#zwei writes
Text
AN HONEST DAY'S WORK
—PAIRING: Contractor!Boba Fett x F!Reader
—SUMMARY: You have a very special project you want your parents’ contractor, Boba Fett, to work on.
—WORD COUNT: 9k
—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, contractor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), reader described as having hair, Boba is a dirty old man and doesn’t mind saying so 😈, likely an excessive use of pet names by yours truly, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), squirting, cum eating, soft Boba 🥹, mentions of a shitty ex
Please let me know if I missed anything!
—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you @baufraus for slapping a tool belt on that old man, you’re doing the lord’s work 😌 Enjoy besties 💖
Divider by the @saradika
Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist
What a pleasant thing to be woken up by your alarm, you think, stretching out in a luxurious full body stretch under your flowery covers. After a month and a half of what felt like constant construction right outside your window, waking to your buzzing alarm was a welcome relief from the jagged sounds of powertools and hard machinery.
While you love your parents dearly, their desire to turn the backyard of your childhood home into a suburban oasis has been a less than pleasant experience for you. They certainly deserved to enjoy their retirement after putting you and your siblings through school, but the necessity of such renovations during your last year of your masters was dubious to you at best.
All in all though, you can’t complain. You live in their spacious, boomer-bought house rent-free and enjoy a home-cooked meal every night; you have your mom to dote on you when you get sick and your dad to defrost your car in the cold winter mornings. Even with the long hours of inescapable noise and constant stream of people in and around the house, you’re grateful to be there. And, if you’re completely honest, you’re also extremely grateful for the unexpected front row seat to watch the handsome contractor heading the whole operation.
Boba Fett hasn’t left your thoughts since the day he arrived at your front door dressed in khaki cargo pants, a form fitting t-shirt, and a tool belt slung low across his hips. His perfect white smile and smoldering dark eyes left you speechless then and have continued to bedevil you ever since, winding your insides (and panties) into knots. The fact that he’s somehow a perfect gentleman to you while simultaneously being the most incorrigible flirt that ever lived hasn’t helped in the least. Between his sparkling winks, dazzling smile, and delicious voice calling you “princess” and “sweetheart,” you haven’t known a moment’s peace—even when the crew finally went home in the evenings.
It’s all enough to drive you totally insane.
Lucky for him, however, it hasn’t. Staring up at the familiar ceiling above you, you smile: today is the day you will finally have your revenge. The contractor had teased and poked at you for weeks and you’d been powerless to do anything more than glower and huff at him due to the constant company of your parents and his crew. But now you have him all to yourself for an entire day with the house to yourself and his workers off—and you have no intention of showing him any mercy.
It’s been nearly two years since you’ve had anything close to what one could consider “action.” Between school and your research fellowship, you haven’t had any time to go to parties or bars or wherever adults are supposed to meet people to do it with. No, for two long years, it has been you and your vibrator against the world.
Boba Fett is going to fix that.
After a quick shower and a punched-up version of your morning routine, you’re almost ready to set your plan into motion. Flicking through your closet, you decide on your favorite floral sundress with a pair of cute sandals. Now dressed, you smooth your hands down the light fabric, smiling at your reflection in the mirror; you look sweet enough to eat. And lick. And suck. And-
Heat flares in your belly at the thought of Boba’s large, work-rough hands pulling up the hem of your dress to kiss up your soft thighs, his tongue spelling out all the dirty, awful things he wants to do to you in your parents’ own home… his lips wrapping around that desperate, aching spot between your legs and making that burning need finally go away in an explosion of pent-up pleasure.
Fuck. You bite down hard on your lip to stop from hopping back beneath your covers and touching yourself to the rest of that particular fantasy. The only thing that keeps you from sneaking in a quickie with your hand clamped over your mouth so his name doesn’t spill out is the chance to have him do all those things to you for real.
Taking a deep breath, you push away your lewd imaginings and check your phone. You have just enough time to grab your books and position yourself on the deck before Boba arrives to finish whatever project your parents told you about. Railings? Pool pump? Painting? Doesn’t matter.
With one last check in the mirror, you hurry towards your bedroom door only to stop short a second later. Before you can think better of it, you snatch down your panties and toss them over your shoulder with a grin.
Chancing a glance over the top of your unread book, you spy Boba leaning across a board and marking it with a flat drafting pencil. The suggestive slant of his hips and the sheen of perspiration on his brow made a slew of very suggestive images flood your brain. Was it possible to be attracted to the way someone clenches their jaw?
