love. There are less painful ways to die, you know.”

You feel him chuckle, and you look up as he bumps his forehead against yours, “I suppose you have a point.” His calloused fingers drag against the thin material of your shirt, “Did you sleep well, cyare?”

“Well, my pillow seems to have abandoned me early this morning,” You say with a playful pout, “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Boba?”

“Hm. Sounds like we should invest in a proper pillow for you,” He replies blandly. “And then I won’t wake you up when I get out of bed.”

You drape your arms over his shoulder, “Oh, but I love my pillow. Even if you get up far too early.”

“You could always wake up with me.”

“Ew. Mornings.” You scrunch up your nose, and Boba laughs.

“Well then, you’ll just have to suffer without a pillow then, I’m afraid.”

You pout and lean against him, burying your face against him. “You could always not wake up early. That’s an option too.”

He drags his fingers up your spine and you shiver against him, “That’s not an option, and we both know it.” His fingers stop at your neck, and he lightly rubs small circles against the skin there, “So. You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing?”

“You had that look on your face, cyar’ika.” Boba replies, “The one that screams that somethings bothering you and you aren’t sure what to do about it.”

“...I have a look?”

“You have a look.” He agrees.

“...I’m thinking about my parents,” You admit with a sigh, “I haven’t spoken to them since I was 18. They probably think I’m dead.”

He hums thoughtfully, “You don’t talk about them much, cyar’ika.”

You curl your fingers in his shirt, “Because I know you, Boba Fett. You’ll get all grumbly and protective.”

He raises a single brow, “Did they mistreat you?”

“My anxiety is a direct result of them.” You say with a shrug, and you smile ruefully when his grip around you tightens. Boba’s helped you through more than one anxiety attack. “They were just…they expected so much from me. Perfection was the expectation, and anything less than perfect was grounds for yelling and ridicule.”

“So that’s also where your perfectionist tendencies come from,” Boba notes mildly.

“I’m not a perfectionist!” You counter as you lean back slightly.

“You once polished my armor after I did because I didn’t do it well enough.”

Your face flames bright red, and you press your face back against his chest, “I thought we were never going to mention that again.”

“I promised not to mention it in front of other people,” Boba corrects with a laugh in his voice, “It’s just us in here.”

You huff out a breath and press your still flaming face against his chest. “Anyway,” You mumble against his chest, “They’d probably be so disappointed in me. Bartender my entire life. Never amounted to anything-”

“Hey,” He grips your shoulders and shakes you gently, “You managed to get through the Empire without getting conscripted into the Imperial Army, and you managed to live well on the Cruise Liner. Not to mention you work directly under the Daimyo of Tatooine.”

You muffle a laugh.

“That’s not remotely what I meant, cyare, and you know it.” He sounds amused though, “You were my personal chef for a year.”

“Yeah. I was a terrible cook.”

“The worst.” Boba agrees, “But how could I fire you when you were trying so hard. Plus, I liked looking at you, even then.”

You smile up at him, “That’ll be a fun letter. ‘Dear mom and dad, I’m the official eye candy for the Daimyo of Tatooine, are you proud of me yet?’”

“You’re a little more than just eye candy, cyare.”

You look up at him, a would be innocent expression on your face, “I know. I work directly under you, remember?”

He huffs out an amused noise, “You’re going to be working directly under me if you don’t watch your tongue.”

You grin at him impishly, “My tongue isn't long enough to watch, though Boba.”

His fingers twitch on your hips, and he returns your impish look with his own steady gaze. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble, cyar’ika.”

“Promise?” You ask with a grin.

His grin becomes sharp, and you squeal when he scoops you into his arms, “Oh, cyar’ika. It’s a guarantee.”

[crankyphlebotomist]

Words can’t express how much I enjoyed reading this!!

I can’t get enough of how you write Boba, he’s so vulnerable around the reader and the dialogue is so organic!

[starwarsficnetwork]

Boba Fett Writers

Banner by the lovely @theywhowriteandknowthings

Writers! Tag us or use the hashtag #starwarsficnetwork to be featured! But please have your age/age range in your bio. If you’d like to be removed, send us a dm!

*will be updated regularly*

Listed in alphabetical order:

@acatalystrising

@flightlessangelwings

@imarvelatthestars

@janghoefett

@maybege

@moodymisty

@pickleprickle

@proxima-writes

@rexxdjarin

@saradika

[fox-trot]

Canon Jango and Boba Fett Lore

Sources: The Star Wars Book (2020), Star Wars Complete Vehicles (2020), Star Wars-100 Objects (2023), Ultimate Star Wars-New Edition (2019)

[moodymisty]

Sound Asleep

Author’s note: I’ve had this little snippet jumbled up in my phone's notes for longer than I’ve currently been on tumblr, so I decided to finally clean it up. I have so many little things like this scattered across my various devices... Help.

Relationships: BOBF!Boba Fett/Fem!Reader (I only say that because of one usage of the nickname 'princess' there's no pronouns or specific body parts mentioned.)

Warnings: A little bit of crying, Nightmares, Age gap if you squint so hard your eyes actually hurt, Cuddling, Fluffy fluff, Mean ol' Boba being a bit of a softie

Word count: 1220

You swore you hadn’t had a nightmare since your childhood years; But even then, you couldn’t remember one like this. It had all felt so real, almost touchable. You sit up awake in a daze still feeling as if it had just happened.

Jolted awake in the middle of a cold Tatooine night your hair is just starting to stick against dewy skin, heart pounding in your chest. With a few kicks of your feet you push the blanket off of your body, wanting the air to cool your flush skin, and to stop that almost strangling feeling.

You’d fallen asleep down here because of how tired you’d been, and the trek upstairs to Boba’s personal room had seemed like leagues away; Without any surety that he would even return there before you awoke the next morning. He was a busy man, sometimes rest wasn't a guarantee.

So you’d slept in your old personal room he’d given you after he brought you to Mos Espa, but now you're wishing you hadn’t. It feels so lonely in here, the room feels giant and the shadows an abyss but at the same time suffocating.

When you manage to get your heart to stop thumping on your chest so hard it feels like knocking, you slowly lay back again with your head hitting the pillow. The ceiling is cracked- your eyes following the black string down past your feet before you dare to close your eyes.

But when you open them again, the room is still dark with not a hint of light from the windows. It's as if your body was forcibly stopping you from sleeping, still spinning in whatever your mind had dreamt up. And even as your eyes feel tired and body heavy, there's no amount of quiet breathing and counting that is letting you fall asleep. The knot in your throat tightens, back of your neck aching with how tense it is.

Eventually, the constant tossing and turning proves too much to handle, and you lean up and turn to slip your legs off the side. They dangle for a moment, hands clutching the sheets as you decide if it's worth it.

Was it worth trekking what seemed like lightyears up to someone who might not even be there? Or should you stay here and lay back trying to see if you could get even a few moments of rest before the suns start rising?

Bare feet gently hit the slightly rough, sandy floor with a soft pat, the light in the room just bright enough to see around. It was a straight shot to the door, and you slowly slip off the bed before softly opening then closing it. The steps up to Boba’s private room were tall and winding, and each one felt progressively harder than the last. At least none of the droids are around, you wouldn't want even the the stars outside to see you in this sorry state.

Once you reach the top of the steps, it's easy to open the door and slip inside. The door opens to a pale glow of moonlight, and you can see Boba’s outline. He's already awake; Leaning upright.

There’s patterns deeply ingrained in him and sounds are a big part of them; The soft opening of a door or footsteps were always things that set him alert. When he sees it’s you, easy to tell by the silhouette he can just barely see through the flowing fabric of your nightclothes, it’s enough to lull those alarm bells in his head a small bit.

And with a gravely, sleep coated voice, Fett calls to you.

“Need something, princess?”

His tone is almost taunting, teasing, but you don't respond to it with any of the usual quips. When you step deeper into the room, Boba can more clearly see the ragged expression on your face. The way your body is turned into itself. He makes no noise; Instead pulling the thin blanket back revealing more of his bare stomach.

“Come here, little one.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

Bare feet pattering across the floor you walk to him and place one knee onto the bed, before hefting yourself into it and slipping underneath the blanket. Within moments you feel his chest against your back, an arm wrapping around your waist. One of your hands grasps his while the other lays empty, and you feel his chin on the top of your head.

He doesn’t ask what happened to render you like this; He knows nothing he could say would help with it anyways.

What does seem to help is just him; As it’s not long of you curling up around his arm like it's your life line that you’re finally asleep. He can hear the soft sounds of you breathing, the way even in your sleep you're attempting to fruitlessly hold him tighter. You have his arm in a death grip, and any attempt to pull away would surely wake you.

Fett doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. That he’s let you come so close to him that you feel safe, reassured he isn’t dangerous enough that you can be lulled asleep like this. These aren't clean hands you're holding.

But if you want to be here, you'll be here. He'd never refuse you.

He's no stranger to nightmares and terrors either, though he's had longer to learn to deal with them than you. His mind is more armored, less feeling. It's how he's learned to be.

Fett, not long after he sees that you've for sure fallen completely asleep, decides to stop watching you with such soft eyes; And get some rest himself. He doesn't get too many chances to do so.

When you wake up you can still feel the ache of a headache now passed, but your body doesn’t feel as tense as the night before. It requires a bit of an odd angle to raise your head, rubbing your eyes blurry as Boba's torso moves upward so he can look down on you.

“Going to let me go?” Fett watches your hands tighten even more against his arm, where it had been locked most of the night. You'd been gripping it like a lifeline, the only thing holding you to the ground.

“No.” Fett lets out a chuckle, one deep from his chest and still raspy with sleep. You can feel it in your own chest, as he raises up on his other elbow.

"Can't stay here forever, princess." His arm flexes in your hold, just about to pull away from you. Quickly you tighten, making a noise from your throat before you can get out the right words.

“Wait! Boba, just- Just a few more minutes?” His hand halts, but his eyes still bore down at you. The soft skin of your fingertips brushes against a myriad of scars, as you fruitlessly attempt to hold him still. He's placating you, as you know well he could easily just pull away and leave you alone.

"Mos Espa can wait a little bit," You say, holding onto his larger hand. He relents, and lays down on his side again; Pressing his bare chest against your back again.

Maybe it can, maybe it can't; But either way he can deal with the outcome.

Join the taglist here: @simp-legend @nekotaetae @coffeyorky @lokigirlszendaya @totesnothere04 @get-wr3ckered @rebel-finn @mandoloriancookie @therealnekomari @loverofclones @fxlsealarm @crosshairs-wife @sinfulsalutations @pb-jellybeans @jediknightjana

[saradika]

Ahh, my heart! This was so sweet and so incredibly comforting. I loved the emphasis of this line - how she’s clinging to him like a lifeline:

Fett doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. That he’s let you come so close to him that you feel safe, reassured he isn’t dangerous enough that you can be lulled asleep like this. These aren't clean hands you're holding.

That he’s her safe place, in spite of all he’s done. This was such a great read! 💖

[crankyphlebotomist]

I love soft!boba 🥰🥰

This was a breath of freash air to read, wonderfully done!

[daimyosprincess]

EX LIBRIS

PART III: DEDICATION

—Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—Part Summary: Professor Fett makes good on his promise to give you everything you deserve.

—Word Count: 8.6k

—Tags & Warnings: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, age gap (reader is mid-twenties, Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, reader is introduced to dom/sub power dynamics, bdsm elements, soft!dom Boba, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl) (also I’ve decided this AU includes safe, effective birth control since we’re fantasizing anyways), use of restraints (reader's hands are bound), lots of petnames, dirty talk, praise (so so much praise), some more self-discovery, little bit of Mando'a used (translations at the end)

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged!

—Author's Notes: This is 8.6k words of pure smut to make up for Part II's cliffhanger 😈 We’re seeing a softer side of both Boba and the reader in Parts II and III as they establish and build their trust in one another. But fret not, their regularly scheduled banter will be back in Part IV! A big thank you to @rexxdjarin and @agirlnamejacq for betaing, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Part I — Part II — Part IV Coming May 26!

“Are you ready, pretty girl? Can I make you feel good now, give you your reward?”

“Please, Boba, please. I want you, I want you more than anything.”

“You have me, princess, I’m all yours.”

Maybe heaven is a place on earth or maybe it’s a place spun in the stars, but either way, it’s got to be wherever he is. Wherever the warm passion of his lips kissing all of you that came into his reach as he slipped your dress from your shoulders. Wherever his large, battle-worn hands traced over your body from head to toe in reverential worship as he laid you out on his bed. Wherever the solid breadth of his shoulders stood between your thighs as he parted them with promises of anything and everything the universe has to offer. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful… so soft and perfect. I want you to keep your arms up, sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Keep your hands up over your head?”

“I can’t touch you? I want to touch you.”

“All in good time, little one. Now be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

“Yes, s-sir.”

Spread over his luxurious sheets that smelled of him with your legs open and arms above your head, bare except for the soaked lace covering your center, you’re sure wherever heaven is, Boba Fett is there. Because heaven is only heaven if there’s hell to heat it. After kissing his way down your body inch by tender inch, he’s settled between your trembling thighs, his expression devout as sin as his gaze scrapes up your nearly naked body to find your hungry eyes. His tongue slips out from between his kiss-swollen lips and your stomach constricts almost painfully in anticipation, only for him to run it over his lips and retract it. 

A small whine sounds in the back of your throat and he grins, planting wet kisses everywhere but your center. You’re swimming in rapids of your desire, unable to gain a footing in the torrid wash of it. 

Boba chuckles deep and warm and you can almost feel the vibrations in your cunt. “Use your words, little one, tell me what you want… let me hear it and I promise I'll lick up that pussy so good.” His syrupy words are so hot and surgery they’re going to make you melt right through the mattress straight to flames below. 

You huff, throwing your head back and bunching the sheets between your fingers. “I thought this was supposed to be my reward.” You want it, you want him, and you know he’s got to be painfully hard by the way he’s grinding into the mattress. You’re wound up and impatient with want, chafing at the constraints he’s set. Why won’t he just do it already? 

Boba sinks his fingers deeper into your thighs, massaging the tension held there. “It is, princess, but you’re still fighting it. Let go.”

You huff again, unable to pinpoint what you’re doing wrong. “I am,” you insist, desperate distress running through your words, “I’m keeping my arms up and being polite and-”

“Shhh shhh,” he soothes, “I know, and you’re being so good for me.” He peppers little kisses across your thigh that make you tingle and sparkle. “But that’s not what I mean. You have to get out of that pretty head of yours.”

You groan in frustration—you don’t know what that means or how to do it. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you look down at the man of your wildest fantasies inches away from where you want him most; it takes every atom in your body to resist putting his mouth right where you want it so you can just forget about everything instead. Rule number two, respect myself… that means asking questions when I’m confused. 

“Can you tell me how to… you know… do that?” you ask haltingly, biting down on your lip to stem the tide of uncomfortable insecurity rising up within you. You’re not used to feeling unsure and you don’t want to disappoint him by not being able to do something as simple as “letting go.”

The smile that beams from his face dissipates your fog of doubt. “That’s my smart girl, following the rules so well,” he praises in his deep timbre, and you glow in the shine of his praise. As if he can read your mind, he adds gently, “Never feel ashamed to ask questions, princess, there’s no shame here. I like that you trust me to show you all these new things, and asking questions lets me know you’re minding the rules and listening to your body.”

Your shoulders hunch, your gaze dropping to your chest. “But don’t they kind of… ruin the moment?”

“Little one, the moment’s not worth it if you aren't enjoying yourself,” he answers gently.

Your head jerks up, your eyes scrabbling to find his. He’s so patient and safe it makes your heart feel impossibly full, so full it might even burst into stardust. You don’t catch your hands before they’re reaching for him, pulling his face to come to yours. Chuckling, he obliges you, shifting himself up the mattress so his lips can meet yours. Mid-kiss you realize your mistake and drop your hands back behind you, ducking your head. “Sorry,” you mumble against his lips, “Forgot my hands.” 

