Y'all losing it when Boba did this:
♥ вυт ιмαgιиє ιf ρℓσ кσσи ∂ι∂ ѕσмєтнιиg ѕιмιℓαя. ♥
Sharp talon just under your chin making you look? And he stares you down with absolutely no expression whatsoever? Bet your ass he smells like old money, tea, and war. Delicious, right? Fuck.
And that same talon, bestie? Shiver while he slides that down your throat down to the dip of your clavicles in such an excruciatingly slow fashion, only to tap at the bone a few centimeters below it.
Three times. Never more. Never less.
Then he hits you with that godly reverberating voice of his that is both commanding and soothing — balm to your ever-chaotic soul. That perfect concoction of autocratic sultriness that is the equivalent of getting bent over and spanked for being naughty — and an equilibrium of tamed voracity to elevate you from any form of harm like the aftercare god that he is through words alone.
And as you traverse the halls privy to your clandestine transactions, deaf to the gossip of pillars that have witness all the filth you two have been up to, a gentle reminder from your Kel Dor king beckons you to behave.