Boba had to be showing off. There’s simply no explanation for why he needed to carry that much lumber on his shoulder or measure that many things high enough for his gray t-shirt to ride up and reveal a tempting peek at the dark trail of hair leading into his jeans. And since when did there need to be so much drilling? He is sorely beating you at your own game, and that simply would not do—not when you need him so bad you’re scheming and panty-less in your parents’ backyard.
“See something you like, princess?”
Kark. Shaking your head, you blink your eyes like you’ve been caught deep into your reading. “Oh, sorry, did you say something?”
He straightens, arching a brow as he dusts himself off. As you follow his hands across his strong torso and thighs you realize too late that your eyes have wandered to his crotch. Smirking, Boba runs a palm over his face to wipe away the sweat there. “Never mind that,” he chuckles, “Could I interrupt your ‘study session’ for something to drink?”
The audacity of this man! Scoffing at your (admittedly weak) attempt at school work like he hasn’t been putting on a show himself for the past hour and a half.
You’re not going to let yourself be beat at your own game. Plastering on a big smile, you answer in a honey-sweet voice. “Actually, my mom made some sandwiches and lemonade since you had to come by on your day off. Why don’t you freshen up and take a seat over here,” you motion to the couch across from you, “and I’ll be out with lunch in a couple minutes.”
Boba watches with an amused smile as you trot past him into the cool of the house, taking your unspoken invitation to stare at your ass as you do so. When you re-emerge a few minutes later with the promised food and drink, he’s spread out over the couch with a fresh shirt on and looking every bit as regal as a king on a throne. You suppose it’s only fitting that he calls you his princess when he thanks you for bringing out the meal.
Picking up a sandwich, Boba nods to your stack of readings on the side table. “Lot of books you got there, princess. What are you in school for?”
You’re ready to give him some giggly, flippant reply but the genuine look of interest on his face stops you. For a stricken second you’re tongue tied by the thought of your parents’ hot contractor being genuinely interested in you as a person. Shimmering, unbidden fantasies float through your mind of Boba pulling out your chair for you on a date, the two of you sitting around a bonfire with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, him kissing the top of your head as he leaves for work in the morning. The images curl through the heat of your desire for him, mixing with the safe warmth and happiness he brings you.
Maybe…
You quickly scramble to answer before your imagination can run rampant and put dangerous thoughts of something more with him into your head.
“Speech-language pathology and therapy. Originally I was doing special education but then I really enjoyed my communicative disorders class, so my professor helped me apply to an internship program that convinced me to change my concentration. I even got into the fellowship program in the speech lab at St. Mary’s this semester and-”
You look up to see Boba staring at you so fondly that it makes your chest ache and your words evaporate into flushed smoke. “Oh, u-um, sorry, you probably didn’t want to hear all that… basically, I’m studying ways to help people speak easier.” You take a long sip of lemonade to avoid saying anything else, mentally kicking yourself to get it together. You have a plan and you need to stick to it, no matter how tingly and fuzzy he makes your heart feel.
The couch creaks as Boba shifts forward to rest his forearms on his knees so he can meet your downcast eyes. “Hey… never apologize for your passion. Not many people have what you have, or the drive to go after it. That’s something to be proud of, sweetheart.”
That same warm, shimmery feeling from before returns and you smile at him. “Thanks,” you murmur, wondering if it’s normal for his tenderness to make you want to get in his pants even more. You don’t care either way. Clearing your throat, you roll back your shoulders and lean back against the plump cushions. “Well I don’t want to keep you if you’ve got any more, uh, “measuring” to do.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he winks.
“Right.” He nods to his cleared plate. “Thanks for lunch.”
“Of course,” you assure him, “gotta make sure you keep your strength up for any… activities you might get up to.”
Boba laughs rich and deep as he pushes up from the couch. “You really are too good to me, princess.”
If only he knew just how good I can be.
The following hour passes in pleasant, if sexually charged, silence as both of you vie to make the other crack first. When he lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, revealing the thick wall of muscle and softer belly underneath, you finally decide enough is enough. If he’s playing dirty, you will too.
Reaching your arms above your head, you stretch and let out a suggestive groan that has Boba’s head snapping towards you. Of course, you pretend you don’t notice and continue your stretch, leisurely easing out your legs to their full length. With his eyes boring into you, you purposefully slide your knees up the couch cushions so the hem of your flowy dress rides dangerously high up your thighs. You can physically feel the tables turning in your favor, upper hand slipping from him to you in this one powerful, heady moment.