He smiles, placing a last kiss on your lips before pulling back to look at you. His dark eyes flick over you briefly, then a satisfied look comes across his face as if he’s come to a decision that pleases him. “I think I know something that might help.” He pushes up from the bed and pads across the room to his closet, stepping in and rustling around for a bit. A minute later, he emerges with something folded in his hands.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he beckons you over and you curl into his lap, once again content with his heat against your skin, even if it’s through his clothes. Boba opens his palms, revealing a length of buttery smooth, black silky fabric about two inches wide. You run the tips of your fingers over the luxe material, noting the way it feels like cool water under your touch, and he lets it pool in your hands for your further examination.

Snaking an arm around your waist, Boba pulls you tight against him, his other hand coming to rest just above your knee. “We can talk normally right now, princess, since we’re taking a break.” You hum an affirmative and he continues, “I think you’re having trouble because you’re fighting the physical feeling of letting go even if mentally you’ve decided that’s what you want. That can feel a little scary, yeah?” You bob your head in agreement where it rests on his shoulder. “And I'm thinking you always had to make sure your pleasure was also taken care of before. Does that sound right?”

You nod. While you had enjoyed the sex you’d had in the past—you only gave if you got—there was always the lingering possibility that you would be left unsatisfied if you didn’t maintain enough control to chase your own release.

A knowing grumble sounds in his throat. “I thought so. Doesn’t help you’re a stubborn little thing who likes to raise hell every step of the way, either,” he pokes, giving you a playful squeeze.

You giggle, twisting to press kisses on his jaw. “You like it.”

You can feel him smile at your assertion, a sound of agreement rumbling in his chest. “I want to take my time with you, little one, and I want you to be able to enjoy it as much as I do. Usually I would wait to introduce something like this until a little later since this is all new to you, but I think this,” he pauses, tapping a finger on the black satin, “will help.” 

“To get you out of your head, you need something to fight against and ground you, something that makes you realize you're safe but that there’s no escaping… that the only option is to let whatever is going to happen, happen. That’s what letting go is. I’ll decide what you feel, when you feel it, how… all you have to do is let it happen because I’m going to take care of you and I’m going to make sure you feel amazing. How’s that sound, pretty girl?” 

The image he paints in your mind has you squirming in his lap. It sounds fantastic, if only your brain could get the memo and relax so Boba could whisk you off to pleasures unknown. You tell him so, asking about the black fabric in your hands. A molten heat creeps down your spine at the thought of that silky smooth material circling around your limbs, holding you fast to his will; if you’re honest with yourself, you’re surprised by how turned on the thought of being bound by the professor makes you. 

A few minutes later, Boba is doing just as he described: looping the binding around your wrists with expert knots to the hidden clip on the headboard, carefully explaining how the way he’s tying you makes sure the knots can’t get too tight around your arms and hurt you. You’re giddy with excitement and it makes you want to wiggle and tease him while he works; he’s so close and you can see how hard he is through his pants. Your desire for him to know you’re listening and that you appreciate the care he’s taking with your comfort keeps you in check, however.

The more you think about his plan while he works—to tie your hands up over your head and have you keep your eyes closed while he takes what he wants from you with his tongue—the wetter and more impatient you get. You won’t be able to stop him from devouring you all tied up, you wouldn’t be able to wriggle free from his strong grip or even anticipate his next move with your eyes screwed shut because he’d stop if you opened your eyes. You’re going to be prey at the mercy of a predator who has every intention of eating you alive… and you have every intention of letting him do it.

“Are you ready, little one?” Boba asks from the end of the bed where he’s admiring his handiwork, his gaze lingering on the black bindings, your eyes, your tits. You pout when you realize he isn't exposing any more of himself, keeping his body hidden from you. Noting your displeasure, he cocks his head at you. “What’s that look for?”

“I want your clothes off,” you whine, hoping the pitiful pitch of your voice will convince him to strip down. You’ve been dreaming of what he looks underneath all those expensive clothes, how the roll of his impossibly broad shoulders would flex every muscle down his back in salacious exertion, or how his thick thighs would tense and shiver when you scrape your nails up them while you took him down your throat. 

He huffs in amusement, shaking his head. “I make those decisions, sweetheart.”

“Can I at least have your shirt off so I can feel that it’s you?” 

That catches him by surprise, his confident swagger slacking for a heartbeat before returning. “Will that make it easier for you or are you just being impatient?” he asks, his tone deliberate. “Remember to tell me the truth, that’s a rule.”

“Easier for me,” you answer honestly, “You make me feel safe and I want to be reminded that it’s you.” His eyes soften to something you’ve never seen on him before, something hidden in the abyss of him that’s seeing the light for the first time. It’s only a flicker of a thing, then it’s gone, but it makes your heart twinge. Maybe he needs me to care for him too, maybe this is how I do it. 

He swallows and nods. “Alright then, princess.” He makes quick work of the shell buttons and folds the shirt over the back of the chair next to his dresser. What’s revealed to you makes your insides clench and the room feel hot: bronze skin painted with silver scars and geometric tattoos that cover the thick muscles of his chest and broad shoulders, his slightly softer belly and wraps over the trunk of his torso. 

Your eyes drink him in, your mouth watering at the sight of this beautiful man. Quenching yourself on the vision of him, your gaze roves over every centimeter of skin he’s allowed you, from the crown of his head to the dusting of dark hair trailing tantalizingly down into his gray pants. Your hips roll forward just a bit, seeking friction, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Fuck he’s hot… I want to trace every tattoo on his body with my tongue until I have them committed to memory.

He flashes you a grin that’s all teeth, the easy confidence he feels in his own skin radiating off him like an ocean gale. “Like what you see, pretty girl?”

You bob your head up and down fervently, eager to demonstrate your awe for every piece of him he lets you have. “Yes, sir,” you add quickly, remembering your manners—you would be just as good to him as he is to you. 

Keeping the depths of his eyes locked on your face, he comes around the bed with the grace of a panther circling its next meal, and stops at your side. He tugs the restraint holding your hands up a final time, grunting his approval at its strength. “If you’re ready, close your eyes and tell me out loud, princess.”

You sigh in contentment: you’re finally getting what you want. You want to be good for him, you’d put up your fight and now you were ready for your reward. Your eyes slide shut and you tug just barely at your silky restraint; feeling the tightness of your bonds makes your thighs press together in anticipation. “I’m ready, sir.”

The bed dips as Boba moves to settle back in front of you and your thighs fall open in an offering of submission, eliciting a low groan from the professor. “This what you needed, princess?” he drawls, dragging kisses up the insides of your calves as his hands massage up your legs. “Someone to make you just lie there and take it?” He nips at the softer skin above your knee and a moan slips from your lips before you can stifle it, the raw dominance and masculinity of him dredging up something pliant and latent from the depths of your desire. 

A warm, hazy feeling begins to bloom in your belly, the heavy ambrosia of it spreading outwards into your limbs and weighing you into the downy mattress. As the sensation licks up your ribs and into your chest, Boba moves farther up your legs, planting flushed kisses up your thighs while his hands continue to rub away the tension lingering in your body. The golden wave fills your lungs and throat, but it doesn’t feel like drowning; rather, it’s like you’ve learned to breathe underwater in the sunny shallows of a peaceful reef, protected and safe. Exhaling the last hooked resistance from your chest, you allow yourself to slip under the dappled surface.

“That’s it, there you go, I’ve got you,” Boba praises softly into your skin when all your muscles go slack and loose under him. He begins surveying a map of your pleasure, dragging his lips over your heated skin to find your most tender points, testing and teasing your increasing sensitivity to his touch. He continues to avoid where you want him most, however.

Sucking in a deep breath, you squeeze your closed eyes tighter. “P-please,” you stutter, your appeal dripping from your lips with a whimper, “please.”

A rumble of gratitude sounds from the man below, his hands stroking your thighs reassuringly. “That’s my good girl, using her manners,” he coos, his warm breath fanning over the slick skin inches from his face. Nuzzling into the crease of your hip, he sucks his mark into the sensitive flesh before sanctifying his work with a graze of his lips as you whimper from his ministrations. “You’ve done so good for me, been so patient. Now open those beautiful eyes, princess,” he coaxes, pressing your hips flat with his open palms, “I want you to see how pretty your soaked pussy looks with my tongue in it.”

His words go straight to your clit and a moan filters through your chest—you can actually feel the fresh arousal coating your folds. Prying your eyes open, you blink his broad form into focus below you. Visually confirming he has your attention, Boba leans into your center just as promised and licks the most delicious, wet stripe up your sopping panties, his tongue flicking over your clit at the very end. Boba groans and mumbles curses into the tender skin of your thigh. “Fuck, you taste better than I ever could have imagined, sweetheart. Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”

“You… you thought about me?” you gasp around your pleasure, your nerves sparking as his rough fingertips come up to trace your nipples. The thought of him aching for you the same way you had for him makes your pulse throb in your core. His tweaks your nipples and you let out a rather undignified squeak that earns you a chuckle from the man below you. 

Looping his thumbs under the waistband of your lingerie, Boba pulls the fabric taunt, stretching it thin and guiding it slowly over your desperate clit to generate a tormenting amount of friction. “Every single day since you first opened that mouth of yours, pretty girl. Couldn’t get you out of my karking head. Wanted to taste you, smell you, feel you—it was torture.”

You moan, bucking your hips against the garment and pulling against your restraints to seek out more of him.

Seeing your enthusiastic reaction to his admission, Boba continues, his deep voice vibrating all the way down to your bones. “Didn’t help when you started laying in my office every day in all those little sundresses. Wanted to throw your legs over my shoulders and make you come all over my face every single time. But that's what you wanted, isn’t it? That’s why you wore them, hoping I’d ask for a taste, dirty girl.”

Fuck. You’re gushing like a goddamn waterfall and Boba hasn’t even really touched you yet. It’s so much and not enough, and you know his tongue in your pussy would be the answer to all your problems. “Please,” you try again, high and desperate, “I want your tongue.”

“Oh, I know you do, sweetheart,” he smolders, mocking and sympathy twisting together, “lift your hips.” You immediately obey and he slides your panties off, tossing them over his shoulder. He wastes no time settling back between your legs, wrapping his muscled arms around your thighs to hold them open. A jagged curse hisses from his lips when your glistening folds are finally fully revealed. “Prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen,” he breathes out, almost to himself, “been dreaming about this pussy and now it’s all karking mine.” 

Before his words even finish forming, he’s on you, groaning like a man starved as he licks into you with a branding tongue that has your eyes rolling back. It’s hot and wet and urgent, and primal need cries out from the innate, subconscious part of yourself: you want to please him to the core of your being. When the heavenly heat of his mouth breaks from your core, you choke on a sob of disappointment, tilting your face down at him. He looks almost as wrecked as you feel, and you clench around nothing at the prospect of you holding as much power over him as he does you.

“Look at me, princess,” he pants raggedly, his words charred over with desire, “I want you to look at me while I'm eating out your sweet little pussy.”

“Yes, sir!” You’re way past pride at this point; you’d hop on foot while turning in circles if it meant he’d put his tongue back on you.

He smirks and dives back in, licking up all the slick from your folds before kissing his way up to your clit. He groans as you shiver at the contact on your most sensitive part, his tongue coming back out to flutter over it… and then he sucks. Bright stars explode at the edges of your vision, and your back arches off the bed. The sound bursts forth from your lungs is one of pure, unbridled pleasure: nothing compares to this, nothing, not when it’s him, finally him. You’ve never felt this fucking good before and you never want to feel anything else again. Now that he’s got you on the tip of his tongue, you want to feel him everywhere. Kissing your lips, sucking on your breasts, throbbing inside you, everywhere.

You cry out in half-broken curses when he sucks your clit into his mouth again and shakes his head back and forth, the combination of sensations flooding your nerves with crackling snaps of pleasure. Your knees try to close around his head but the iron grip on your thighs doesn’t let you move an inch; you really are just going to have to lie there and take it. You yank against the ties holding your hands and a moan scrapes up your throat at the realization that you really won’t be able to get free, that his man is going to lick and slurp up your pussy and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a freedom unlike any you’ve ever known—and you’re going to revel in the glory of it.  

Boba must be able to feel your revelation somehow because he detaches from your pussy with a wet pop that smacks against your nerves. “That’s it, that’s my girl,” he coos, rubbing his palms up and down your thighs, “It’s so much better this way isn’t it? So much better when you let go and let me give you what you need. Now, I’m going to let go of this leg and you’re going to keep it open for me. I need to get you ready, little princess, stretch you out on my fingers so you’re nice and ready for my cock. Let me hear that you understand.”   

Fuck, if his dick’s like the rest of him I’m going to need it. You manage to voice your understanding with a shudder at the thought of just how full he could fill you.

Bringing his right hand up to your face, he traces the rough pad of his trigger finger across the seam of your lips. “Open,” he commands simply, “Get these nice and wet for me.” You obey and he slides his middle two fingers into your waiting mouth with a groan; you delight in the task, sucking and licking at the thick fingers crowding your mouth, much to Boba’s relish. “So eager, I like that, princess. That why you run that brat mouth all the time? You want me to stick something in it?”

You just grin around his fingers in response, then sink your mouth all the way down to their base as you blink big blowjob eyes down at him. Boba hisses, his hips jerking into the bed beneath him but he recovers quickly, popping his appendages from your lips. “Watch it, don’t get in trouble.”

“I told you, sir, I like trouble,” you giggle, biting your lip as you smirk down at him. Holding your gaze, he sticks out his tongue and rests the flat of it against your swollen clit, and the rest of your thoughts fizzle out into sparkling dots of pleasure with a gasp.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s what I thought,” he hums against you, tracing his slicked middle finger along your entrance, “If you want to talk so much, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me why I should let you fuck my fingers.” He notches his digit at your dripping opening, setting you aflame with fresh desire. “Go ahead then, let me hear it.”

Now that your earlier unease has subsided, you can't help but seize the opportunity to snark back at him. “Because if you don’t, you can’t put your dick in me,” you answer smugly, shimmying your hips in front of his face. 

Boba’s eyes darken with a dangerous tint, his brow arching at your bold response. “Better try again or you’ll get nothing, brat.”

His patience is stretched as thin as yours now and you want nothing more than to make him snap first. You snort, cocking your head to the side. “Oh, I think you want this pussy too bad to give me nothing, sir.”

Retracting from your core, Boba lifts himself off of you to sit up on his haunches. “Well,” he sighs dramatically, puffing out his cheeks and wiping the slick off his chin with the back of his hand, “since you don’t want to listen, you won’t get your reward. It’s a real shame too, princess, you were being so good earlier. Guess I’ll have to send you home with nothing but a sore ass to show for it.” 

He shifts like he's about to get off the bed and you snap against your restraints in sudden panic: shitshitshit. If you don’t have him guts-deep tonight you’re not going to survive. “Wait, no, please! I’ll be good, I swear, I didn’t mean it before, please! Let me try again!” you plead, instant regret sending pangs of dread up your spine. 

Tutting, he shakes his head. “I already let you try a second time and you only acted worse. What’s there to make me think a third time will be any better, hmm?” 

The way his dark eyes are glittering with everything but mercy only turns you on more, dread coiling alongside the desire in your belly. “Third time’s the charm?” you squeak out, flashing him your most sincere smile and batting your lashes. You can do this, you tell yourself, you can flirt your way out of just about anything… right?

Boba barks out a sharp laugh, tossing his head back in amusement. “Alright then, little brat, let’s hear it.” He folds his thick arms over his chest expectantly, and you have force your brain to actually think instead of admiring the way his biceps looked pressed firm or the way his tattoos gleam in the low light.

Pressing your lips together, swallow against the rising tide of heat flooding up from your core. Rather than risk playing your cards wrong, you offer him the unadulterated truth. “I just want you so kriffing bad it makes me forget myself, I’m sorry,” you simper, blinking up at him, “Please fuck me open with your fingers, my pussy needs you, I need you, please don’t leave me like this. I’ll be so so good and take everything you give me. I want to be good for you, I… I just can’t help it sometimes.” Your eyes drop and your teeth worry at your lip; you wish you could reach out and touch him, to trace your intentions into his skin and over his scars with tender care.

