So! I guess now’s as good a time as any to say I’ll be moving this blog away from solely Star Wars. Though I will still be posting Star Wars content and updating my fics for Star Wars characters here, I also want this side blog to be a place for me to flow between interests and write/post about whatever is calling to me at a given time.
I’ve found myself stuck in this mindset that this blog needs to remain what I “originally” intended it to be, which is… just simply not true, and I don’t know why I enforce these fake rules on myself. I’ve been feeling inspired creatively and have quite a bit of writing sitting unpublished, that I’ve been staring at in despair for months because it’s not Star Wars related.
So, fuck it! I’m going to post things here that spark joy. Anyway that’s all i wanted to say, also I love y’all very much and hope you’ve all been well! 💛
Summary: Six seven eight triple-nine eight two one two
Rating: Explicit
Words: 4.4k
Warnings: SMUT, comm sex, so much dirty talk, egregious use of pet names for which I will not apologize, minor mention of blood/injury
A/N: HELLOOOOO bet you didn’t think you’d hear from me so soon but HERE WE ARE. I hope you all enjoy this spicy lil number, I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you @kylorengarbagedump for beta reading and helping me through stuck points, your brain is so HUGE and SEXY. Enjoyyyyy my loves!!!!!
***
“That hurts.”
“Well if you wouldn’t move so much, it’d be easier.”
You turn Dakk’s hand over on the table, passing the bandage underneath and laying it back over his lacerated palm.
“If you wouldn’t run your mouth, everything in my life would be easier.”
Your tongue curls behind your teeth, but you bite back the venom that tries to gather there. The dull ache in your cheekbone is enough of a reminder, so you scowl at your fingers instead, gingerly wrapping the clean strip of cloth and fastening it.
“There. All done.”
Dakk grunts and yanks his hand back, inspecting your work. To mask the roll of your eyes, you push away from the table and start to clear off used bandages and alcohol swabs, tossing the bloodied wad into the garbage. The day he passes up an opportunity to scrutinize something you’ve done will be the day he dies, you think.
A rap at the door makes you glance up from washing your hands. You’re closed today, and Dakk hasn’t scheduled any meetings. The Lasat’s brow furrows, mirroring your confusion, and his chin juts in the direction of the noise.
“Handle that.”
You step away from the bar sink, drying your hands, and move to crack the door open.
“Sorry, no solicitors, please.”
But then you freeze. Before you stands the Gotal man from the alley. Zarn. His posture is closed and fearful, eyes shifting, a grisly bruise blooming across the crooked bridge of his nose and enveloping one eye in a magenta-black hue. He opens his mouth and bleats out a stutter before finding his voice.
“I need to speak to Brondakk Aros.”
Your stomach lurches. Your eyes narrow.
“What is the manner of your business?”
Getting involved is a bad idea. But it’s hard to pinpoint the source of the anger and disgust starting to boil up in your chest, fusing into a steel resolve that compels you to bar his entry.
Zarn whimpers, eyes flicking from side to side like something might jump out of the shadows.
“Please, it’s—it’s very urgent.”
“I’ll decide if it’s…” Floorboards creak. Dakk steps up behind you, forcing you to bite your tongue.
“Let him in.”
Reluctantly, and with one last glare at your visitor, you yield to the side. Dakk opens the door.
“My apologies,” he says, morphing into the unctuous cadence of his business voice, “come inside.”
Zarn scurries across the threshold, and doesn’t seem to breathe until the door shuts behind him. He emits a nervous chuckle, wringing his hands and glancing at you, then at Dakk, who opens an arm to lead him towards a booth.
“Friendly, that one, eh?” Zarn says as he takes a seat, still fidgeting.
“Her temperament needs adjusting.”
They both laugh.
Your eyes roll even harder as you turn away from them and grab a broom, situating yourself to blend into the background and listen. You hope they hurry up and move past cajoling each other into friendly conversation at your expense. Not because it particularly wounds you, but because you’re burning to know why Zarn is here, even though you already have more than a nagging suspicion.
“Now.” You can’t see him with your back turned, but you imagine Dakk striking a relaxed posture, his way of goading his guests into speaking openly. “What can I help you with?”
“Mr. Aros, my name is Sul Zarn, and I’ve come to you with a proposal.” His voice notably shakes over the practiced words. “I have some, er, information that might intere--”
“Wait.” Dakk interrupts him. Fierfek. You can feel his gaze land on your back as your broom makes another quiet pass across the floor. “You.”
Clutching the handle, you whirl around. Dakk glowers sternly at you, then tosses a thumb over his shoulder.
“Get upstairs.”