Tilting your head back to meet his burning gaze, you savor the feeling, watching through your lashes as his breath stutters in his chest. Then, taking your lip between your teeth, you slowly open your thighs, one, then the other, to reveal the glistening folds hidden between them.
For a brief second, it seems like he’s going to snap the board in his hands with the way his muscles strain against his shirt. When you moan a quiet little sound as you stretch again, he slams the wood down and stalks over you with his fists clenching.
Blinking up at him with siren eyes, you give him a sultry smile. “See something you like, handsome?” you mimic, reaching out to drag your fingers down his arm.
He snatches up your hand in a tight grip. “Careful, princess,” Boba warns in a low, scraped voice. “Think very carefully about-”
Before you can chicken out, you flip the front of your dress above your waist with your free hand. “About this?”
Boba sucks in a sharp breath and stares for a long second, the muscles in his jaw working in tight feathers before he yanks your dress back down over your legs. “Sweetheart, I’m serious,” he shuts his eyes and exhales heavily. “Think about what you’re offering.”
As if you haven’t thought about this very thing for weeks on end, writhing and panting to the thought of Boba Fett doing every dirty thing to you that you could come up with. No, if anything, you need to stop thinking and start feeling everything your wicked thoughts had conjured up about this man.
“Boba, please,” you whine, the feel of his hand on your skin making your voice desperate, “I’m sure, I’m so, so sure I swear.” His grip tightens and you can sense he’s waiting to hear for something more concrete. “I’ve thought about you every day, every night… I want you, Boba. Please.”
“Fuck, sweetheart…” His skin burns against yours and he curses again, dropping your wrist and coming to his knees in front of you. “Tell me then,” he grunts, bracing himself between your thighs, “tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
Pure, molten want burns in his eyes, igniting the desperate tinder of your desire. What didn’t you want him to do? You’ve dreamed about him taking you every possible way in every possible place, groaning your name and screwing you senseless. What could you say when you want everything he’ll give you?
Luckily, your tongue has the answer your brain does not. “Kiss me,” you gasp, “Please kriffing kiss me.”
And like he’d been waiting his entire life to hear you say those very words, he’s on you, pushing you back against the pillows and crashing his perfect lips against yours in a scorching fury. Your body welcomes his intensity, instinctually shaping itself around his strong hips and wide shoulders as you claw at him to get closer. Fuck, you’re already greedy for him, your skin thirsting for his and your pussy soaking your dress beneath it.
“W-wait,” you gasp, hating the way he immediately recoils even as you appreciate his caution. You don’t want to give Boba any reason to stop but you don’t want to embarrass yourself in the heat of things either. “I’ve never, um, well… I’ve never had… never with someone else.” You wince; your words sound even worse than they did tripping through your head. Anxiety pricks your heated skin—you want to bury yourself into his shirt and hide there forever.
Why did you bring this up? You should’ve just gone with it like before.
When he speaks, Boba’s voice is the softest it’s ever been. “Princess, baby, look at me.” He rolls the both of you up to a sitting position, giving you just enough space to pull away if you needed to while still being close. Gently taking one of your clenched fists into his large hand, he smooths your fingers out, rubbing soothing circles into your palm with his thumb.
You sneak a peek at him. Gone is the hot fervor of passion that previously colored his features; now he’s a softer shade that beckons you into his comfort.
“There she is,” he smiles, rewarding you with his own when you force your face up to his. The urgent tear of worry in your chest eases and you melt into his side. “Now, how about you tell me what’s bothering you, hmm?”
“Really, it’s nothing,” you try, knowing it won’t work as soon as you say it. All you want to do is go back to him kissing the air out of your lungs and to have his fingers brushing over your soaked slit, but Boba isn’t going to let you off the hook.
Damn him and his honorable ways.
Boba sighs and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Nice try, sweetheart.” He lays his cheek on top of your head and wraps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a comforting squeeze. “Listen, if all this is happening too fast, if you want to stop here, we can. I won’t be mad, baby. Your first time should be with someone special, and if that’s not me then that’s alright.”
First time? Realization dawns on you a second later and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from your belly. Giggling, you arch up and give the confused man next to you a quick peck on the lips. “Thank you, Boba, really. But that’s not what I meant.” A new kind of nervousness pools in your gut now, one that swirls with hot anticipation rather than cold dread.