“Aw, little princess, you can be so sweet when you want to, can’t you?”

You peek up at him through your lashes. He’s smiling, smug and satisfied, but his brown eyes betray the genuine warmth to his sentiment. You nod quickly, sticking out your bottom lip. Boba dips down, kissing you and nipping at it, while his fingers ghost down your ribs to slip over your stomach. Your breath hitches as he drags them through the mess of slick between your thighs, coating his fingers in your arousal, and you arch up into him as far as you can with the silky bindings around your wrists. 

Dragging his fingers lazily over your clit with slow friction, Boba licks his way back down your body to retake his place between your thighs where he tosses one of your legs over his strong shoulder in a move that has you clenching around nothing. You’re already trembling from the tight tension winding up in your lower half and the dark look in his eye as he presses his thumb against your apex and begins to rub at a delicious pace. The sensuous waves of your long awaited pleasure roll up your body, flooding your nerves with rosy heat and pulling a high whine from your throat. 

Boba grunts approvingly, throwing a heavy arm over your hips to keep you from bucking out of his grasp. “Feel good, sweetheart? Yeah, I know it does. Look at you, making a mess of my sheets. I bet I could make you come just like this, just by rubbing that cute little clit of yours for a little longer. Mmm, maybe some other time, because now I gotta get that tight cunt ready for me.”

“Please,” you gasp, your brain already muddled with hazy pleasure, “please, I want to feel you… feel all of you.” The better you feel, the greater your ache for him grows; you need him inside you, you need your body to give him the revelry you knew it could bring him. You thirst, crave, hunger to be the source of his joy and gratification, to be the reason he lets go and comes apart, to be his blinding peace in a dark universe.

“Mmm such good manners. Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you, little one, gonna give you just what you need.” His thumb is replaced by his warm tongue flicking over that bundle of nerves with maddening precision, its rough texture making the bubbling heat in your core spike. The babble of pleasure that streams from your lips chokes off when two of his thick fingers slide effortlessly into you with a lewd squelch. “Oh, princess,” he groans into you, his hips thrusting into the mattress, “you’re-fuck-you’re perfect here, too.”

He’s struck a seam of desire so deep in your stratum you almost crack open from the feeling of his calloused fingers and voice alone. “Fuuuuck, please, please, I want your cock inside of me,” you beg, shameless and searing, your hips rolling down to take more of him. Boba doesn’t respond, he just begins pumping his fingers, curling and scissoring them inside you while he laps at your clit with moans of delight. Pent up and overwhelmingly turned on, you’re not far from your release when he brushes against that spot tucked away in your core.

Eruptions of light score the backs of your eyes and pure energy arches your spine. “Fuck, yes! Right there, right fucking there,” you cry out, grinding your shaking hips down onto him. Your muscles burn with exertion as you fight against the satin material snaked around your arms, the feeling fueling the explosion of pleasure building inside you at a frightening pace. This man is going to be your marvelous undoing.

“Right here?” he grunts against you, the wrecked bass of his voice vibrating though your burning core, “This gonna make you come, princess? This gonna make you soak my fingers and slick up my face?” He’s hooked himself against that devastating spot inside your cunt and it’s driving nearly insane as you try and wring your next words out.

The words are choked and strained as all your muscles twist dizzyingly tight around the intensity of your impending release. “Yes, fuck yes, yes!” Your head is thrown back between your shoulders and you’re shamelessly riding his tongue, taking every ounce of pleasure he gives you. Streaks of stars singe the backs of your eyelids as you shoot higher and higher into the atmosphere of your ecstasy—much closer and you’ll be consumed by the heat of his white-hot sun. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-”

“Fuck, come for me, ner cyare, come for me and let me hear how beautiful you fucking sound when coming on my tongue,” he moans in a dripping, heady voice. He draws your clit back between his lips and flicks his tongue over it through the heavenly suction.

Everything shatters and you scream as the now unbearable heat of your orgasm pours down your throat, shorting out your nerves, and liquefying your consciousness into a pool of Boba Fett’s making. You’re beautifully ruined and you’re finally his, divine and free. 

He rides you through your high, coaxing every last particle of pleasure from your molten heat, curses and praises swirling together in his arousal-roughened timbre. In the gossamer aftermath of your climax, you hazily watch him suck your shining release from his fingers like it's a rare nectar to be savored. The hum of his words might be telling you so but they’re so far away from your understanding, you’ll never know, especially when he begins hurriedly stripping off the remainder of his clothes. 

His gray slacks reveal muscular thighs and powerful hips, and you long to drag your tongue down the “V” line of his abdomen and nip at his hip bones. When his hand strokes over the hard bulge hidden by his underwear, you moan and weakly pull against your ties—you want to be doing that for him.

“Something the matter, princess?” he asks, his voice just barely wavering with his restraint as he continues to lazily palm himself to the sight of your open thighs coated in your glistening orgasm.

“Let me-let me taste you, sir, please,” you plead, your voice wrought with desire, “Let me show just how grateful and sweet I can be.” Your mouth waters and you crave the weight of him on your tongue, the pressure on your throat, his taste lingering on your lips.  

“As much as I want to let you choke on my cock, pretty girl, the first thing I want to feel is that tight pussy swallowing me. Can’t wait anymore,” he rasps, a hint of unfamiliar desperation darkening his words. “You wanna be untied or you want to stay up, sweetheart? Talk to me.”

He’s standing next to the bed looking like sin itself and you don’t hesitate to give him your answer. “Untied, wanna touch you, wanna hold you, please Boba.”

The sweet strain of your voice saying his name has him sucking in a sharp breath as he bends over your bound body. “Whatever you want, princess, I’ll give you whatever you want,” he promises with a moan into the sweat-slicked skin of your throat as his fingers deftly untie the silk binding your wrists without the need for his eyes. 

As soon as you're free, you jump to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close but he catches your elbows above your head. You whine, struggling weakly in his firm grasp to feel the sweet relief of his skin on yours. You need him on you more than you need to breathe.

“Easy, little one, you’re going to hurt yourself like that. Be easy, I’m not going anywhere,” his stormful voice soothes. He sets his mouth over yours, kissing you deep as the ocean and just as powerful, his strong hands rubbing the stiffness from your joints gently. You sigh at his touch, dissolving like sparkling sea foam on his sheltered shores. “That’s it, there you go. I’m so sorry, babygirl, I should’ve told you that you have be slow coming out of restraints. You okay?”

“‘m okay, ‘s alright,” you slur, still dazed and happy from the balm of his touch. His resulting frown is like a cloud blocking the sun of him from shining down on you, and you blink his face into focus to see what’s depriving you.

“No, it’s not, it’s my job to take care of you, make sure you're only hurt in the ways you want to be.” He eases your arms down to lay across your chest and places a light kiss on the tip of your nose. “The rules apply to me, too, little one.”

If he’s not careful, he really is going to make my heart burst. Wiggling your eyebrows up at him from where you’re sprawled on his bed, you give him a sly grin. “You want me to punish you for breaking the rules?”

He snorts, a smirk cracking through the downturn of his mouth. “Do you want to?”

You scrunch up your lips and roll your eyes up in exaggerated consideration before proclaiming, “For you penance, professor, you must bring me some water and then fuck me silly.”

The most divine laugh spills from his lips, wide and resonant. “As you wish, princess.” He disappears towards the bathroom and you push yourself up the mattress to prop yourself up on his plush pillows. He returns a minute later with a glass of cool water and some ibuprofen. “Go ahead and take these so you’re not as sore later,” he offers, wrapping your waiting fingers around the cup. 

You offer him a grateful smile and tip back the pills with the water in a few greedy gulps. Thirst slaked and immediate needs met, your eyes wander back over to the man next to you, scouring every inch of him in open hunger. The topography of his scars and the patterns of his tattoos tell a story that is so uniquely him, and you’re dying to learn every word of it, commit it to memory with your hands and mouth. The notion that you even get to be a mere sentence in his tale is as baffling as it is exhilarating. 

“Boba…” His name falls from your lips that still taste of him, of relentless strength and innate power. You want him, all of him. You want to hear his groans and feel the drag of him in your most sensitive spots, you want to be his pleasure and his solace.

He’s on you in an instant, finally allowing the fates to bring you together fully and completely. He takes and you let him, you arch into his touch and pant his name, tasting and kissing him like he’s something to be worshiped, like that thing isn’t already you. It’s hopeless exuberance and fervent longing, it’s things hoped for and the universe’s rare grace. It’s everything, it’s history, it’s life’s meaning. It’s him.

You want him like a fire needs fuel or the ocean needs the moon, terribly and crucially. He’s the immovable object that grounds your unstoppable force. You crave the balance he brings to your scales, you need him. He’s hot and heavy over you, melding himself into you with rolling hips and possessive hands, molding you to the shape of him. “Boba.” You utter his name like the prayer it is. “Please.”

“I know, sweet girl, I know.” He cups your jaw in the hollow of his hand, running his other down your thigh to hook it over his hip. “I’m going to give it all to you, princess, I’m going to give you everything.” He lines himself up with your dripping, yearning heat and finally sinks into the space he was always meant to fill.

A curse is just a blessing sent to the devil, and the way Boba makes you feel like the very essence of divine femininity has you singing hell’s praises. The way the thickness of him stretches you out has to be a sin for the way it makes you feel so unbelievably full and warm and his. The first thrust of his hips has your eyes rolling back and your nails scratching down his back in pure ecstasy.

“Kark, princess, shit. Knew you would feel amazing,” Boba grits out through bared teeth, his fingers pressing their mark into your skin, “Osik, so tight and wet, so perfect just for me. Shoulda bent you over your desk that very first day, I know you would’ve let me, my dirty little girl. Should’ve never left without filling up that sweet cunt.” Boba apparently can’t shut up now that he’s got you and it’s going straight to your throbbing clit. His hips snap against your own and you both moan into each other’s open mouth when he’s fully seated in your velvet heat. 

“Please, more,” you plead, “please give me more, sir. I’m all yours.” You want to feel him for weeks.

Shuddering, Boba grinds himself impossibly deeper into you. “Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, and I’ll-fuck-I’ll give you anything you fucking want.”

A tremor of blistering heat rakes over you, and you surge forward and take his lips, biting down on the plush of his lower lip. “Do it, give it to me, give me everything, I want you, please, sir.”

Boba groans and sets a driving, urgent pace that you just know neither of you are going to last with. “I’ve waited so long for this, dreamed about making you come apart on my cock. Kark, I want to take my time with you, princess, but the way your tight little pussy is squeezing me I don’t think I’m going to last long. You feel so good, taste like heaven, and sound so sweet, y-you’re perfect. You’re worth every goddamn minute I spent waiting to find you,” he pants, his breath haphazard as his thrusts snap harder and deeper as if he could drill his words into your cunt, “shit-I’m going to fuck you just like you deserve, princess, fuck you so good you can never forget how much you mean to me, my sweet, precious girl.”

You can see the nebula of your release in the deep space of his eyes, each drag of his cock against your pulsing walls ratcheting you further into the desire-dark galaxy of him. His hand brushes over the swell of your belly to find your clit and he rubs sloppy circles that have you making sounds you’ve never made before. "Oh princess, sweetheart, pretty baby… fuck, do you know how good you feel? Even better than all the heavens… you're so fucking perfect and your sweet little cunt is strangling me. I'm gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you so you feel me for kriffing days, fuck, gonna…"

You throw an arm around his neck and crash his lips into yours. His sweat drips from his collarbone to trickle down the valley of your breasts, the feather light sensation so erotic that you almost come again from that alone. "Shit, Boba, you’re so fucking good-so fucking good to me, best I’ve ever had, all I ever want. Please, please don’t stop, I want all of you inside of me, make me yours, fuck, I love you, d-don’t stop!”

“Osik, ner cyare, it’s all yours, you’re all mine, only, all…” Boba breaks off with a snarl, lacing his fingers in yours with one hand and slamming it above you while his other slides under your neck to yank your head back by your hair. You contort in primal pleasure and the new angle has him pounding against that universe-shattering spot. “Come on, come on, one more time for me sweetheart, I know you have it in you, let me feel that perfect pussy come on my cock o-one more time and I swear I’ll fill you up so full,” he growls into your exposed throat before latching onto your pulse point and sinking in his teeth to mark you as his alone. 

You cry out into the white light exploding around you, a million stars imploding into a sparkling dust that filters through your lungs and into your blood. Cataclysmic heat fills your insides a moment later and you’re suddenly whole for the first time in your entire existence, the laws of your universe finally coming together into one unified equation. You were, you are, you became, you will, all at once and all forever.  

You’re softly curled on top of Boba with one arm behind his neck and the other folded across his broad chest, your fingers stroking patterns on his shoulder with your leg slung over his thigh. It’s utter bliss, you never want to move again. Just lie on his perfect, warm chest and be in faultless paradise forever, be painted into one of those masterpieces that hang in a museum—sublime and beautiful for all time, admired and envied by those who have to carry on living. If only.

You hear your name rumbling in the ribs underneath you and you hum an acknowledgement.

“You with me, babygirl?” His gorgeous voice sounds like it’s far away even though it’s impossibly close. You don’t know what that means so shake your head and bury your face deeper into him. You’re safe here so that’s where you’ll stay, locked in golden amber, thick and precious.

Eventually, however, the time passes and you become flesh and blood again, alive and mortal. You find it’s not so bad though, not when Boba is there waiting for you. You turn your face to press your lips into the marred skin of his sternum, planting kisses over each divot and mark there before shifting so you can blink up at him happily. “Hey,” you mumble lazily, a smile unfurling on your lips. Surely, it doesn’t get better than this.

“Hey,” he murmurs with a smile like the golden sun, the corners of his eyes turning up. “How’re you, my pretty girl?”

There’s a dull, pleasant ache between your thighs. “Mmm… good, ‘s happy,” you sigh contentedly, pressing deeper into his warmth. “You?”

Boba shifts up the bed so he’s propped up on the pillows, adjusting you back over him with his hand splayed across your lower back. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Never been better, princess.”  

Peeking up, you trace a finger tip over the deep crease between his eyebrows. “What’s worrying you then?”

He takes your hand in his own and lowers it to give a light kiss. “Nothing, little one.”

You prop up on your elbow and fix him with a stern look. “I thought we only gave and took honesty when we’re like this.”

He lets out a groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” He falls silent and you can tell he’s thinking, so you leave him be, patiently resting your head on his shoulder to wait. After a quiet couple of minutes, he adjusts his position slightly and you tell he’s ready. Taking your hand in his, Boba brushes his thumb over the thin skin of the inside of your wrist and begins in a tone less confident than his usual. “I… I’ve never been much good at this part of things, the talking. Always been easier to just do rather than to figure out the words to say.”

You make a warm sound of encouragement and settle deeper into him to assure him that you’re not going anywhere, that you’re listening. With your ear pressed against him, you can hear the heavy beat of his heart and deep breath he takes in before continuing. “Did you mean what you said?”

You frown, not catching his meaning. “When I said what?”

“It’s fine if you didn't… if it was just in the heat of the moment.”

You sit up so you can look him in the eye, anxiety prickling in your stomach. “Said what, Boba?” Cold dread slides down the nape of your neck. Please don’t let this be ruined, please don’t take him away from me.

He goes silent, his eyes searching for something in your own. “Never mind, it’s not important,” he finally mutters. “Forget I said anything.”

Sitting all the way up, you cross your arms over your breasts. “Absolutely kriffing not. You better tell me or I’ll never let you see me naked ever again,” you threaten, setting your jaw.

“Come on, princess,” he tries, ducking his head for a kiss; you turn your chin up so his lips can’t reach yours. A heavy sigh rattles from his chest and his brown eyes look up to the ceiling as if the answer to his problem would be scrawled across it. Finding nothing, he drops his gaze, not meeting your eyes. “Did you mean it when you said that you… love me?” 