Son of a mudscuffer. Frowning, you lean your broom against the wall and trudge across the cantina, trying not to let frustration leaden your steps. You whisk up the stairs, enter your tiny room, and shut the door behind you.
Well.
That’s not how you wanted that to go.
You plop down on your bed with a huff and start clicking through your commlink’s registry. Nothing new will be there, you’ve already checked a thousand times since two nights ago. If you hadn’t witnessed it for yourself, face to face and chest to chest with the hunter, you could swear he didn’t do anything to the device at all. You tingle at the memory. The closeness of his body, the brush of his lips...
Muffled noise breaks your train of thought. Your head swivels towards the floor where the sound emanates, and your heart leaps. Of course.
You swing out of bed and go prone, shimmying to the sunken hole in the corner of your room where the baseboard collapsed over a gap in the insulation a long time ago. Dakk never bothered to get it fixed for you. Usually it lets a draft in at night, but now the men’s murmurs drift up like steam from below, clear enough to make out words. Breath held, you listen.
“... information that you may find of interest.” The Gotal finishes his initial spiel with an anxious bleat.
“Go on.”
“You’re with…” Zarn’s voice lowers. “You’re with Black Sun, yeah? I’ll need something in return, but I… I know about your stolen cargo. From the Core route, a couple cycles ago. I-I-I know who took it.”
Leather creaks in the booth--he has Dakk’s attention. Your heart pounds your ribs.
“Name your price.”
Oh, this is bad. Panic starts to wheel in your brain. You need to do something, stop Zarn from talking. But there’s no way you can interrupt what’s going on and escape unscathed. And you don’t have any way of contacting Fett to warn him, either.
No.
Stop.
You’re in way over your head. Anyways, why is it so easy for you to consider betraying Dakk of late? Actively disrupting his business affairs, provoking him, forgetting your gratitude towards the man who plucked you off the streets as a hapless kid, put a roof over your head and food in your belly all these years. Guilt churns your insides.
No, this is not your affair. What you need to do now is lay low and listen. Gather information for only your own mental record, like you used to do before Boba Fett barged into your life and decided your knowledge was his for the taking. He is not your boss, nor is it your responsibility to act as his informant.
“Protection. I need protection. From him.” Zarn’s voice cracks.
Heat suddenly creeps through you. Fett is dangerous. And you’ve only witnessed a fraction of his capabilities. You wish you could banish the rush that douses your body at the thought, replace it with the caution that should come instead.
“Protection from who?” Dakk presses.
A repeating beep resounds in the earpiece of your commlink. Your blood freezes. Below, Zarn whimpers again.
“Tell me everything,” Dakk urges him, “and consider yourself under the full protection of Black Sun.”
You don’t breathe as your hand gravitates to your ear, hesitates, and then taps to accept the incoming transmission. Zarn chokes.
“B-Boba Fett. Boba Fett took the cargo.”
Static hums, then solidifies.
“Hello, little mouse.”
The air around you feels like it’s been sucked into a vacuum. With the last few molecules you can find, you whisper his name.
“My associate has made a poor choice.”
He knows. Is he watching? Can he see somehow, will he know if you lie to him? Your heart pounds your sternum.
“He’s here,” you barely dare to breathe. “Talking to Dakk.”
“Can you hear them?”
That must mean he can’t. And it also means you absolutely need to lie to him.
“I…”
Dakk’s laugh rumbles under the floorboards. It feels impossible to think, your pulse is pummeling your eardrums, and the way you can just barely hear Fett’s breathing through soft static tells you he must be using some internal comm within his helmet. And that has you thinking about his face, the way his eyes burned through you, his lips barely parted, and--
“I can hear them.”
Fuck.
“Good girl. Tell me what they’re saying.”
Your head spins. Dakk’s voice drifts up from below.
“One bounty hunter’s no match for my resources, I assure you, mate. And thanks to your intel, he no longer holds the element of surprise.” He’s laying it on thick, and Zarn lets out a warbling chuckle. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Zarn told Dakk about the shipment,” you breathe. “Gave him your name in exchange for protection.”
Fett chuckles in your ear, sending a bolt of heat through your belly.
“Th-that’s not all,” the Gotal mewls, voice dropping even further. “He’s not acting alone, not any more. He’s got… people. No one knows how many, or where.”
He’s speaking so quietly now, it’s difficult to make out his words. You drag yourself forward to press your ear to the gap in the baseboard, letting out a few soft grunts with the strain that your muscles undertake to ensure you don’t scrape across the hardwood. It could be your imagination, but you swear you hear a catch in Fett’s breathing on the end of the line.