Grabbing his free hand for support, you look into the warm depth of his eyes as his fingers curl around yours. “What I was trying to say was that… well, that no one else has ever made me come before. I’ve made myself come plenty of times but,” yikes, did you have to say that?, “I’ve only been with one other guy and he never made me… I mean, I got close one time but he never actually made me finish.”
The concerned look on Boba’s face melts into a glorious laugh that rumbles your chest. Before you know it, you’re both laughing and kissing in between delighted gasps for air. A bright sense of joy permeates every cell in your body and you tuck it safely inside your heart. If this was your first time, you know that you’d want it to be with him. Maybe you’ll pretend this is your first time.
“Oh, sweetheart, is that what you’re worried about?” he finally sighs, his warm breath tickling your neck. You nod against him.
In one quick motion, Boba scoops you up into his lap, wrapping his arms around you to grab your ass through your dress. “Are you worried that I won’t be able to make you scream and shake when I lick and stroke your perfect little pussy? Hmm?” He groans into your ear when you shiver against him. “Babygirl, don’t you worry one bit. I’m gonna take care of you, I’m gonna make you feel so amazing you’re not going to be able to sit out here ever again without remembering how I made you cry with how good it feels.”
This time, you’re the one who slams your lips against his, stealing whatever dark, sweet words he had left from his tongue. You mewl into his open mouth as he rocks your bare core over the thick denim straining over his erection. The seam of his jeans catches your clit perfectly and you would have cried out loud enough for the neighbors three houses down to hear if Boba hadn’t held your face against his.
“Easy there, beautiful,” Boba chuckles, “we don’t need everyone knowing what we’re up to, not till we’re done anyways, yeah?” You hum in agreement and bury your face into his shoulder, inhaling his clean smell and the surprisingly attractive scent of a day’s work clinging to his skin. “Now, tell me about this boy before, did he make you feel good? Make you want to flash your bare cunt to him and beg him to take you where anyone could walk around and see?”
Your crappy college boyfriend never made you want anything remotely like what Boba’s saying. The only thing he ever made you want was for him to hurry up so you could go in the bathroom and finish yourself off. He had been nice enough, but, nice enough didn’t make your eyes cross and pussy wet. “He never, shit, he never…” you gasp as Boba grinds you harder against himself, “I had to beg him to eat me out and even then he complained about it every time.”
“Complained? Kark, princess, tasting you is all I’ve been able to think about for a month. In fact,” Boba grins wickedly, “I’d like to solve that problem right now, with your permission, of course.” His tongue flicks out to wet his lips like he’s preparing to enjoy the best meal of his life.
You can’t give him your permission fast enough.
Reaching behind his back, Boba tosses one of the decorative pillows from the couch onto the deck and slides down to kneel on it in front of you. “Why don’t you hand me another one of those,” he flashes you a smile and a wink, “My knees aren’t what they used to be.”
“They didn’t seem to be a problem when you were putting on a show for me earlier,” you snark back, rolling your eyes for extra effect. “I hardly got any reading done with your whole construction worker performance going on.”
Boba tosses his head back and laughs a deep belly laugh that makes you glow for being its source. Grabbing your hips, he yanks you to the edge of the couch, making you squeal. “Now I think we both know you never had any intention of studying when you planted your cute little ass on this couch.” He leans in, inching your dress up so he can brush his lips over the ticklish skin just above your knees.
“Wh-What are you talking about?” Your lashes flutter shut and you dig your nails into the cushions to keep your composure as Boba begins to pepper kisses up your thighs while his hands massaged what his mouth wasn’t on. “I h-have all my stuff out here, see?”
Of course, your handsome contractor is exactly right but you’re not going to admit that.
Licking a stripe mere centimeters from where you want him most, Boba huffs a laugh into your damp skin. “All props, sweetheart. Your dress and flirty little smile gave it all away.” His hands travel to the back of your hips where he spreads them wide so you arch against him, bringing the top of your pelvic bone right to his mouth. “Though really, the fact you didn’t turn a single page the entire time you were out here would have clued me in regardless.”
Boba’s words feel like they’re coming through a wall of thick molasses, heavy and sweet as they are to your ears. All you can focus on is the heat of his breath whispering across the wetness he caused and how his lips feel ghosting against your soft flesh as he speaks. Kark, how are you supposed to think with him like this, kneeling for the very opportunity to put his mouth where you’ve dreamed it would be so many times? All that time trembling, aching, yearning for him and he was finally yours—at least for now—and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.