Frayed electricity floods your brain, your blood running horribly cold. Had you said that? When? Is he upset? Have you ruined everything? The memory of babbled words swells up in a sudden, terrifying wave: “I want you to make me all yours, fuck, I love you, don’t stop!”

You can never keep your big mouth shut can you? you scold yourself, Now you’ve gone and told his perfect man that you love him after one month of knowing him. Kark you’re stupid. There’s no use in denying that you said it, he clearly knows you did. Least he’s gentleman enough to not toss you out of his house immediately, allowing you to get your wits back about you after getting the best dick of your entire life. And, you guess, the last time in your entire life.

The earlier stubborn set to your shoulders droops to a sullen slope. You clear your throat, your eyes trying to find anywhere to look but at him. “I, um, I…” you trail off. Now you’re the one who has to be honest—you don’t think you could lie to him, not like this. “I did mean it… I do mean it. I shouldn’t have said it, though, I know it’s weird and I understand if you want me to leave and we go our separate ways after this.” You finally settle on a point on the other side of the room to stare at while you wait for his inevitable rejection. When it begins to bounce around in your vision, you notice that Boba is shaking underneath you. Your eyes fly to his face.

“Oh, little princess, what am I going to do with you?” he laughs, the sound not sharp or mean as you expected, but sunny and joyful, his expression elated. Cupping your face in his large hands, he brings his lips to yours, and you can feel his smile.

Is he… does he? 

Pulling you back just enough to see your face, Boba brushes his thumbs across your cheekbones affectionately, his brown eyes the softest they’ve ever been. “You really are something else. Where have you been all my life?”

“Wondering when the hell you’re going to tell me what’s going on,” you huff, staving off the fretful waver in your voice. Your heart is pounding so hard in your ribs you think they might bruise, and you can scarcely breathe with the hope that your feelings are reciprocated. 

He says your name in that thalassic voice of his, chucking up your chin with two fingers. “Say it again first so I know I’m not dreaming.”

Fortune favors the bold, and so does he. Looking him dead in the eye, you let go one more time for him. “I love you, Boba Fett, I really do. Four karking weeks in or not.”

He lays his warm palm on the back of your neck, guiding you forward so he can rest his forehead against yours. “I’m glad you said it, cyar’ika, because I… I love you, too.”

If he wanted to say anything else, it’s lost to the ages because you’re kissing him and you don’t intend to stop any time soon.

Mando'a translations

ner cyare - my beloved, love

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

cyar’ika - sweetheart, a diminutive of cyare

Part I — Part II — Part IV Coming May 26!

[crankyphlebotomist]

Tattooed!boba? Are you kidding me?! 😍😍😍

I loooooove the way you write, and when they just get diarrhea of the mouth when they’re in the moment is just *chef’s kiss* 😚🤌

[daimyosprincess]

EX LIBRIS

PART II: INTRODUCTION

—Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—Series Rating: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—Part Summary: Professor Fett helps you learn a few new things about yourself through some old-school discipline.

—Word Count: 7.9k

—Tags & Warnings: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, age gap (reader is mid-twenties, Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, (gratuitous) use of petnames, making out, dirty talk, reader is introduced to dom/sub power dynamics, bdsm elements, soft!dom Boba, reader is a BRAT (and I love her), some self-discovery, some pinches of soft Boba for good measure, spanking

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged!

—Author's Notes: Ok so this ended up being wayyyy longer than I thought so I broke up this scene into two parts (don't be mad at me 😭). Also I like to think that life has been a little bit kinder to Professor Boba and thus he's a little softer around the edges when it comes to expressing emotion.

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Part I — Part III Coming May 19!

The two of you don't even make it through his door before you're on each other like a couple of teenagers, groping and gasping, grabbing whatever parts of the other you can get your hands on. Your purse and his keys are flung carelessly to the side—anything that wasn't the warmth of his or your body entirely unimportant. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, his breath hot and seductive against your heated skin, “this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it, princess?” The raw, molten want makes Boba’s voice even deeper—its rumble shakes your very core and it makes you gush as its ridges ripple over you. Bunching the slick material of your dress in his hands, Boba pulls the garment over your hips so you can straddle him properly when the pair of you collapse onto the couch.

Now freed to follow your desire, you slot your knees around his hips, a smart-mouthed reply ready on your lips. Before it can make it to his ears, however, Boba grinds his impossibly hard bulge into your aching center, pulling you against him roughly. Electric pleasure skitters up your nerves and he feels so damn good pressed tight between your thighs. All those nights you dreamed of this, all those self-indulgent daydreams, couldn’t come close to the tectonic gratification of Boba sliding against your throbbing cunt. 

The mewl that tumbles from your lips when he ruts into you again is positively pathetic, the sound of your desperation on full display despite your pretense of self-control. Your cheeks and ears burn with embarrassment, and you try to hide in the crook of his neck to pull yourself together—you don’t want to give him the upper hand, not just yet; you’ve still got some fight in you and you want him to earn it. His body under yours is more than you could ever imagine and still woefully not enough, you want him, you need him in the way a drowning man needs air. The struggle to get it would make your reward all the sweeter.

A laugh rumbles dark and heavy from the depths of his broad chest. “Don’t hide now, little princess, not when you were so eager just a few moments ago.” One of his large hands leaves your hips and skims up your side to cup your jaw, angling your face to back up to his. The hungry look in his umber eyes recalls images of gnashing teeth and hard-bitten pleasure, of sin itself in all its tantalizing glory.

You do your best to glare at the handsome man before you, but you know the battle is already lost, the cracks of your resolve echoing in your ears. “Wasn’t hiding,” you insist, your eyes rolling back behind fluttering lashes when the seam of his pants scraps along your center with luscious friction. Your hands slide up his chest to latch on to his lapels in an attempt to ground yourself against the unrelenting tide of him.

“No need to lie, not when I can feel that needy little pus-”

Your courage rallies at his taunting and you yank him forward by his collar to crash your lips into his, nipping at his lower lip in defiance. “You sure do like to talk,” you pant between the hot press of his mouth, “must be why you became a professor.”

Boba drops his hand down to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat and squeezing. You squeal, your hips grinding down on his lap on their own accord. Fuck, I want him to do that while he’s balls deep in my guts. His large hand wrapped around your airway sets off an urgent, primal need that has been locked away in the mantle of your being, hidden and unanswered. It’s going to burn you alive, char you over until you’re nothing but a pile of ashes; it’s terrifying and exhilarating. Boba Fett is the answer to a question you didn’t even know you had, and by the fire in eyes and the set of his jaw he knows it.    

“You talk to everybody that way?” he grunts, tutting as he releases the pressure on your throat to just firm enough to be a reminder of its presence. The words stick to your tongue, so you answer with a disparaging expression that makes his eyes flash and your heart race. “Looks like you’re going to have to learn some manners then, little one, because I am not everyone.”

The obsidian gravel in his tone is tearing your sanity to shreds and by all the gods in the heavens you can’t find it in yourself to care—being whole never felt as good as this. Boba tugs you towards him by your neck, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But that’s what you like, isn’t it?” he taunts, pure confidence dripping thick from his words, “You want someone who knows just what to do with a mouthy little brat like you, don’t you?”

The magma of his words melts your bones. Your composure is a shard away from shattering under the enormous pressure of your desire for everything Boba Fett has to offer. All you have to do is throw the final stone. “And I suppose you’re just the one to teach me some, then?” you retort with all the derision you can pull together.

“Oh, little princess,” he growls, deep and throaty, the vibrations of his desire magnifying your own, “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” He sears his assurance into your very soul with a white-hot kiss that’s all sharp teeth and fire, leaving you nothing more than a molten, gasping thing when he pulls back. “And you’re going to beg me to do it.”

You moan a curse, the sound long and heady. The rush of sensation, pleasure, anticipation, and pure carnal hunger fills your lungs, displacing any oxygen left in your chest. Rather than feeling fear, however, all that burns through you is craving, a perverse longing for predatory violence. You cant your hips over his straining erection like a creature in heat, chasing the relief that only he could ever provide.

As soon as the coil of pleasure in your belly begins to splinter, Boba tightens his fingers around your throat and presses you still against him. You writhe in his grasp, desperate for more friction and more of him. Blood is in the water and it’s overwhelming everything else in you.

“Easy now, you’ll get what’s coming to you, don’t worry, princess,” he assures calmly. “Now I’m going to let you go and you’re going to sit still.” There’s not even an inch of space left for disobedience in his tone. He releases your throat, massaging the delicate skin lightly before removing his hand completely to fall back to your hip.

It takes all your willpower not to wriggle and grind your soaked panties on his crotch. Biting down hard on your bottom lip, you suck in a deep breath to try and settle your screaming nerves, your eyes sliding shut. Rather than fighting him for control, you’re fighting yourself—and you don’t have much left in you.

Boba’s thumbs rub soothing circles into the softness of your sides. “There you go, that’s a good girl,” he coos in his smoldering timbre, a smile dancing on his words.

A bolt of pure lightning strikes down your spine straight to your slick core, splitting you in half and fusing you back together ragged and sharp all over again. Good girl good girl good girl. You’re on his lips in an instant, moaning and fervid. Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, I’ve never wanted anything so bad, I’ve never been this turned on in my whole fucking life-

When Boba tears you away from his lips with a hand around the back of your neck, you whine high and pitchy at being denied once more. “Hush,” he orders sternly, his handsome bronze features lined with seriousness. “Behave or this ends now.” 

The heat of the electricity pumping in your veins runs cold and you freeze, staring at Boba with wide, anxious eyes—you might just die if this stops. And dying without knowing him and what all this man is promising you is a fate even worse than death, so you do your best to swallow back the desperation in your gut.

“You going to be good?”

You nod fervently, eager to show your remorse so he doesn’t completely deny you. How in the hell is he keeping it together? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man with a harder cock in my life.

“Answer me,” he prompts, then adds more gently when your brows crease in confusion, “Use your words, little one.”

“Y-yes.” Your voice comes out tentative but sure. “I promise I’ll behave.” 

Who is this and what have they done with the girl who thought you were? Since when were you one to promise a man such a thing? And since when did you want to? Boba was right about one thing: he is certainly not like everyone else. If anyone else asked such a thing of you, even called you a single one of the little names he did, you would bite their head off. You never were one for bossy men in the bedroom—or life, for that matter—so why are you positively aching for it now?

“Good.” Boba rubs the back of your neck with a warm hand. “Good behavior gets rewarded,” he instructs, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. You do your best to stay still in his lap. “Tell me, princess, have you ever done something like this before? Let somebody else be in control?”

“Why, what does it matter to you?” You prickle at the thought that he would care about such a thing. 

“Easy,” he repeats patiently, “I’m asking because we need to make sure we’re both comfortable and on the same page if that’s what you want.”

Oh. That’s not what you were expecting. “Oh, um, no, not really. I’ve only really had, you know… regular sex?” You bat back the anxiety of disappointing him that gnaws at your ribs.

Boba hands settle at the small of your back, his calloused fingertips brushing light shapes over your satin dress. “So what makes you want something else with me?”

“You,” you blurt out before shame can stop you, only to feel the heat rising up your neck a second later. Scrunching your nose, you wince at your answer. 

Boba’s eyes sparkle with mirth, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that staves off some of your embarrassment. “Don’t be ashamed, little one, honesty is vital. What about me?”

Chewing your lip, you consider his question, fiddling with one of the shiny buttons of his dress shirt. “I don’t know… no one has ever made me feel this way. I didn’t know I could feel this way.” Boba doesn’t rush you, his fingers continuing their soothing designs. “I never thought I would want a man to tell me what to do or treat me like… like what you’re saying. But ever since I met you, you’re all I want… you make me think and want all these crazy things…” The burning desire in your belly has quelled to embers, but they still burn hot.

Peeking through your lashes at him, you turn the question around. “Do you want… what do you feel about me?” Obviously, you both want to fuck each other’s brains out—there’s no doubt in your mind about that—but Boba’s query has you wondering about his own feelings now.

Reaching up slowly, Boba brushes a scarred knuckle over your cheek to under your chin, holding you in place while he studies you. The sudden softness amongst his thunderous desire and being so plainly seen is a little unnerving, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. 

“You've got more nerve and a bigger mouth than any person I’ve met. You push buttons just to see what happens and you’ve got a fire in you that can't be put out. You’re stubborn and confident and have a wit that can cut a man to pieces,” he lists out. 

You gulp, dropping your gaze, unsure of what direction this is going to take. Boba swipes the pad of this thumb over the petal of your lip and you flick your eyes back up to his. They’re warm and excited, making you brighten. “You’re everything I crave, princess, and it all drives me fucking crazy.”

A warmth—a different, happy warmth—glows in your chest. You’re sure you have a big dopey smile stretched across your face but you couldn’t care less. Boba wants me just as much as I want him and he likes me. “I have that effect on people,” you giggle, nipping at his thumb below your lip playfully.

Boba arches a meaningful brow—behave—but the smile stays on his lips. “I bet that’s why you want someone to put you in your place so bad, isn’t it, little one?” He rolls his hips up into you, stealing all your focus with the promise of pleasure. “You’ve never had someone who could reign you in and give you what you really want, have you?”

You bite down around the moan bubbling up from your chest, clawing your way back to controlled composure, Boba’s efforts to the contrary be damned. Hell, how does he have such an effect on me?

“And just what exactly do I want so bad, hmm? Since you apparently have me so figured out,” you fire back, eyeing him up and down. All his talk is fanning the coals glowing in your core, making it harder and harder to stay still.

Boba leans back into the cushions, shifting his hips forward and bringing you with him by the hand splayed across the small of your back. You catch yourself with your palms pressed into the thick muscle of his chest, the heat of him sinking through the crisp material of his shirt into your waiting skin. 

“What you want,” he begins, his voice low and certain and his eyes dancing with dark fire, “is someone to take charge. Someone to make the rules and punish you when you break them, and reward you when you're good. Someone you can trust to shut that smart mouth up when no one else can.”

His thumb drags down your bottom lip and you clench to keep whimpering, your mind scrabbling for the last dregs of control as simmering arousal begins to pool hot and torrid in your belly. “Someone who knows your body better than even you do, someone to explore the limits and boundaries of your pleasure. Someone to take care of you, treat you like you deserve, worship that gorgeous body and send you back out into the world with more than just a memory of who that pussy belongs to.”

Boba leans into your neck, tilting his lips up to your ear and you tremble when the warm puff of his breath hits your damp skin. “But most of all, princess,” he whispers, a glinting lilt to his syllables, “you want someone who can make you beg for it.”

You’re unable to stifle the moan that tears from your chest this time, it scrapes up your throat and hangs heavy in the heated air between you. Your nails dig into his shirt’s fabric and you pitch into him, caught in the magnetic field of his words and promises. “Please, Boba,” you gasp, desire swelling in your throat, “please can I kiss you? I want-want to kiss you… please!” 

Your words shake, quivering with the last of your resolve—you want this, you want everything he said so fucking much and he knew it before even you did. Boba Fett did, in fact, know exactly what you want and it’s going to be the end of you.

“Look at my smart girl already learning some manners,” he praises, an air of teasing enveloping his statement. He feathers light kisses down your jaw and up to your lips, pressing a final kiss there before pulling back. Your lips follow his and he smirks at your neediness, clearly pleased with his effect on you. 

Lava creeps through your veins, melting you into the mold you never knew you wanted so desperately to fill. You’re burning to death in your own skin and you can’t wait for the sweet release of the reaper if it means he’ll give you everything he said.

“Let me hear you say it, little one, tell me what you want and it’s yours,” he prompts softly, his fingers tracing the soft outline of your clavicle.

The last of the fight bleeds from your body, sealing your demise—the old you is now dead and buried. The new you forms itself from the minerals of your bones, the iron in the soil, and the heat of his burning sun. Your forehead falls against his and your hips bump together, making you both shiver into one another.

“I want it, Boba,” you breathe into him, “Want everything you said, want it all so fucking much. Want you to show me. Want to be all yours.” The simple act of admission unlocks the cage you weren’t aware you were trapped in—all the choppy energy roiling inside you finally finding an outlet in Boba’s strong, able hands. 