“He’s building something,“ Zarn continues, “planning, I know he is. You and--and your associates, you may want to, you know, ah…” he must make some gesture in place of words then, “... before he takes over the whole Outer Rim.”
Your breathing quickens. This all goes far deeper than you initially thought. A strange sensation overtakes you, like your world just opened up tenfold and you’re being pitched into an uncharted void before you’ve even taken a breath to ready yourself. Whether that void is going to swallow you whole or receive you, there’s no telling.
“He said you’re planning something. That you have operatives.” The words pant through your chest, made difficult by your racing thoughts and the strain in your muscles. “I think he told Dakk that Black Sun should come after you.”
“Cowards are predictable. Remember that, princess.”
You pointedly ignore the way that word sends flutters from your chest down to your thighs, mind suffused with unease which the hunter doesn’t seem to share.
“Black Sun will be onto you, Fett.”
Below you, the men shuffle, wrapping up business. You can hear the self-satisfied grin in Dakk’s voice.
“You’ve done a great service to Black Sun today, my friend. It won’t be forgotten. And don’t worry about that Mando, I’ll be arranging a security detail for the Lothal sector. He won’t get past our boys.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Aros, sir.” Relief floods Zarn’s voice. “Please tell me if I can be of any further use to your, ah, prosperous organization.” If he crawls any further up Dakk’s ass, you think he might find the end of the stick in there.
“We’ll be in touch.” Dakk seems to be leading Zarn towards the door, based on the new direction the voices take. You blink a few times, processing.
“He’s leaving,” you say. “Dakk made a deal with him, Black Sun will be guarding this sector.”
“Are you alone?”
“I…”
Your brain stalls at the unexpected question, mouth opening a few times, but unable to form words. Cold hardwood presses your belly and your palms, sudden awareness of your surroundings flooding your scrambled senses. You can hear the front door open, and the two men exchange brief goodbyes. And then the latch clicks, and Dakk’s footfalls retreat to the back door leading towards his apartment. It groans open, then shuts, the bolt slotting and leaving you in silence.
“Little mouse.”
“I’m…” Shallow breaths pant in your chest. You push up on your hands, then sit back on your heels, blinking at your tiny, empty bedroom. Your voice still doesn’t rise above a whisper. “I’m alone.”
“Are you?”
His voice pulls from deep in his chest, gravelled and heady even through the comm static, dragging heat down your spine with it.
“Because I know what you sound like when you’re trying to keep quiet. Those pretty noises you make.”
Breath escapes you on an airy gasp.
“Like that.”
Your jaw drops, words failing you yet again as your heartbeat plummets between your legs. And then Fett’s voice hitches, softly, on a groan.
“I like to think about the last time you kept quiet for me. Do you remember?”
You have to reach out and grasp the edge of your bedframe with the way your legs turn gelatinous.
“I…” You swallow through the thickness in your throat. “I remember.”
He hums, and your mind wheels around that low and lascivious sound.
“You think about it, too.”
Your legs tremble now, thighs clenching where you kneel on the floor to alleviate the heat blazing between them. Your mind still trips across the line between unease from what just transpired below you, and the need you feel pulsing in your cunt with every word the hunter utters.
“Fett, Black Sun, th-they’re--”
“You touch that pretty little pussy and think of me.”
A tiny sound chokes in the highest register of your throat, strangled by the effort it takes not to whimper. Dizziness saturates you, spinning heat through every nerve ending and funneling it downwards.
“Yes.” Your concern is becoming more difficult to grasp, drowned out by a violent wave of arousal lighting every inch of your body on fire at once like flash paper. “Every night.”
He hums his approval.
“Tell me what you think about, little one.”
Your cheeks blaze. Your mouth hangs open, breath panting hot against the hand stabilizing you on the edge of your bed.
But then a splash of realization trickles through you like springwater to your parched throat. This is his game. And he’s forgetting that you’ve played it before.
He wants you flustered, off your guard, wants to work you up until you’re burning alive and completely at his mercy. It’s his own particular kind of gambling match where all odds are in his favor from the start, ensuring that he can place one wager, then sit back and enjoy the results. But you have cards up your sleeve this time. And if he wants to let you deal the first hand, he’s going to find out exactly which rules you’re playing by.
“Your… your hands,” you begin on a demure breath.
Your fingertips trail up your thigh, squeeze your hip where his gloved fingers had dug into your flesh, then move upwards over your ribs and skim your breast. You feel your nipple pull taut under your shirt, eliciting a shiver.
“Everywhere you touched me.”