You bunch up the material of your dress in a fist and force your hazy eyes to focus on him. “Either way, it got me what I truly wanted,” you smile affectionately, “You.”
An emotion flashes across Boba’s sun-bronzed face so quickly it feels like a secret to have seen it, something deep and tender, petal-soft and just as vulnerable. Something words couldn’t quite express and certainly not something he wanted to be seen. It made him feel so frighteningly human that you want to bury him in your chest and murmur all lovely things he makes you feel until he feels safe enough to let that emotion out of its closely guarded cage.
A second later, however, his usual cocksure expression is back in place. “Aw, you’re sweet to flatter an old man. Now how about you sit up on those knees so I can taste every inch of your pretty pussy?”
You couldn’t have refused his request even if it wasn’t the hottest thing you ever heard, not with the way you’re so agonizingly ready that you’re literally dripping with arousal. “Boba, please. Need your-ooohh!” A searing shock of pleasure ricochets up your spine as his tongue swipes through the web of slick pooled in your slit.
Your intense reaction spurs Boba on and he immediately dives into your core, jamming his face between your legs and groaning loudly as he inhales your scent. “Sweet as fucking cherry pie, baby. Shit, come here,” he growls, yanking you down so nearly your full weight is on his face. “I want you down my damn throat, you’re so delicious. Better than anything I’ve ever had.”
You wish you could open your scrunched eyes to see the expression that matches his blissed out tone, but it’s impossible with the way his tongue is flicking through folds as he sucks up every drop of your slick like he needs it to live. Heat pumps through your veins, lighting you up until you’re sure you could replace the sun. In less than thirty seconds, Boba has made you feel more beautiful, more cherished than you ever felt in your entire life.
As your knees begin to buckle from the luscious intensity of his mouth, Boba tosses your right leg over his shoulder, balancing you across his face and giving him the perfect opportunity to flatten his tongue against your clit. You have to slap a hand across your mouth to keep from screaming when he starts a pace that has you riding his face with fervent abandon, your hand dropping your dress to clutch at the back of his skull for more pressure.
Boba moans and scrapes his teeth over your clit, making you squeal and jolt at the sharp sensation. “Fucking hell, girl, you really are dirty, aren’t you? I never should have waited to get my mouth on you. Lay down for me, I wanna feel that tight cunt squeezing my fingers while you make a mess on my face.”
As much as you don’t want to part with his mouth, the temptation to feel him stretching you out on his thick fingers, stroking all the places your own can’t reach, is too great to resist. Scrambling back onto the couch, you tuck yourself into the corner to give him the maximum amount of access to your trembling body.
Boba grins up at you, his face up to his eyes shiny with your slick. “Howya feeling, sweetheart? Ready for me to make you see stars?”
In response, you just toss the fabric of your dress over your shoulder and roll your hips forward.
Boba was a man of his word, bringing you to the edge of orgasm once with mouth and hands then once more with his cock as took you from behind—you’re in actual tears with how good every single one of his movements feel. Every drag of his cock is pure pleasure, every touch of his hands delicious delight, and every kiss is incandescent bliss. You’re never going to be the same again.
“Oh, my filthy little girl,” he taunts, grabbing a handful of your tits as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, “what would your parents think, hmm? What would they do if they knew you let an old man bend you over the table they’ll eat off of? That you’re bouncing on his dick and begging him for more on their couch?”
“Oh, fuck! Boba!” A wave of liquid arousal floods your core, make the sound of him fucking into you even wetter.
“Yeah? You like it when I talk like that, sweetheart? You like knowing that I’m going to own every part of you then send you back to them with a smile on my face and your cum leaking down my cock?”
Every single one of his sex-stained words sear into your skin, going straight to your throbbing clit. Every beat of your pounding heart brings you closer and closer to the bright brink of orgasm, every roll of his hips thrusting his length into that perfect spot inside you. Fuck he’s going to make me come if he keeps… fuck!
“Kark, baby, I can feel you squeezing me with that perfect tight cunt. Shit, you’re so-”
You can’t take it anymore. Falling forward onto his heaving chest, you dig your nails into the thick muscle there and start grinding your aching clit against him like some feral animal chasing their heat.