His lips find yours this time, avid and keen on stealing the little air left in your heaving chest. You cross your wrists behind his neck, pressing every inch of you into every inch of him in an offering of desire. You confessed your sin and you’re ready to be blessed with his atonement.   

“It’s all yours,” he promises in urgent honesty against your lips, “I’m all yours, princess.”

You kiss in a hazy bliss for who knows how long, relishing in the confirmation of shared attraction and devotion, affirmations sealed into skin with the press of a lover’s lips. When the rhythm of your hips starts to speed up once again, Boba breaks away, much to your dismay. He’s set on ruining all my fun, you gripe internally, knowing that complaining aloud wouldn’t do any good on the man underneath you. The concentration set in his brow gives you some solace, however; you can see the restraint cording the muscles in his neck. 

“We need to set some rules first, princess, that’s how this works,” he explains. “Rules make sure no one gets hurt, they keep us safe, and they're what builds our trust.”

You tilt your head to the side. “But I do trust you.”

Boba smiles a warm, soft smile and chucks up your chin. “And that means more to me than you’ll ever know, little one. But, we still need to agree on a few things, negotiate what we’re comfortable with so when things get heavy we don’t accidentally cross each other’s boundaries.”

“So you don’t make all the rules, even though you’re in charge?”

He nods in confirmation. “That’s right. We’re equals in this exchange.”

“Oh.” Boba gives you time to ponder over everything he’s told you, rubbing his palms up and down your thighs slowly. “And can we add to the rules if we find out we don’t like something?” you ask after a moment.

“Of course,” he acknowledges, giving your legs a soft squeeze, “our rules grow and change with us.” 

You bite down on your lip, turning over his words in your mind. It all made sense now that you think about it; Boba didn’t seem like the kind of person who would want anything else, he is sure of his power and doesn’t need to steal it from others. That’s what makes him so damn attractive, it’s what made you trust him.

“So what are your rules? I don’t really know what mine would be,” you admit. You hope your uncertainty doesn’t stop him from tearing into your panties tonight. Judging from the hard press of him between your thighs, it doesn’t seem like it will, but you’re soaked and desperate for him. All the vibrators in the world wouldn’t make up for his touch if he denies you tonight, even if it’s for the best.

Boba smiles, pleased with your openness. “First is honesty. When I ask you a question, you need to tell me the truth and vice versa. If something hurts too much, tell me. If something makes you uncomfortable, say so.” His tone is firm enough to set a boundary, but soft enough to invite clarification if needed. “I will only ever give and accept honesty when we’re like this.” 

That’s nothing I can’t handle. You nod. “I can do that.”

“Good. Second is respect, for yourself and for me. Respecting yourself means listening to what your body tells you, making sure your needs are met, and asking questions when you’re unsure of something. Respecting me means using your manners and trusting me when I say enough. Even if that sweet little pussy tells you otherwise.” He taps his fingers on your back for emphasis.

You duck your head, heat rising in your cheeks at the thought of him finding out just how sweet you can be. “O-okay,” you stutter, the warring desire to give up control and snatch it back is nearly giving you whiplash. You wriggle a little around Boba’s thighs, itching for an outlet for your energy building in your core.

He soothes his hands down your ribs, their callouses catching on the satin of your dress. “You’re doing so good for me, princess, being so patient when you’re all worked up. Look at me,” he commands softly, and you peek back up at him, warm with his praise. “We’re almost done but I need to know that you’re listening.”

Sucking in a steadying breath, you shift your weight back against his legs, sitting up straighter. You want to please him, earn more of his approval any way you can.

Satisfied, Boba nods and continues, “My third rule is a little different, but I think it will help since this,” he gestures at the space between you, “is new to you. I want you to try whatever I ask of you at least once. If you don’t like it, you can tell me and we won’t do it again.”

You can’t imagine he could do anything to you wouldn’t at least like a little bit but you nod in agreement. That voice of his could get you to try anything he asked.

“Which brings me to my next point.” Boba tilts his head in curiosity. “Have you heard of a safeword before?”

“Like the thing a person says when they want to stop?” you answer tentatively, your fingers loosely looping in the bunched material of his shirt.

“Exactly,” he beams, “Knew you were my smart girl.”

His praise makes it feel like the sun itself is shining through your ribs, dazzling and quenching a thirst you didn’t know your soul had—it’s utterly addicting. Just another way he’s going to absolutely ruin me.

“When one of us says the word, everything stops immediately, no questions and no consequences. We’ll talk about what went wrong, maybe not right then if it’s too overwhelming, and we can work through it together. Does that make sense?” he asks, searching your face for understanding.

“Yes, it does.” As you stare into his brown eyes, a sudden, overwhelming wave of fondness for the man before washes over you, dragging you under the weight of the bone-deep feeling. You lurch forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and tucking your face into the dip of his shoulder.

“Hey… hey,” Boba murmurs softly into your temple, running reassuring hands over your back, “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once, babygirl. It’s alright, nothing has to happen tonight. All this can end right now. Forever, if you want it to.”

Babygirl. Of all the pretty names he’s called you, it's the softest, most endearing. A promise of his tenderness and protection.

“No, ‘s not that,” you mumble into his shirt after a moment. He’s so warm, so perfect, so strong and patient… hell, he even smells like everything you’ve always wanted, cool earth, warm wood, and balmy spices. And the sound of his voice… oh, the sound of his voice when he calls you princess and babygirl, it's the most delicious music to ever grace your ears. Is it possible to love someone after just four weeks?

“Take your time, I’m right here,” his voice rumbles from his chest into your own. You let yourself melt into him, all your muscles going loose. He traces nonsense patterns over your shoulders and spine as you ride out the staggering emotion rolling through your body. Everything about him is so new, so unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and yet he settles into your soul like a long lost piece. It’s overwhelming.

Eventually the tide of it all pulls back and is replaced by a renewed fire flickering to life in between your thighs. Now that your body has caught up with your mind, your desire is bright and sharp. Easing up from your cradled position, you place a quick kiss on Boba’s soft lips. “Thank you… I’m good now.” You brush your palms over the broad expanse of his chest as if you can sweep away what just happened, skirt the magnitude of it all to get to the pleasure. “Where were we? Safewords?”

“Not so fast, little one. Remember the first rule, honesty? I need to know what’s going on up here,” he taps a finger against head, “before we can continue.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against your shoulders. Feelings are hard and… embarrassing.

“Do I need to remind you about the second rule?” he asks more firmly this time. 

You huff and bob your head back to the front. “No, ‘respect for me and you,’ I remember.” Exhaling a long breath, you force your eyes to meet his. “It’s just that… that…” His gaze is too hard to hold while you try to get your sentiments to coalesce into actual words, so you scrunch your eyes closed. “It’s just that you’re so fucking hot and perfect and patient that it’s like you walked out of a dream and I don’t want to wake up if this is a dream and I’m so wet I think I’m going to lose my mind and-” 

The feeling of Boba shaking beneath you makes you stop mid-sentence and crack open an eye. You’re met with an amused grin and sparkling brown eyes. “What’s so funny?” you demand, folding your arms over your chest defiantly.

“You really are something else, princess,” he chuckles, his mirth intertwined with affection. “But I didn’t mean to interrupt, go on.”

“No, not if you’re going to laugh at me,” you pout, turning your chin up dramatically.

“Hey, come on now,” Boba coaxes, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “I can’t help what you do to me either.”

What I do to him. The idea that you do to him anything like what he does to you is an alluring one. Humming in consideration, you let yourself be led back into him like a flower turning back to the sun. “Fine. Let’s just say that I really, really like you, professor.”

Holding your face steady with his fingers on the swell on your cheek, he brushes his lips over yours. “That’s good to hear, pretty girl, because I really, really like you, too.” Boba lets you capture him for a languid kiss, his hands finding their way back to your hips to pull them flush against his own, his half-hard cock swelling as it grinds it against the lace of your panties. 

This time, you’re the one who breaks the kiss. “Now hurry up and tell me what else I need to know to get you inside of me,” you demand, dragging slow circles against him with your hips. You can only be expected to be so patient, after all.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” Boba teases, raking his eyes over your rumpled appearance. “You’re lucky I don’t have it in me to make you really wait. Now, rule number four is important, are you listening?”

You still in his lap, looking up at him with rapt attention, eager to hear what else he has to tell you. You nod, then remember he likes to hear your affirmation out loud. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“Good.” Affixing you with a libertine stare, his fingers dig into your hips. “The fourth rule, little princess, is no coming without permission.”

The skittering beat of your heart skips in your chest and the rushing sound of hot blood fills your ears. Your nails dig into his pectorals and your mouth goes dry as the bass of his words reverberates in your ears with their salacious implications. When you try to swallow the weight of it down your throat, it sticks to your tongue like sand; he would hold your everything in the palm of his hand, you would be at his complete mercy.

Your legs shudder at the fresh arousal slicking your folds and Boba smirks, his eyes dark and electric, the embers of his irises sparking with things promised. His gaze falls to the futile bob of your throat before crawling back up to your face. “That’s all for my rules, anything you want to add?” 

“N-not that I can think of right now… sir.” The epithet drips from your parched lips thick and sweet, dribbling down your chin like the dark juice of some exotic fruit. Paired with your hungry, sabled eyes, the sight makes Boba’s straining cock twitch against the heat of your inner thigh. Your tongue swipes over your lips and his eyes follow its movement with total attention.

“What do you want the safeword to be?” he asks after a tense couple of heartbeats, the heat of his desire curling up the edges of his words.

You think for a moment, then answer, “Kamino.”

“Looks like you really do hang on my every word.”

“Looks like you’re stalling.”

“Hmm, you look so pretty though,” he hums, “sitting in my lap all hot and bothered.”

Slitting your eyes in a siren stare, you lick your lips. “Bet I’d look even prettier underneath you naked and stuffed full of your cock.”

Boba groans, a strained huff puffing from his barrel chest. “Oh, I’m definitely going to have to teach you a lesson about patience after this one, little brat.”

“Can’t wait to attend that class, professor,” your murmur, swaying forward to steal a kiss from his soft lips.

Your joke earns you a quick chuckle from him before his face falls into something more serious. “So do all the rules sound good? Do we agree to them?”

You force yourself to actually sit back and consider all that he said instead of blindly agreeing to get to the part you want—him fucking you into whatever surface he throws you over. You’ve definitely jumped into bed with less forethought in the past, but those times weren’t this, they weren’t him. Your heart wasn’t on the line, and for once you truly care that your partner’s is too. “Yes, Boba, I agree,” you answer after a minute.

A smile like the sun shines forth from him at your acceptance. “Then these are our rules until we decide to revisit them. And it's ‘sir’ when we’re doing this. Repeat everything back for me, princess,” Boba directs. The glowing affection in his face and voice show his genuine appreciation for your cooperation as well as hint at his desire for what is to come.

The combination of his restraint and respect only heightens your intense need to have this man so deep inside you that you feel him in your very soul. “Honesty, respect, try things once, and n-no coming without permission. Kamino is our safe word. And I call you ‘sir,’” you list off obediently, doing your best to show him you took it all as seriously as him despite the arousal slicking up your thighs. 

“Good job, my smart girl! Now, I’m going to make you feel so, so good, sweetheart. So good, that when I’m through with you, I'm going to be the only thing left in that pretty little head of yours.” His purred promises and the unholy tint of his dark eyes have you clenching and squirming in his lap, the burning ache between your legs almost painful.

 Sliding his hands over the curve of your ass, Boba grips the back of your thighs and stands, hoisting your legs over his hip bones. You yelp, slinging your arms around his neck for balance and his chuckle buzzes in your ears and rumbles through the space in your chest. Carrying you down the hall, he nudges a door open, revealing the cozy interior of his bedroom. “You’re all mine now, princess, all mine to do whatever I like with,” he announces scornfully, “that’s what got you all riled up, isn’t it? Bet you’re so desperate you’d thank me for whatever scraps I give you.”

You know he’s baiting you, testing to see if you can keep your mouth shut and manners in place. Although it’s been barely two seconds since you rattled off the rules, you’re already sure you’re going to break the second one—probably often, if you’re being honest. But, if he wanted a docile, governable woman in his bed he certainly wouldn’t have picked you in the first place. “You gonna talk all night or are you gonna fuck me?” you challenge, biting down on his earlobe and tugging.

Boba claps an open palm against the plush of your ass and you cry out in surprise. It stings.

“Best show me some respect, pretty girl,” he hisses, “because punishment for breaking the rules is whatever I think you deserve, and I have plenty of ideas that’ll make you sorry.”

“Oh, what? Like you’re going to put me over your knee and spank me? I’m not a child,” you retort, rolling your eyes, your heart thundering in your chest. There’s no decorum to save you from his wrath now. But I’m not here for salvation.

Boba lets out a sharp, acidic laugh. “You’re right, sweetheart, you are all grown up. That means I don’t have to hold back… or stop when you beg me to.” With that, he sinks down to sit on the mattress and slings you face down across his lap like a rag doll. 

Blood is pooling in your brain, your muscles burning with tense adrenaline and your hands scrambling to cling to his leg at your sudden change in position. The thought of Boba doing just exactly as he promised has you clenching around nothing, much to your horror. Using his ankle as leverage, you crane your neck back to glower at the smug man. “You wouldn’t fucking dare,” you warn, though the lurid gleam in his eye tells you he absolutely would. 

Boba grins like the damn devil, his scarred hands shoving your dress up to reveal the bare skin of your cheeks in response to your threat. He lets out a low groan at the sight of your lacy crimson panties and traces a finger over the delicate material, sending a shiver rattling through you. 

“Oh, my pretty little princess,” he purrs, the dim light glinting off his canines, “you want this so karking bad, don’t you? You want someone to shut you up so damn much you’ll throw yourself right into the lion’s den to get it. Don’t worry, I know just what to do with brats like you.”

It feels like every last drop of moisture evaporates from your throat while your heart howls in your ears. You’re about to be burned at the stake and all you can think about is handing him the fucking match. “Do it then,” you spit out, digging your nails into his leg.

“You remember your word?” he confirms, his voice rough with authority.

Am I really going to let his man spank me? You swallow, your cunt burning against your panties. Both of your questions end up being answered by your mouth a second later. “Y-yes, sir.”

He smooths his broad palms over the globes of your ass, warming the skin up. “Good girl,” he praises, “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Your face flashes with the dual heat of mortification and desire. The pool of arousal in your lower belly begins to scald your insides as his flames lick up your legs.

“Now, I was going to give you just five. But since you wanted to run that big mouth of yours so much, you’re going to get ten to make sure you learn your lesson,” Boba taunts, harshly palming the flesh in his hands. “And you’re going to count each one out loud for me, understand?”

Your brain is boiling with the opposing urges to try to twist out of his grasp or kowtow to his every demand. Boba runs his thumb under the waistband of your lingerie and snaps it against your skin. You squeak and shuffle in his lap, your answer spilling from your lips. “Yes, sir!” Evidently, your mouth had a mind of its own. 

Or do I actually want all of this as bad as he says I do? Before you can ponder that revelation any further, however, a crack splits through the room and stinging pain erupts across your right cheek. “Shit!” you cry out, your back arching up off his thighs at the searing blow.

“What, you thought I was going to go easy on you?” Boba barks out a laugh and shoves you back down, rubbing a soothing hand over the prickling skin. “You little brats always think you can just do whatever you want and get away with it, that’s why you need someone to mark you up and remind you who’s in charge. Now remember to count or you get more.”

The number comes out as a croak. What had you gotten yourself into? Why is this making you even wetter? And why do you want him to do it again?

All those questions scatter as the next four strikes land in quick succession, sharp and precise across the expanse of your backside. Each one sends you sprawling across his lap and Boba rubs a comforting hand over your abused flesh as you squirm back into position. Your voice sounds utterly wrecked when you stammer out the number five.