More air pulls through the words, lending him just the faintest indication that your hands are tracing your body. Yes, you’re going to make him think about every curve, every soft line of you, and the way it yielded to his touch. You’re going to make his cock swell and his chest tighten and his skin ache for the heat of yours. You’re going to play his body like an electroharp until it’s thrumming in perfect harmony with your own.
Your fingers close around one nipple, squeezing it with a slight twist that makes you gasp.
“How good it felt when you were rough with me.”
A growl works its way through the comm static that makes your chest squeeze. You’ve already got him testing the edges of his composure, it’s audible in the quickening of his breaths and the timbre of his voice when he speaks.
“You like it rough.”
“Yes, fuck—“ Instead of pressing together, your thighs now shift apart, making way as your fingers twitch towards the seam concealing your heat. “Wanted your cock from the moment you held me down.”
“I know.” There is an edge to his words. “You couldn’t keep that needy little cunt still.”
“Mmh--still can’t.” You rock your hips forward to slowly ride your palm, the seam of your pants pressing deliciously against your clit and sending little shocks down all of your limbs. “Just… Feels so good when I think about…”
He utters your name, low, a warning.
“… About how you stretched me open, made me cum all over your cock.”
“Fuck.”
His breathing comes heavier now. It makes you wonder if he’s palming himself over his pants, teasing his cock the way your ass did when he had you bent over a crate in the storeroom. You lick your lips and roll into your hand again, letting a tiny whine pour into the heated air.
“My fingers aren’t the same,” you pant, “Not as good… can’t make me cum the way you did.”
A sound catches low in his throat.
“You need me to fill you up, princess?”
“Yes, oh fuck, please— I want you inside me, I can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop needing it.” Your hips buck against your palm in earnest now, whines swelling into full moans and saturating the air of your room. “I need to cum for you, n-need to touch myself so badly.”
“Do it.”
The command is sharp, direct, not calling for disobedience. It makes your face grow hotter.
“Touch that pretty pussy for me.”
Fire licks under your skin, guiding your fingers to its burning center between your legs. They dip beneath the waistband of your pants, glide through curls and find the source of your heat, soft and sensitive and fucking drenched. As you barely trail one finger through the slick flesh, air fills the softest octaves of your voice, and your lips wrap around the hunter’s name of their own accord.
“What is it, little one?”
“I’m so wet.”
A snarl rolls through the earpiece, a tight, barely-harnessed sound with too much breath to leave any remaining doubt about what his hands are doing. You imagine one wrapped around his thick cock and stroking, the shaft pulsing in his palm when he squeezes it from base to tip. Wetness collects in your mouth.
“I need you,” your voice lifts on a whine. Unfastening your pants, you shove them down around your thighs for better access. “Please, I need you right here.”
A quick double tap on your cuff switches your comm’s audio pickup from the earpiece to your wrist. When you dip your fingers into the soaked folds of your cunt this time, you circle them, spread your slick from your entrance up to your tender clit and down again, so that he can hear the obscenely wet noises your body makes for him.
A word punches through the comm in a language you don’t know. But just from the way he spits it right out through his teeth, it must be foul.
“Oh, fuck.”
You gasp as you curl two fingers into your soaked entrance and rock your hips, sinking until you press the spot that makes stars dance behind your eyes. When you circle your hips now, your clit grinds against the heel of your palm, and the compounded pleasure pulls a sound from your lips that could make a Coruscant whore blush.
“Boba… it feels so fucking good.”
He sucks in a breath, and it’s unsteady in his chest when he hisses it back out. Your mind conjures another image of his hand moving up and down his cock, maybe a pearl of precum shining on the tip that he slicks down to aid his pleasure.
“Good girl, fuck yourself nice and slow.”
There’s a breathlessness to his voice that makes your vision swim as you imagine stroking up and down, slowly riding him the same way you’re canting your hips against your own fingers. They’re a meager replacement for what you desire, but the images your brain supplies, combined with the sounds that the hunter makes as he pleasures himself along with you, are more than enough to get you aching to cum.
“How many fingers do you have inside yourself, pretty thing?”
Dizziness pitches you, and you have to readjust your grip on the edge of the bed to stabilize.
“Mmm. Two.”
You pump them, feeling your own walls suck you in with a slick noise, greedy for pressure against the deepest parts that you can’t reach.
“Add another for me.”
It’s impossible to gasp down enough air to temper the rush that blazes up your chest and into your neck and face. Slowly, you press a third finger into your cunt, feeling the way your walls need to stretch and pulse to work it in with the rest. The pressure constricts your digits, making it difficult to move them. But the feeling of fullness swells right up through you until it reaches your chest on an exquisite moan.
“Fuck… It’s so tight.”