Faster, harder, faster, fuck! Just like that, juuuust like that and you’ll feel that perfect fucking release, just a little more and…
Boba stills his bucking hips and halts your rocking.
You howl, clawing at his unmoving body. “No, please!” you sob, “I’m so close, please don’t stop now!”
Boba shushes you with the press of his mouth. “Shh, you’ll get what you want, baby, I promise you. But if I'm gonna be the first man to make you come, I’m gonna make it much more memorable than that was going to be.”
The thought of anything more than the building pleasure thrashing in core was unimaginable. How on earth could it be better than him balls deep inside you hitting your g-spot like it’s what he was made for? Never in your wildest dreams had you felt this good, even when you had hours alone to tease yourself before riding out the wave of your orgasm. If there was anything greater than this pleasure you’re not sure you would survive it—not with your mind intact, anyways.
Sliding his hands under your slicked thighs, Boba swings his legs off the couch and stands with a huff, keeping himself sheathed inside you. You grind into the fabric of his shirt until gives your ass a firm swat and you a stern warning to behave, which you’re too desperate to test. He walks the pair of you over to the large, oak table and plops you on top of it. The rich grain is supple and smooth on your bare skin, and Boba eases your back flat against it as he kisses and gropes across your body.
“Alright, princess,” he pulls away slightly to rest his damp forehead on yours, “I need you to do something for me, okay?”
Brushing your hands down his neck and shoulders, you’d promise him anything he asked. “O-okay, Boba.”
He peppers a few kisses on your tear-stained cheeks before continuing, letting his hips rut into you at an agonizingly slow pace. “When I tell you to, I want you to release all your muscles and completely let go. Don’t hold anything in, alright, babygirl?”
You’re not sure where he’s leading you but you have complete faith in the fact that it’s going to be mind blowing. You give him your affirmation and he presses a small kiss on your lips.
“Good. Now start playing with those perfect fucking tits, give me a good show.”
You’re in such a hurry to comply that you get frustrated by the straps of your dress and bra, to which Boba chuckles and makes quick work of them, dragging the material down until your chest was bared for his mouth to claim. He curses when you press the soft flesh of your breasts together, moaning when your fingers brush over your pert nipples. For a minute he just watches you revel in the pleasure of your own hands, fucking yourself shallowly on him as you pluck and caress the sensitive skin beneath your fingers.
Boba is a man entranced, his dark eyes glassy with want. Under his reverential gaze, you feel so desired, so utterly divine, like you’re his own personal goddess—he stares down at you as your most pious devotee who longs for nothing more than to feel the blessing of your body and the joy of your bliss.
“Boba…” you whisper duskily. He leans into your outstretched hand and you pull him into your arms with a crushing kiss.
As if he can read exactly what you need, he hikes your leg over his hip and begins a pace of snapping thrusts that has your entire body bouncing with their bruising force. “Pretty baby, precious girl, I’m going to make you feel so fucking good,” he pants into your neck, pressing his lips there to taste the salt of your skin, “Been dying to take care of you like this, sweetheart. Watching you work so hard, leaving early and coming back late… you’re such a good little girl, aren’t you?”
With the way he’s hitting every single sweet spot that makes you feel like a woman, all you can manage is a breathy affirmative and a few warbling words. “Y-yes, Boba, w-wanted you s-so bad. Thought-thought about you every n-night. Ohhhh fuck!”
Boba lifts your hips and guides your legs to lock around him, giving him a mind-shattering angle as he drives into your wet heat. After swallowing down your cries of pleasure with a searing kiss, he wraps his large hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as he continues.
“So loud, aren’t you, princess? No, I like that, I like hearing how good I make you feel, like knowing I’m the only one who has you making these sweet fucking sounds.” Leaning back, he trails his free hand up your calf, letting it follow the curve of your thigh and giving your ass a smack that makes your eyes roll back. “Because I’m the only one who makes you feel like this, the only one who can make this perfect pussy soak and come. You just needed a real man to give you what you needed, huh, sweetheart? Come on, answer me and I’ll make you scream.”
Every nerve in your body is lighting up, every neuron in your brain firing with blinding pleasure. The voice that claws its way from your throat is wrecked and ragged, gasping and begging for more, more, more. The heat and pressure building in your core is volcanic, and you absolutely need it to burn you alive. Only then could you shed the weight of everything that came before and become the beautiful thing Boba is crafting with every sinful word and scalding caress.