Tucking an arm around your waist, Boba leans down to gently scratch his fingers against your scalp. The juxtaposition of his pain and pleasure is dizzying in the best way, like the golden buzz of sweet wine mixed with the harsh burn of honied whiskey. “You’re doing so good for me,” he hums, deep and warm, “taking your punishment so well. Knew you could do it, my strong girl.” 

The satisfaction of pleasing him burns bright in your chest. More dangerously, however, it makes you want to do whatever it takes to hear it again.

He retracts his hand a few moments later and you groan at the loss of the pleasant scratching, your head following in its wake. Boba chuckles and rearranges your weight over his thighs. “You’re almost done, you can do five more, can’t you, princess?”

Screwing your eyes closed, you press your face into his calf. “Yes, sir,” you grumble into the fabric of his pants. 

“Can’t hear you,” he taunts, kneading the heated flesh of your ass.

You repeat your answer louder. How is this so hot and embarrassing at the same time?

“Atta girl.” 

His next smack collides with the outside of your left cheek and you can’t decide if it hurts more or less when his hand comes into contact with new skin. Number seven and eight make you make you reconsider each time, and nine sends a plea rushing from your lips.

“Aw, is it too much for you? Too much for my little princess?” he mocks, his voice flush with false sympathy. “Maybe next time you’ll actually think before you open that disrespectful mouth.” His worn hands massage the pain into your rear as he continues on, his voice dropping to almost a groan, “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do this, sweetheart, waiting to teach you some goddamn respect. That’s why you act out, isn’t it? You’re desperate for someone to put you in your place, filthy brat.”

“Please!” you moan, your head swimming with want. You hear Boba’s breath catch and a curse hiss from his lips. Shit, did I say that out loud?! The final blow lands directly over the damp fabric stretched over your slit and you cry out in a mangled moan, jagged thrills of pleasure spiking through your core. “Ten!” you wail, relief swelling in your chest. It feels like your ass is on fire, pin pricks of pain needling your abused flesh.

Boba scoops you up, his powerful arms tossing your knees around his hips and he seals his lips over your own. “Fuck,” he pants into you, his cock twitching against your thigh, “you did so good for me, taking it all like the good little girl you are.” When you break for air, his hands come up to cup your face. “How’re you feeling, everything okay?” he asks, brushing his thumbs over the tops of your cheeks, “You can talk to me regularly, princess.”

You wince as your tender skin comes into contact with his thighs, but the pain is quickly dissolving into a warm, corrupted pleasure—like rubbing away the pain of a bruise. Your eyelids drift close, your cheek coming to rest on Boba’s own, seeking the comfort of his skin on yours. You don’t know just what you feel, not exactly and not yet. There’s so many feelings and thoughts flicking through your head, of desire and emotion and revelation, that it’s all a blur like a swirling sea. Boba stands as the one island in the vastness of this churning ocean, strong and steady—a refuge to weather the storm in. 

Rule one, be honest. Rule two, respect myself, listen to what my body tells me.

“Can… can you just hold me for a moment?” you whisper against him, leaning into his inviting warmth.

“Of course, babygirl, come here,” he murmurs, the domineering edge to voice gone. He eases you forward into his chest where you immediately find your favorite spot in the crook of his neck. “Is it too much?” he questions softly. “We can stop, I won’t be upset. This is about you enjoying yourself.”

“No…” you sigh into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent of him. “It’s… it’s just that I am enjoying myself. But I’ve never felt all these things and I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed or ashamed that getting spanked and talked down to makes me so fucking turned on. What does that say about me?”

An affectionate, comforting sound rumbles from his chest as he strokes the nape of your neck with light fingers. “Thank you for being honest, I know it can be hard.” He lets you snuggle up against him and continues once he feels the muscles in your shoulders relax. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying these types of things, it doesn’t mean you’re weak or any less of the confident, assertive woman you are.”

“So why do people enjoy it, then? Giving up control?” you press, hoping his experience would tell you something about your own. He always seemed to have all the answers. 

“Lots of reasons. Some say they like to give all the decisions to someone else, to clear their mind and just be told what to do. It lets them let go of everything and explore parts of themselves they don’t usually get to or don’t feel comfortable doing in the ‘real world.’ For others, they like pleasing their partner and the act of ‘being good.’ Some even find it empowering, letting their partner know exactly what they need them to do in order to experience intense pleasure. It can be a mix of these reasons or none of them at all, it’s different for every person,” he explains, resting his chin on top of your head.

While you see the appeal of those reasons, you’re not totally sure if any of them are what you’re looking for. It makes you wonder what Boba seeks in all this. “What about you, why do you like being in control?”

His chest rises and falls with a couple breaths, carrying you with him, before he answers. “It… it feels good to me, almost natural. It calms my mind and lets me focus, really and truly focus. Knowing that I decide the when, where, and how of someone else’s pain and pleasure… it’s powerful. The trust that my partner has in me is another facet of it, I enjoy making my partner feel safe and looked after.”

“You make me feel safe,” you sigh contentedly. “But I never… I’m not supposed to need looking after. I can take care of myself, I always have.”

“As you should. But everyone needs someone to care for them once in a while, princess, that’s why people like to do it in the bedroom. I like taking care of my partner, spoiling and rewarding them as much as I do punishing or denying them.”

Realization snaps into focus in your mind and you sit up, staring into the dark depths of Boba’s eyes. You can almost feel your pupils dilate as your thighs tense around his broad frame. Your mouth falls open but no words come out, your eyes pleading for his understanding instead. While the cage of your true desire had already been unlocked, it’s only now that you understand why.

“Oh,” he breathes, his chest shuddering with a sharp intake of air, “that’s it, isn’t it, little one? You want to be taken care of, spoiled… to have someone give you everything you’re too scared to ask for. You need permission to give it all up, don’t you? You need to know it’s okay to let go?” His eyes burn with the fires of your rebirth and you’re ready to be thrown on the pyre.

You nod hastily, earnest and eager, your teeth biting down on your lip. You need to know it’s okay to give up control of the blaze in your chest, that it would be fed and tended to carefully and with good intentions—that it wouldn’t be doused or tamped down to crushed coals. And maybe, if you were so lucky, it would even be funneled and fanned by expert hands that knew how to harness its power. 

“Oh, sweet girl,” Boba croons, the gravel of his rasping voice smoothed over with adoration, “precious thing, I’m going to take such good care of you. You can let go, my pretty little princess, I’ve got you, it’s okay. I’m going to treat you like you deserve, babygirl, don’t you worry anymore. Just let go.”

And just like that, your entire universe erupts into full color, your stars aligning with his planets to unlock your deepest desires. All it took was letting go.

Part I — Part III Coming May 19!

[crankyphlebotomist]

Ooooh man, I am sooooo excited for this 🥰🥰🥰

[mellowswriting]

Can I request jealous/possessive Din 🥺 and maybe some smut that ends with gooood aftercare?? (absolutely love your acct btw!)

all mine

pairing || Din Djarin x fem!Reader

word count || 2.5k

summary || After a successful bounty hunt, Din feels the need to remind you just who you belong to.

content || no use of Y/N, SMUT, fingering, manhandling, rough sex, possessive!Din, unprotected sex, two idiots in loooooove, very fluffy and lovey ending

a/n || me, writing another weirdly poetic smut fic? entirely unsurprising. thank you for the request, anon!

Din Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You really should have known. The moment you mentioned using yourself as a lure to draw the mark away from his guards, you could feel the heat of Din’s gaze burning into you. You knew he wouldn’t like it. The potential danger alone was enough to have him flat-out rejecting the idea altogether but after days of no progress, everyone knew it was the only viable plan. It took less than an hour for your allure to coax the man away from his protective guard. It was worth it, even if you had to deal with the disgusting feeling of his hand at the small of your back for a few moments. 

The relief of finally securing the bounty was short-lived. Din’s tension was unmistakable. The leather of his gloves squeaked with every clench of his fists. He constantly wedged his body closer to yours the moment anyone grew close. His presence was omnipresent, a constant looming over your shoulder. You brushed it off as the stress of a long mission or the adrenaline-driven instinct to keep you safe. 

It isn’t until you’re pinned against the soft mattress by Din’s unbreakable strength that you realize you might have misread the situation. The tension finally snapped the moment he got you alone. The blunt edge of his teeth sinks into your neck and forces a broken sound out of your chest, but he doesn’t let up. His fingers dig harder into your hips to fight off your squirming.

“Fuck, Din.” You tug him back by his hair and the sight he makes sends a thrill of lust arcing through your belly. Those pretty brown eyes are bright with a near fanatical need. His lips are slick and a little swollen from the rough kisses. Every breath leaves him in a jagged rush as if the simple act of holding himself back has left him breathless. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

Din forces a deep breath into his lungs, his nostrils flaring as he grapples with his self-control. His voice is low and tinged with danger as he murmurs, “He put his fucking hands on you.”

The statement is so simple for something that rocks through you so hard. Pure possessiveness curls through the deep tenor of his voice. It doesn’t matter that neither of you has slept much in the last few days or that both of your bodies are tense and sore. That tone is enough to have a new surge of energy rushing through your veins. You can’t help the teasing grin that forms on your face. 

“Oh… are you jealous, Din?” Your voice lilts playfully - and Din is having none of it.

“Can’t be jealous if you’re already mine, can I?” He bites out harshly. The sudden loss of his weight pinning you to the bed has you huffing in disappointment, but he doesn’t give you long to be upset. Both of his hands grip the neckline of your tanktop and before you can utter a warning, the fabric shreds like paper in his hands. Your shorts and underwear are the next victims to be ripped from your body. 

Din wastes no time in shoving himself between your thighs, forcing them to spread wide. The sudden exposure forces a whine from your throat, all vulnerable and needy, but he doesn’t falter. His gaze darkens, a low sound rumbling in his chest at the sight of your cunt, already slick and flushed from his rough handling. 

“That’s all it takes, huh?” Din murmurs. The harsh smack of his palm against your ass catches you off guard and you moan a broken little sound that only encourages him. He grins wildly. “Get a little rough and this pretty pussy just begs for attention…” 

You arch your hips and grind your ass back against him, shivering at the press of his hard cock against your ass. He’s still completely clothed, dressed in his flight pants and soft undershirt. The stark difference of your completely bare body beneath his clothed one only pushes you deeper into that sweet, hazy headspace - and he knows it. He watches with rapt attention as the fabric of his flight pants darkens with your slick, the muscle in his jaw ticking with every clench of his teeth. 

The temptation is too much for him to resist. His fingertips glide along the seam of your sex to find your clit with practiced ease. There’s no hesitation, no slow progression of gentle pressure to ease you into his touch. Two thick fingers sink into you without warning, the sudden stretch forcing a choked sound from your chest. Your thighs jerk against his hold, trying - and failing - to close around his hand. Din just tuts and shakes his head, almost mocking as he chastises you.

“None of that. I know what this needy cunt wants.” Those talented fingers curl upward against that sweet spot over and over until you instinctively squirm away from his touch. He doesn’t let you get far. The grip on your thigh tightens just as his thumb presses firmly against your clit and the pulse of pleasure that rocks through your core is molten and piercing and devastating. 

A low groan rips through his chest at the sight you make and your skin flushes under his attention, his urgent touch. Every inch of your body has been committed to his memory, so thoroughly that he doesn’t even have to watch his movements to have you falling apart beneath him. But he watches anyway, too entranced to tear his eyes away. 

Din grinds his cock against your soft thigh, too taken with the sight of you falling apart to stop himself. Every little whimper he drags out of you only makes him rut into you harder. There’s an intensity that simmers in his eyes as he looks at you, as if he would burn the entire universe down just to keep you here with him. Possessive and dark and all-encompassing. 

“Come on, let go. Be loud for me, sweet girl.” Din murmurs, the low rumble of his voice alight with indulgence. That unshakable restraint of his is splintering right before your eyes. He wants more. His palm presses down on your lower belly just as he curls his fingers and you cry out, a sharp and indecent sound that sends a shudder through Din’s body. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Every little sound, every quiver, every fucking drop… it’s all mine. You are all mine.”

You reach out for him before you can think better of it, your fingers gripping his wrist tightly. His eyes flash up to yours, dark and dangerous, but it isn’t enough to deter you. Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips in a nervous impulse. 

“Prove it.” 

Din snaps. 

The world spins as he manhandles your body, pushing and pulling until he has you on your knees, facedown against the mattress. Adrenaline and desire flood your body with every beat of your heart. His hands settle on both globes of your ass and spreads you apart for his greedy eyes, his fingers giving your plump flesh an appreciative squeeze. You hear the sound of him spitting before you feel it, hot and slick splattering against your cunt. 

You can’t help but envision yourself through his gaze. Bent to his will, quivering and dripping with slick and spit. Fingers twisting the fine, expensive sheets so tightly they may tear. Whining and whimpering and desperate. It’s no wonder he’s so ravenous. 

Din rips the fly of his pants open so harshly that he damn near breaks the zipper in his haste. Anticipation tightens in your belly and you barely have a moment to steady yourself before he’s pushing into you with one devastating roll of his hips. The sound that rumbles through his chest is nothing less than pure animal, entirely feral and starved for you. His hips grind impossibly deeper, even with his pelvis pressed flush against your ass. 

The rest of the world - fuck, the rest of the universe - disintegrates into nothing. Beyond your lover, the heat of his body and the pleasure he draws through your strung-out body with every movement, nothing else exists. It hurts in the best of ways. You slump deeper into the sheets, struggling to keep yourself upright as the waves of pleasure threaten to drown you. Din doesn’t even falter - he just hitches you up higher by your hips and holds you in place, pins you there beneath him at the perfect angle. The way you melt for him is the only sign he needs. His pace grows harsher, fast and jarring until the headboard cracks into the wall with every sharp thrust he delivers into your body. 

“Who do you belong to, huh?” Din growls.

You choke out a weak, “You!” 

“Hm? I didn’t catch that.” His arm wraps around your neck and tugs you up onto your knees, his pace never faltering. Even like this, his head clouded with possessiveness and lust, he’s careful not to block your breathing. His bicep flexes against your neck and the pure strength he contains sends a rush through you. “Speak up. Who the fuck do you belong to?”

“You!” You cry out, your nails digging into his wrist as you cling to him. The sudden change in angle has every thrust pressing against that sweet spot that makes you tremble uncontrollably. “Fuck, I belong to you! I’m yours, I’m all yours. Please just… fuck, please!”

Your voice fizzles out into something soft and sweet, so breathy and fucked out that you can’t even finish your plea - but it’s okay. Din knows. He knows what you want, what you need. The desperate tone seems to break something in him. He presses his cheek to the side of your head, molding your bodies together seamlessly. The brush of his clothes against your flushed skin makes you shiver. 

“Good girl…” Din murmurs in that soft, lovestruck voice that makes you melt.  “Don’t worry, I’ve got my girl. My perfect, beautiful girl.” 

His hand abandons your hip to snake down your belly. The moment his fingertips glide over your clit, you jerk in his arms as if he’s shocked you. Din just holds you tighter, whispering praise and encouragement between his own broken moans. You swear you’ve never felt closer to him. The two of you fuse into one being, a mess of limbs and sweat and lust. You reach back and bury your hand in his hair, your fingers clutching those soft curls at the base of his skull for dear life. His sharp teeth nip at your earlobe playfully before soothing the mark with a flick of his tongue - and you can’t hold back. 

“Oh, fuck -” Your voice is choked away by the weight of your orgasm. The devastating burst of pleasure rips through you until you’re left trembling and breathless in your lover’s arms. A broken moan drips from Din’s lips, heated and wild in your ear as he buries himself as deep as your body will take him. It never fails - your end always brings about his. The quivering of your cunt, the pure ambrosia of your cries… as sure as the sun will rise, your orgasm sends Din crashing down into his own.

He barely manages to keep himself from crushing you as the two of you fall into the sheets. Every grind of his hips sends pulses of overstimulation through your overworked body. You can’t help but shiver with it as his full weight sinks into you, his cock slowly softening inside of you as the post-orgasmic haze settles over you both. 