“That’s how you felt around my cock, princess.”
You clench hard and shiver, gasping as you crush your own fingers.
“That’s right,” he hums. “Take them like you took this cock.”
His voice carries right through your body, diffuses into every nerve ending and starts to glow there. Pleasure surges from your stretched pussy, making your breaths sharpen as your body begins to tighten down on the vague promise of orgasm. As if he can feel it through the comm, Boba continues.
“You’re going to cum for me again. Make a little mess all over your hand when I tell you to.”
Fuck, if he keeps talking like that, you’re not going to last much longer. You whine in response, your body flooded with need.
But it’s too soon to allow yourself full release. You haven’t played all of your cards yet, and if you lose yourself now, you’ll never get the chance.
Soft, needy moans blossom through the stillness of your room as you continue to work your soaked cunt over your hand, each motion sending deep waves of pleasure through your body while your next words collect on your tongue.
“Wanna taste you again.” Your voice is honeyed and heady now as your orgasm starts to pool deep in your center. You don’t chase it, just keep steadily fucking your hand and letting the shape of it churn and swell.
“After… after you left that night…” Air pushes and pulls in tiny gasps at the top of your throat, a simpering melody orchestrated by the gradual curve of your lips. “Mmh, I couldn’t help myself. Licked all of your cum right off my fingers, Boba. Everything you fucking gave me.”
You’ve played the winning hand, and you know it the second his breaths choke in his chest. You can imagine the way he’s strangling his cock at the base while it throbs, his stomach tightening on the precipice of orgasm, reluctant to succumb first.
Desperate little moans pour over your lips, and the hunter snarls your name in warning again. You ignore him.
“I’m so close,” you whimper. “Need… need your cum, want it down my fucking throat.”
Your fingers are stroking pure fire through your core, your orgasm swelling to a dangerous apex. All it would take is one more word from him, one more gravelled command. But you’ve got him right on the edge, too. His breath is ragged in his chest, all you need to do is lend him one decisive push.
“Boba…” His name is a plea between your lips. “I’m gonna fucking cum… please, please let me cum.”
A string of curses tears through his teeth, ending in one low, devastating phrase.
“Cum for me, princess.”
You sink your fingers deep, grind your clit into your palm, and shatter. Your first cry of ecstasy is met with his own gritted roar, and the sound of his release only works to amplify the waves of electric pleasure that crash through your core and out to the edges of your skin.
The height of your release drags out exquisitely while you ride yourself through the whole thing, wave after wave until your hips finally buckle and your forehead comes down into the crook of your arm bracing on your bed. Shaking and panting, you wait as the remnants of your release flutter outwards through your limbs, then slowly settle to blissful stillness like ripples in a highland lake.
Boba must be in a similar state, from what you can hear. Grunted puffs come through the comm; he sounds utterly sated and somewhat bewildered. And although that part could be your imagination, it makes your ribs swell with triumphant air.
In fact, it strikes a tiny, devious match in the bottom of your orgasm-hazed brain, and a smirk pulls your lips. You hum out a breathy little noise, easing your soaked fingers out of your oversensitive pussy and raising them to your lips.
“You want to know what I taste like?”
He is silent for a moment, and a thrill lights up through your chest when his voice finally resounds in your ear, his tone low and deadly.
“You’re playing with fire, little one.”
You slot your fingers over your soft tongue and drag. The taste of your cum spreads across your palate, making your lips seal on a long moan. You take your time savoring it, suckling your fingertips before releasing them with a soft, wet pop.
“You’ll have to come find out for yourself.” Your lips curve into a devilish smile then, a coy giggle bubbling up from your chest. “Oh, but I hope that blockade doesn’t give you too much trouble.”
“What makes you sure I’m not here already?”
A bolt of alarm actually cuts the haze of your pleasure for a second at that. He very well could be, you’re sure it’s not outside of his capabilities. For all you know he’s been right outside this whole time, monitoring your every move somehow. But one of your bets has already been won, and you’re in a gambling mood.
“You’re not.” Your tongue dances giddily along your teeth.
“Aren’t I?”
“Mmm, nope. Wouldn’t let me act like such a tease if you were.”
In emphasis, you suck your fingers again, collecting the last remnants of your slick and letting the sounds of your mouth come soft and wet through your comm.
“Keep that up, little mouse, and see what happens.”
Fresh adrenaline pulses through your veins now, intoxicating you on a shot of raw danger. You’re walking a line, but what lies in the chasm below looks so much more exciting than solid ground on the other side. Your tongue slips, and you step into a free fall.
“Come and show me then.”
Your finger finds a button on your wrist, and you hang up the comm.