“That’s it, just like that, pretty baby,” Boba grunts in praise when you start chasing his thrusts with your own. “Take what you need, what you deserve. Use my cock… I’m all yours, all fucking yours, princess.”
You can’t see him behind your scrunched eyelids, but you can hear the sincerity laced through his words like a shining vein of shimmering gold. The images of him wrapping his arm around you at campfire, settling you into your chair on a date come flashing back, play across your mind with such visceral clarity you could almost reach out and touch them. There was so much warmth to this man, so much untapped softness and care underneath his rough-hewn exterior that you want so karking bad you can taste it hot on your tongue. You want him loving you, fucking you, caring for you every single day from now until forever. Most urgently, however, you want him to mark your very soul with his in an orgasm so intense you leave your body.
“B-boba, Boba, please! I’m so close, I-I want you so bad! Please!” you beg between his fingers over your mouth as your hands paw at his sweat-slicked skin.
“I got you, babygirl, I got you. Come here.” Boba crushes his mouth against yours, licking your taste onto his tongue with a moan. When he finally breaks your kiss, his cheeks are flushed with carnal color and his eyes are glazed with devoted fervor. “Remember what I said before, sweetheart? About letting go, releasing all your muscles?”
You bob your head, biting into your lip to keep your focus on his face.
“Good. I’m going to count down from ten then I want you to do just that, okay? Can you do that for me? Let me hear you say you understand.”
As if you wouldn’t kiss the very ground he walks on with how good he’s making you feel. “I-I understand.”
He beams at you, a diamond drop of sweat rolling down his brow. “That’s my good girl. Now stuff your dress in your mouth because I’m going to make you scream loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.”
Burning ecstasy explodes inside you, snapping your muscles taunt and clamping down on the thick length rocking into you. How can you possibly feel this good, this fucking amazing and you’re not even coming yet? You don’t even remember where you are at this point, only that Boba’s on top of you and his dick’s inside you.
Gagged and bleary-eyed with tears, you arch into his touch when his calloused fingertips find your pulsing clit.
“Ten. Nine. Eight.” Boba’s fingers slide back and forth across your sopping folds with delicious speed, the pressure of his hand singing the glorious feeling into your bones.
“Seven. Six. Five.” His angle changes just slightly so his thrusts aim up towards your belly. Tears run down your temples into your hair and you know you have to be screaming around your spit-soaked dress.
“Four… three…”
Stars begin to explode in cataclysmic bursts of light as everything in your body tightens into a ball of pure energy. If you could think beyond the primal sensation you would worry that you might literally die with how hard your heart is thundering in your chest.
Boba presses a hand on your lower tummy and everything snaps into stark relief: you can feel every cell in your body, every atom of being as all the light inside you floods to core.
“Two…” His voice is sabled sin, luscious smoke dripping onto your burning skin in hot, fat drops. “One. Let go, baby, let go of everything.”
His thrusts, his fingers, his hand pressing into you, everything melts into one caldecent elixir that pours directly into your deepest parts and washes you down to your most tender parts. Then, just when you thought you couldn’t feel anything more, the final dam inside you breaks. Liquid heat washes through you, roaring through your body with all the force of every desire you’ve ever had being met in one singular, perfect moment.
The waves crashing into you feel so real that it feels like you're soaking through your skin into a puddle of your own arousal.
“Oh, fuuuuck, princess, that’s it…” Boba’s voice strains through clenched teeth and torrid control, the last shreds clinging just barely to his skin. “Fuck yes, you’re f-fucking soaking me, I can’t-shit-I c-can’t… baby, princess, beautiful girl…”
Your whole world is so soft and warm and full of him that you can’t think a mortal thought, but you know that you have to see the look on his face as he pants and karking whines as his thrusts dissolve into sloppy rutting. With the last of your remaining strength, you peel your wet lashes apart as you shakily tilt your head up. Everything is blurry and rose-hued, and… wet? You try to blink away the clouds in your vision but the bright sheen coating everything below your waist doesn’t disappear.
Seeing your confusion, Boba breaks out into a devilish grin that turns up his flushed cheeks. “See all this, s-sweetheart? See how much a real man c-can make you come?” he puffs out, breaking your gaze to drop his chin to chest. His brows knit together in concentration as if he’s hanging on the very last sliver of restraint.