Time slows, thick and sweet as molasses. The steady beat of his heart and his gentle exhales ghosting across the back of your neck ground you to him, to the unbearably divine reality that surrounds you. This man, the love of your life, so steadfast in his dedication to you. The pure fervor of it is enough to warm you for a thousand lifetimes. You reach back and tug at the shirt he still wears, a wordless plea that still tells him all he needs to know. 

Take it off. I want to feel you. 

Din makes quick work of his clothes. The need to feel his skin against yours is one he feels so keenly that he could never deny you. You stretch out in the silken sheets, lazy and lithe as a loth cat. You can feel his gaze on you as he strips himself bare. The fire in his eyes has eased to embers. Still scorching with heat but… sated. Content. In the low light of the room, his bare body slick with sweat and his expression so full of love, you can’t help but gravitate to him. His muscles twitch beneath your palm as your hand explores the body you know so well - over the soft hairs of his happy trail and the thick muscle of his chest, coming to rest at the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. He grasps your elbow and you meet his gaze, and the sight he makes steals the very breath from your lungs. 

Lips parted. Eyes wide. Hair mused and messy. He looks at you as if you placed the very stars in his sky. There is a devotion that hangs in the air, heavy and so sweet you nearly ache with it. Your hand slides up to the back of his neck, musing the mess of curls that lie there. He shivers at the touch and for a moment, it’s hard to believe that he is the man who just fucked you until you couldn’t think straight.

“I love you,” You whisper. 

His cheeks flush red. “I love you, too.” 

Din doesn’t resist as you pull him back into bed for a kiss. It’s simple, nearly chaste, but it still leaves him breathless and gazing at you with dazed eyes. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips before he tugs you into his lap for another and another until you’re both breathless. Warm hands explore the planes of your back, the curve of your waist, his touch as reverent as it was the very first time he felt you. Despite the exhaustion that curls through you both, he’s so hesitant to let this moment end. 

“We could always take a shower.” He suggests in a tone so conspicuously innocent that you can’t help but laugh. 

“We should rest.” You admit. The disappointment on his face is impossible to miss. He might as well pout. You brush his hair out of his face. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. I have a lot of plans for tomorrow and they all include us staying right here in this bed.” 

The promise is enough for Din to let you both settle in for some much-needed sleep. Even as you doze off, lulled to sleep by the steady beat of his heart beneath you, Din hesitates to follow. He’s exhausted too, but he can’t stop staring at you long enough to let sleep take him. No matter how many times he has seen you curled up against him, deep in sleep, the sight never fails to enrapture him. The reminder that you’re here with him - that you love and trust him so deeply - blows him away every single time. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day, pretty girl.” He whispers into the calm night. “Gonna be a good husband and give you the life you deserve. I promise.”

[crankyphlebotomist]

Holy fuuuu~

“I’m gonna marry you one day, pretty girl”

I fuckin meeeeelted 🤤🤤🤤

[saradika]

— maybe I just wanna be yours

boba fett x f!eader

Rated E - 1.8k

Tags: fluff and smut, feelings, flirting, dirty talk, spitting, rough PiV, unprotected sex, comeplay, emotional hurt/comfort, references to chronic pain and age, nightmares

Summary - Spending 4 different kinds of evenings in the company of one Boba Fett.

A/N: after I wrote an Obi-Wan fic last year to celebrate May the 4th, @wingofshadow had very kindly asked if I’d consider writing more! So a bit late - but was feeling really inspired to write one for Boba this year 💕

i.

You lost all sense of time hours ago. Swaying with the smooth, low notes of the band in the corner - wrapped up in the buzz of conversation, the dimmed and flickering lights.

Chin propped up on a palm, eyelashes lowered as you watch. Something easy to do from where you lean against the bartop, trading the stool for a chance to stretch your legs.

Making an idle pass around the room, though your gaze always returns to the middle.

To him.

The easy way he lounges against the stone. A thick arm draped across the curving back, the glint of a golden light above reflecting against the dark shadow of his visor.

It still thrills you.

The feeling in your chest that you wish you had a name for - swooping low, like the music. Rising and swelling until it feels like it's about to burst.

But feelings are dangerous, in a place like this.

With a man like Boba Fett.

Your eyes find him again, unable to help seeking him out.

This time, his helmet tilts in your direction. You can feel a heat rising up your neck, to your cheeks, thinking about him thinking about you.

Joining him, on that throne.

He's confessed he has. When lips loosen late at night. That moment with he's buried in you and the filth pours, desperate for release.

There's a fraction of a second as he holds your gaze. A little tip of his helmet, towards a corner of the room you know well.

A secret message, just for you.

Only for you.

It has you rising - weaving carefully through the crowd. Watching how he moves towards you at the same time - how he's given a large berth. Respect following each heavy footstep, as he is brought your way.

A gloved hand catches your elbow, steering you down a narrow hallway. Out of sight from prying eyes - the hiss as the helmet is removed, tucked easily under an arm.

You move ahead of him, turning in time to just catch the slow drag of his eyes. Not looking away when caught, but smiling instead. The smallest curve of pretty lips, a crinkling of dark eyes.

His voice, as low and smooth as the jazz notes that follow you in.

"There's something I have to look into tonight."

You know better than to ask now. If it's important - he'll fill you in later.

Instead, your head cocks, appreciating that he's telling you. Your own smile lightning up your face, reaching out to touch his forearm.

"Will you come find me, when you're done?"

The look darkens, like there's nothing he'd like more than to do that now. Stepping into your space, a curled fingers tipping up your chin.

Your eyes flutter shut as your lips part, waiting.

The words breathed out, as his own mouth hovers. A teasing promise for later, knowing that the anticipation will only build in his absence.

“Always."

ii.

The groan you make sounds broken, as it’s forced from your lungs. Your breathing short and sharp with the way he has your thighs pushed back towards your shoulders, each harsh thrust sending sparks skittering down your spine.

Fueled by the way his thumb presses circles into spit-slick skin - teasing right against the spot that has you clenching down hard around him.

You can still picture the way he leaned over you. Soaked from his mouth, from the release he had coaxed from you once already - but that didn’t stop the saliva from pooling on his tongue.

Parting his lips to let it drip onto your cunt, before he was pulling back - hands catching on the juncture of your knees.

Opening you up for him.

Putting you on display, thighs spread wide so he could watch the way his cock slid through the mess. The tip catching on where he fucked you open with his fingers, but you had still gasped when he had worked his way inside.

Filling you in a way that only he can.

His fingers tighten their grip against your thigh. Eyes bright as he watches - taking in how you’re splayed out beneath him, your fingers twisted in the sheets.

Words spilling freely - pent up from the days you’ve been apart.

“Woke up so fucking hard, thinking about you.”

His lips part with a groan, your hips bucking into his touch.

“Was gonna take care of it. But I didn’t want to waste a drop, spilling myself outside of your cunt.”

Teeth grit, a rough noise in his chest when you sigh out his name. That feeling rising again - getting ready to crash over you. Pull you under, muting everything but him and that sweet spot where you’re connected.

“Is that where you want it, princess?”

Your nod feels like it takes ages, mind already hazy and swimming. Tongue swiping over your lips as you try to find the words to answer.

He’s impatient. Pressing, wanting to hear the words himself, “Tell me.”

“Yes,” You manage, “Gods, I want you to come in me.”

A flash of a grin, where he leans over you. Broad chest and the curve of a stomach - forcing himself deeper, until it feels like he’s in your throat.

“That’s my girl.” Boba coos, “Gonna make you come again. Make you clench around my cock while you’re stuffed full of my cum.”

He can feel the way you tighten at his words. The panting of your breath, so close to what you need.

The little warble of his name is enough to tip him over.

“Fuck.” He growls, hips slamming against yours. Eyes dark and fixed on yours, as the thrust goes sloppy - pressing deep, sheathing himself one last time.

“Fuck-”

Fingers still pressing, still pressing - as he gives you what you want.

He always does.

iii.

There's the mechanical whir as you enter the bedroom. It tells a story, even before you can see the heavy lines in his face and brow - allowing the small dressing droids to remove the painted-gold knee armor.

A strung-tight look to his shoulders, a weariness layering underneath the irritation. You hover - waiting as the nimble fingers take him apart, storing each piece carefully. Until they leave him, before you cross the room.

The way your hands move is familiar, as you lower yourself in front of him. On another night perhaps his thighs would spread, a canting of his hips into your waiting, eager mouth.

But tonight, your thumbs dig into sore flesh. A groan as you press into the muscles near his knee, fingers curving to the soft spot behind the joint.

You know the pain comes. Scars and aches from before, things that still linger from that unspoken time in the pits. Always hiding it so well, the helmet masking each and every expression. The armor covering the movements that come slowly at times.

Never using the droids unless he needs to. Too proud, insisting on strapping the pieces on himself.

He lets out a sigh. Long-held, some of the tension going out with it. You can't do much to help but you can do this - a listening ear as you work through some of the knots. 

"Time has worn away at me, cyare.” 

His tone is self-deprecating, eyes not meeting yours as they lift. As your fingers stop, coming to rest against his thigh. Fingers lacing together as your chin rests on top, fixing him with your own long look.

When they eventually drift back your way, your smile is small. A kiss pressed to the inside of his knee, over the dark jumpsuit.

"It wears away at all of us." You tell him, gentle and coaxing, “But from where I sit, I see plenty that remains.”

There’s a twitch of his jaw at that, the silence lingering. The ache reminds him of the time that has passed. Throwing him into past regrets.

Unable to help wondering what will remain, as more time passes. Forgetting that he's survived and endured - something that was very much worth acknowledging.

Your voice softens, a small frown forming, “Is it really such a bad thing, to grow old?”

Something lingers in his eyes then, as he takes you in.

"No." He concedes, "I suppose it isn’t."

A small smile, as you push yourself to move behind him. Hand running over broad shoulders - still strong,“I can’t turn back time, but I can try to help with the rest.”

Your own small sigh comes then, with your quiet admission, “I wish there was more I could do more for you.”

His head hangs between those shoulders as your fingers press into his neck. As he tells you, his voice low but sure. 

“You do more than enough already.”

iv.

“You do more than enough already.”

The ground seems to crumble with each of your steps. Blurry figures flashing by as you race forward, fingers outstretched.

Everything just out of reach.

A voice that yells, but the sound is broken - whisked away as soon as it leaves your lips.

Dread rising, rising, rising-

You wake with a gasp, eyes flying open. Chest heaving like you'd been yanked underwater, something rousing you from your nightmare.

A warm hand cups your shoulder. Squeezing, before brushing down your arm, smoothing over your skin. Pulling you out, when he woke - hearing the sleepy sounds of your whimper.

"-just a dream, cyare. Nothing more." He soothes, voice rough with sleep.

Slowly, your hearing returns over the racing thud of your heart. As your head relaxes back onto the pillow, when you feel him press against you, a strong arm curling around.

He runs too hot sometimes, in the heat of the desert. But right now, with the cold flush of fear, it's welcome. Warming you, like the sun.

Here, you lean into that warmth. Wiggling until you can flip around. Half-lidded, sleepy eyes look back, as you're pulled closer.

You're safe here.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He rasps, as your head shakes.

"No." Your voice is small, "It was just - I don't even know."

Silence stretches, his finger tips tracing patterns over bare skin. The man who’s experienced unthinkable horrors waiting for you to continue, if you wanted to.

It feels silly now.

Just a dream.

Nothing to be scared of.

"I think I was reaching for you. But I couldn't make it. I tried to call out, but I couldn't make any noise."

The fear from the dream is tempered, already starting to fade at the edges. He makes a low sound at your words, a humming rumble in his throat.

"I know you were dreaming," His hand rises to cup your jaw, a thumb smoothing acroess your cheek, "Because that's not going to happen."

He won't let that happen.

You read into his words, spoken so late at night. When he's half-awake and stripped clean of his armor - when those walls come down.

All you can do is nod, that feeling coming back. Starting in your stomach and swelling to your chest, stealing your words in a different way now.

"Now, go back to sleep." He coaxes, as your head presses into his shoulder, "You don't have to worry."

And you believe him. Safe and warm within his arms - breathing him in as the his words wash over you, sleep already tugging at your limbs.

"I'm right here."

cyare/cyar’ika - sweetheart/beloved

[crankyphlebotomist]

A blessing on this holiest of days!!!

The fluff and the smut, I’m living!! 😩😩😩

[moodymisty]

Do you have anymore Daddy! Boba writings? 😳 I honestly loved it sm and couldn't stop reading it!! <3

Author's Note: that’s the only Boba Fett thing I’ve written as of yet, but I have been working on something for Boba Fett for awhile, so here's a snippet of it. It's been fighting me tooth and nail so I honestly I'm probably going to dump it, but I hope you enjoy this part of it none the less. SFW Boba content on the horizon as well.

Summary: Don't tease Boba Fett.

Relationships: BOBF!Boba Fett/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Porn without Plot, age gap if you squint, Daddy kink(the word is only said once but the vibe is there please don't continue if this isn't your thing), SoftDom!Boba, Sub!Reader, Oral sex(female receiving), Boba has a nice big bed in his room and not just a bacta tank

'Go upstairs.'

His words echo in your ear, knowing that as you ascend, he isn't far behind.

The steps are steep, and you almost trip over your own feet trying to quickly make your way up them. Bits of sand dragged in from the desert outside crunch under your feet, the stone of the walls cool against your hand as you brush your palm along it.

When you reach the top and open the large door, you can still clearly see the suns casting large amounts of light through the windows, but it's quickly turning to a more comfortable orange, as the evening begins. If you were to look outside them you could easily see large swaths of Mos Espa, but nowhere near the entire city. The buildings all being bathed in the setting of the suns- shades of yellow fading to orange fading to purple.

There's not much up here of interest apart from the view, as Fett's personal room is sparse. A bacta tank, an actual bed, an armor stand. A few other things here or there, but the expanse of the room feels almost empty- unfilled. Looking towards the door it had closed behind you, and has yet to open since your entrance.

You wonder how much longer he's going to keep you waiting; Fett knows well that your patience does have a limit. Any longer, and you might consider going back down for him and making more trouble for yourself.

But just as you turn around you hear the sound of the door open, and Fett's familiar dark green armor strides through the doorway. He instantly notices you, watching the way you're leaning against the stool of the window.

"You took long enough." He's stepping closer, helmet looking down on you. He hasn't taken it off quite yet, the dark tint of the visor reflecting your own face back at you. The set of his shoulders is firm, and even through the helmet you can tell he's staring you down.

"I'd be careful with that mouth of yours," He says as his hand cups around your jaw, gently tilting your head upward as your lips gently part in a silent invitation.

"It's already gotten you in enough trouble today."

Trouble? For just a tease?

Fett steps even closer, and you can feel the hard metal of his armor against your chest.

"What were you thinking, princess?"

You weren't. That was a part of the problem. You couldn't stop yourself; It had been a split second urge that you couldn't hold in when you had him for a moment alone. He was about to return to the throne room- he had guests waiting and was about to slip his helmet back on. But in that split second, you'd kissed him and whispered something in his ear.

'Don't take too long, daddy.'

The word hung on your lips even after you'd spoken them and made your face burn, as you rarely ever say it- let alone when you're right of mind during the day. But you'd done it to tempt him, aggravate him; Make him think of you when you're not even there. When he's busy trying to be a stalwart Daimyo, but thinking about you uttering words to him that no one right of mind with stronger morals would say.

It had worked, it seems.

You feel one of his hands tug at your clothing, hard enough to feel it almost dig into your skin. Any more and he might've snapped the string seaming it all together.

"Take it off."

His firm, unwavering voice will never not send a shiver down your spine, as you grip the edge of your clothing the moment he lets go.

Bit by bit you slowly peel it all off, underneath the weight of his gaze. His helmet is still on, but it isn't long before he takes it off; After your clothes fall away and your back hits his bed. It almost feels like he's looming, watching you like a predator. He's stripped away enough of his armor that it no longer poses a nuisance, leaving mostly his black flightsuit.

It dips under his weight as he follows you, dark brown eyes watching the way the blankets wrinkle and bunch around your body.

His rough hands grip your thighs and in one fell swoop tug you close to him, before he lowers himself to your level. As he does, he can feel the way your thighs tense as well as your whole body, in anticipation for what he is about to do. You can now feel his breath fan over your still covered pussy, and even that almost ghostly sensation has it throbbing. He looks up at you before pulling that thin piece of fabric off, stretching them as he yanks them off your ankles.

"Was this what you were waiting for?"

His lips brush against the apex of your thighs, the roughness of stubble just ever so barely starting on his jaw scraping against your skin.

"I, I just missed you, I-"

Your hands grip the blankets as his tongue suddenly dives into your cunt, breath getting caught in your throat. Your thighs threaten to close, but he doesn't allow it. He gives you no mercy, brushing over your clit as his hands grip your thighs. He has them tight, enough so that if he isn't careful he might leave marks, holding you in place. Even though it's futile you still can't help the way your hips twitch upward with each sudden jolt of pleasure, but he follows and gives no rest none the less.

One of his hands leaves your thighs to gently press his fingers against your slick entrance, the other moving higher up your thigh to still hold you firm at the hip. As two of his fingers slowly press inside of you he can feel the way you clench around him, as he slowly thrusts them into you to the base.

They work in tandem with his mouth to have you almost seeing white, biting your lip hard as you try not moan so loud it echoes in the expanse of the room. The wet noises of him eating you out already do, the wetness of your own arousal slick against your outer lips and the insides of the very tops of your thighs.

But Fett knows you well, far more than anyone else and possibly even yourself, and he has you cumming on his face in what feels like only moments. His fingers are soaked from you, as well as his lips, which he only brushes off with the back of his hand as your heart pounds in your ear and you still feel the way your lower stomach turns and toils from your orgasm.

He gently but firmly taps the side of your hip.

"Turn over."

You can't help but listen, moving onto your stomach within moments of him asking. You can then feel the weight and heat of his cock hit against the back of your thigh, making your pussy clench. One of his hands grabs your hip, cocking them ever so slightly upward. The angle makes it easier as he presses the head of his cock against you, slowly and steadily pushing into your wet and already slightly abused heat.

Fett always loves the soft noises you make when he starts fucking you; Feeling your body stretch to take him. You always bite your lip, and moans come out as cute little mewls and gasps as you attempt to cut them off.

His hips hit your ass hard, quickly setting a pace that takes the breath from your lungs. He almost feels like too much; Like he's everywhere around you all at once. You have to put a hand forward against the headboard to keep from being pushed forward, the other trying to grip whatever you can to keep yourself grounded.

"B-boba," His name softly leaves your lips, feeling the heat of his breath on your skin. But moments after you grit your teeth as his cock hits deep inside of you, brushing against sensitive nerves that has your pussy tightening around him.

"You're so quiet, little one."

He's teasing you, poking at the way you're trying to muffle your voice in the fabric of the pillow. You can only groan in response, overwhelmed by the lewd sounds of skin on skin as he mercilessly fucks you.

"Make some more noise for me."

Not putting the taglist on this one because I would actually just die. whenever I write daddy kink I feel ashamed lmao like this was fun to write but if you mention it to me I might just evaporate

[crankyphlebotomist]

Don’t be ashamed of this, this is A R T

I’m going to horny jail, but thank you for this stunning piece of work 🤤🤤

[edvicsrich]

EVERY wednesday I wake up to a boba-less episode

[zoruui]

slay, i guess?????

instagram ( instagram.com/fishermanarts ) twitter ( mobile.twitter.com/fishermanarts ) side twitter ( mobile.twitter.com/fishermantalks ) shop ( www.etsy.com/shop/FishermanArtsStudio ) ko-fi ( ko-fi.com/fishermanarts )

[acatalystrising]

Wow, whaddya know, another Boba oneshot? In 2023?? How can this be??? Surprise, I’m still obsessed lol - here’s a short little scene with fluff and angst! No warnings for this one, just lots of comfort and snuggles that are purely self-indulgent. I hope you enjoy!

Oneshot: Reprieve

Thunder rattled the ship that hummed around you like a living thing, durasteel walls shuddering as the Slave 1 dropped from hyperspace. You felt the plummet in the pit of your stomach and shuddered - it always took some time to adjust to space travel after all the time spent on Tattoine.

You shifted underneath the covers of the small bed, peeking out of the cabin, tired gaze sweeping the cockpit until it landed on Boba’s broad shoulders. He sat in his pilot’s seat, resolute as always, armored back turned to you as he navigated the ship through the storm.

You absentmindedly wondered if he was thinking of his father.

Slowly, you sat up, muscles screaming in protest, wondering if anyone else was awake. Din and his son were presumably still slumbering below, and Fennec was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps you’d be afforded the rare moment to be alone with Boba. You hadn’t had many, as of late.

His scarred head tilted toward you as you approached, the blanket still bunched around your shoulders, and you stopped at his side.

“Almost there, huh?” You leaned against the chair and he nodded, furrowed brows lowering when he met your gaze.

“You’re exhausted,” he gestured back at the cot with a flick of his chin. “Still got some time. Get more rest.”

Naturally, he’d always look out for you first. You saw the dark circles under his eyes, the hardened set to his jaw. You weren’t the only tired one here. So you shook your head, earnestly meeting his amber gaze, refusing to back down.

“It’s been so busy,” you shrugged with a raised brow, doing your best to shoot him a semi-innocent smile. “We’ve barely had a chance to talk.”

Or to do anything else, you almost added.

Boba’s eyes narrowed, already knowing you were too stubborn to simply do as he said. He sighed, dropping his head in a nod, his own weariness showing through his hardened shell. It always did with you.

“Knew it would be when we agreed to help Din,” he shifted his seat so he could get a better look at you, hardened expression melting ever so slightly. “C’mere.”

You wasted no time nestling yourself in his lap, perched on one of his strong thighs. He curled an arm around you and held you close, oh so close, the other navigating the controls with ease. Blissful silence fell - and you rested your head against his broad chest, comforted by his presence.

“Missed you,” his gruff voice finally rumbled through you, and you couldn’t hide the smirk that wormed its way to your lips.

“Same here,” you lifted your face from his shoulder long enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “Never thought I’d say I missed that desert. At least we had more time together.”

He hummed, holding you closer, kissing your neck with a sigh that bode of pent up exhaustion and affection.

“Never had friends,” his voice was rough, introspective. “Didn’t worry about favors.”

“And now?” Your smirk widened, shifting so you were facing him with a raised brow.

“Now I’m busy.” His features were twisted in a severe mock frown, and you only knew it wasn’t genuine due to the twinkle in his eyes.

You curled back against him, wrapping your arms around his chest, and he chuckled, holding you close.

“You have a family now, Boba,” you stared out of the viewport into the raging storm beyond. “You’ll never be alone again.”

He fell silent, carding a gloved hand through your hair, barrel chest heaving with a sigh. You couldn’t see his face, but you heard the small smile in his voice, despite his fears.

“No, little one,” when he spoke, his tone was surprisingly tender. “We won’t be.”

[crankyphlebotomist]

I’m LIVING for the fluff 😩😩

[acatalystrising]

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to everyone who celebrates! I couldn’t get through the day without thinking about my favorite green tin can man, so I wrote a special little life day scene in case anyone needed some softttt cheer! 💚🖤

Life Day with Boba Fett

“What are you doing, Mesh’la?”

You flinched at that gruff, teasing voice - turning from your precariously perched spot on the ladder, a strand of lights gripped in your hands.

Boba Fett stood at the throne room’s entrance, fully armored, arms crossed - dark, expressionless visor trained on you.

“I wanted to put up a couple more lights before everyone shows up,” you gestured at your work, almost complete, with a smirk. “It’s still too drab in here.”

Boba slowly paced into the room, the clinking of his spurs bouncing off the walls. He stopped right below your ladder, helmet tilted up, and you tried so, so hard to keep your thoughts to yourself. Because from this height, you discovered, the most terrifying bounty hunter in the galaxy looked positively adorable.

“Hook those lights,” he gestured at you with a slow curl of his index finger, “come down.”

You didn’t miss the command in his tone, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d actually done something wrong. So you made a short work of hanging the rest of the lights, all too aware of his eyes trained on your back. And when they were finally done, you climbed down the ladder, heart pounding, and stood before him.

“What,” he lifted a hand and pinched the collar of your sweater. His leather gloves brushed against your skin, sending chills spiraling down your spine. “Is this?”

You frowned, lips parting to answer his question with one of your own, when it dawned on you. You glanced down at your chosen attire and felt a blush creep onto your cheeks with the speed of a forest fire.

Oh…OH.

“Oh, I can explain,” you gestured at your sweater with a sheepish grin - a custom sweater carefully dyed to resemble and match the colors of his armor. “I wanted…you know…”

“Wanted what, little one?” He tilted his helmet to the side, hand brushing against your cheek and cupping your chin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d wager you were trying to copy me.”

He advanced, slowly backing you toward the throne until the backs of your calves bumped into the first stone step. You looked up at him, heart pounding, his every movement calculated and intentional.

“I…thought it’d be cute if we matched,” you felt the blush completely overtake your face, making your ears burn. You bravely kept your gaze trained on his T-visor. “Since it’s…our first Life Day together? As a couple? I wanted it to be special.”

Boba fell silent, entirely unreadable behind that impenetrable beskar. Was he upset? Angry? Did he find your sweater offensive? You blinked when his thumb stroked your cheek, the gesture so soft you nearly melted where you stood, washing away every shred of doubt.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he moved his free hand to lift the helmet from his face, revealing a nearly shocked smile that extended to those beautiful brown eyes. “How’d you manage that?”

One of the facts you’d discovered ever since you’d met Boba was that the bounty hunter turned Daimyo did in fact, have the warmest smile.

“I went to the market, had a friend dye the pieces. I even tried to draw your armor so I had a reference,” you tried to duck your head but his hand remained firm, holding your chin in place. “Your beskar has protected you - saved you. And I thought…if I wore something similar, it would…let everyone know I’m yours.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound reverberating through your chest and leaving you breathless. He took another step, guiding you onto to the first cool stair, making you nearly level with him.

“Do you know?” He leaned closer, lips inches away, eyes burning. “Whose girl you are?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, blush hotter than Tatooine’s twin suns. “I do.”

“Good,” his eyes flicked from yours to your lips, an unspoken question. “It’s sweet. Never thought anyone would do something like this. Not for me.”

“I love you, Boba Fett,” you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That’ll never change. This is only the first life day together, we have the rest of our lives to look forward to the rest.”

“Oh mesh’la,” he hummed, capturing your lips in his, holding you so, so close as he deepened the kiss - arms wrapping around you.

Head spinning, you clung to him, hands gripping his chestplate, kissing him harder. Gods, you wanted him to know how much you loved him. How much he meant to you. And you knew he felt the same. He nipped at your bottom lip and you smirked against him, tracing the scars on the back of his head as he claimed you, pressing achingly sweet kisses along your jawline.

“Hey, lovebirds, Din’s here with the kid,” Fennec’s teasing voice from the doorway brought you back to reality, and you pressed your forehead against Boba’s with a smirk, breaths mingling. “I could use some help, you know.”

“We’re being summoned,” Boba’s voice was nearly a low growl. “Shame.”

You gave his pauldron a playful shove.

“Coming!” You went to pull away, but Boba chuckled dark as sin, pulling you flush with his chest, hand pressed against your lower back.

“You aren’t yet,” he met your gaze, beautiful lips curving into a sly grin. “But later, when they’ve all gone to bed, you will until you can’t remember your name, and can only scream mine.”

Oh gods. You nearly collapsed against him, breath caught in your throat, heat trickling down your spine and coiling between your legs.

“Fine,” you pressed a kiss to the top of his nose. “But after the party. You’re going to have to wait, you know…because I’m going to return the favor.”

“Guys!” Fennec’s tone was sharp, but you heard the laugher bubbling from the back of her throat. “Seriously…”

You finally broke apart, reaching for his hand and twining his fingers with yours. You both walked toward the door to join Fennec, who was leaned against the doorframe wearing a smug grin.

“For the record,” Boba’s voice was low, teasing. “Love the sweater. We’ll make a mandalorian out of you, yet.”

“Happy Life Day, love,” you tightened your grip on his fingers, hoping he knew just how grateful you were for him.

You hoped he knew he’d never be alone again.

“Happy life day, princess,” his tone was low, gravelly, overcome with emotion. “You’re the best gift I’ve ever had.”

-

The palace had many rooms that had housed many terrors and abuse over the years. But now…one of them held a tree, all decorated and glimmering. And within the room sat one of the strangest families the Galaxy would ever see.

“This…is so much.” Din’s shiny helmet shifted to meet you and Boba’s watching gazes, his voice softening despite the modulator. “Thank you.”

The mandalorian held a new pulse rifle, shining in the firelight, slowly examining his new weapon with awe. Grogu, his little green child, sat surrounded by gifts, a decent amount of food, and even a pair of tiny socks.

“Certainly,” Boba leaned froward from his seat beside you, earnestly meeting the man’s gaze with a nod. “I hope it serves you well.”

“Wouldn’t want any new weapons mishaps, huh Mando?” Fennec smirked at him from her chair in the corner as she examined her new knives, leg crossed over her knee with a small smirk.

“No,” he set the rifle down with a subtle shake of his head. “You didn’t have to do this.”

You chuckled, gripping Boba’s hand in yours, and he squeezed back, shifting so you were leaning against his shoulder.

“You’re family, Din. Of course we did,” you smiled at him, holding Boba close. “I’m just glad you wanted to be a part.”

He nodded, and you nearly flinched when you felt something touch your leg. You looked down to find Grogu staring up at you, little arms held high. You smirked, glancing at Din for confirmation before lifting the little guy into your lap.

He cooed, leaning into you, smiling as wide as he could. Boba observed you both with a small smirk, expression softening ever so slightly when Grogu shifted to face him, once again lifting his arms.

“Love…he wants you,” you couldn’t stop a small chuckle from slipping through your lips, even as Boba lifted a skeptical brow. “C’mon…he won’t bite.”

Boba hesitated. You saw a shadow briefly pass through his eyes, but it diminished when he met yours.

“All right mesh’la,” he extended his gloved hands and lifted Grogu, holding him against his chest with a lowered brow. “You’re…sweet, ad’ika. Make your father proud.”

Grogu cooed again, and you saw the moment Boba Fett softened. The subtle cave of his shoulders, the tilt of his head. He leaned forward, and everyone observed the moment in silence…

And then Grogu sneezed in his face.

Fennec was the first to laugh. It was more of a snicker, but you couldn’t help but laugh too. You glanced at Boba, hoping he wasn’t upset, but you found he was actually smiling.

Boba Fett was smiling.

“Little terror,” he set Grogu back down on the floor, and he shuffled toward Din with a squeal. “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

“That’s a lot, coming from you,” you smirked, and he grinned, leaning in to kiss you.

“Time for your present, little one,” he pulled something out of his pocket, a small box.

You took it, opening it with bated breath, and found a small, intricate necklace. It bore his sigil, carefully carved, and tears welled into your eyes.

“Oh, Boba…” you swallowed hard, blinking back tears, as he took it from you and carefully removed the necklace from its box.

“I’m with you whenever you go,” his voice was low, for you alone, as he placed it around your neck. “You’re…my family. I hope this will always remind you of that.”

You smiled, kissing him again. Fennec chuckled and Din shook his helmet in mock disgust. Grogu squealed and tossed one of his toys into the air, nearly hitting Din’s helmet.

“Didn’t think you’d ever have this, huh?” You snuggled against Boba, holding him close.

“No.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, voice softer than you think you’d ever heard before. “But I’m glad it did, mesh’la. Glad it did.”

[crankyphlebotomist]

I’m living for all this Life Day content!!! And the tooth rotting fluff is just what the doctor ordered 😍😍😍😍

I hope you know I am now looking for a boba fett Christmas sweater 😅😅