You can only watch in downey bliss as he scrapes his hand down your belly to swipe his fingers through the wet rivulets trailing down your thighs, transfixed as he brings them dripping to his swollen lips. When the first finger disappears into his mouth, his eyes roll back and his dick throbs inside your ruined pussy. Realization slams into you watching him lap your juice from his palm like sweet nectar, his arms and shirt damply glinting in the sunlight.
I did that, I made him… holy fucking shit did I-
“Fucking hell, babygirl, I want you to squirt all over me every single kriffing day until I die,” Boba hisses, his wrecked rasp one second away from cracking. “Look like a fucking queen, my queen, lying there s-soaked and gorgeous- aaaahh!”
The revelation that you came so hard on his thick, perfect cock that you blacked out a little and squirted to the point Boba was completely soaked, all on your parents’ dining table makes you sob in pleasure and bare down on him with another blinding orgasm. Your fingernails scrape across the wood grain as you flail mindlessly, your back arching up as your head slams back against the table. This climax isn’t as powerful as the first but it still slings you out into the stars, spinning and tumbling through an aurora of colors and light.
The sudden emptiness of your cunt is replaced by hot ribbons slicing across your belly, pulling you out of the stars and back into your body. You’ve never had anyone come on you before—you had always insisted on a condom with your ex—and it feels impossibly erotic, almost degrading but in the best possible way; not like Boba didn’t care enough about you not to do it but that he was so out of his usually controlled mind with pleasure that he couldn’t help it. Pleasure that you brought him, pleasure he found in you.
You’re reaching for him, desperate to feel his skin, to know that all of this was real, that he wasn’t going to fade away into a dream. Boba leans forward catching himself on the edge of the table while he sucks in breath after shaky breath. He looks so beautiful fucked-out and soft, his usual sharp edges sanded down into a smooth sea glass that reveals a glimpse of his soul.
Eventually he stills and peeks up at you, watching you with adoring brown eyes. He whispers your name, warm and gentle, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He straightens up and reaches back to pull his t-shirt over his head to mop up your stomach and the liquid pooled between your thighs. His shoulders work in glorious exertion, and you watch in awe at the way his skin ripples with his silent strength.
Finished, he tucks the garment under his arm and eases your dress from your mouth and rearranges it back over your body, murmuring to wait right there. As if you would want to be anywhere other than here with him.
Boba isn’t gone for long, reappearing at your side with a flannel and a water bottle. He’s wearing a white tank top that fits snugly over his broad chest in such a way that it makes you consider seducing him for another around—if you only had the energy to do so. He coos over you, softly instructing you to lift your arms so he can remove your ruined dress. You happily float along, allowing him to undress you and curl you against his chest on the couch with his flannel laid over you for comfort. It smells of him, rich and warm, and he presses the water bottle to your lips. After several greedy gulps, you pull back and tuck your face into his neck, humming with satisfaction.
The two of you doze for a lazy hour, wrapped up in each other while the afternoon breeze pleasantly tinkles the windchimes on the deck.
Eventually, though, you have to break to clean and reclothe yourself. When you amble back outside, Boba has finished wiping down the table with cleaner and a rag from his truck.
“There she is,” he grins, “how’s my pretty princess feeling?”
“Amazing… a little wobbly,” you add truthfully. You’re not sure if your bones will ever fully resolidify after this. Boba opens his arm and you press yourself against him, relishing his touch while you still have it. You don’t want to think about him leaving. “What about you?”
It’s like he can sense your unease and he pulls you closer, placing a kiss into your hair. “Never been better, you were… kriff, you were amazing, baby. Filthy, perfect, wet… and soft, so so soft,” he groans, wrapping his arms around your waist, “like you were made just for me.”
He leans in to kiss you but stops when he sees the sullen look on your face. Cocking a brow, he lifts up your chin on two fingers. “What’s that look for?”
You can’t look at him. This is the part where he says goodbye and things go back to normal, where you part ways and pretend like this never happened. He’d be back day after day to finish the backyard, a sore reminder of what you desperately want but will never have. Why couldn’t you just let this be a fun fuck and let it go? Why did your heart have to ache for his?
“I-” you swallow the warble in your voice. “I, um… I don’t want to hold you up if you have another job or something after this.” You’re a big girl, you don’t need him to stay and prolong the inevitable—better to rip it off quick like a band-aid. You toss your head towards the table. “Thanks for cleaning up.”
Boba studies you silently, a frown shadowing his handsome features. Every second that passes with you in his arms has your resolve weakening more and more; too much longer and you’ll shatter against his chest.
“I don’t have anything after this…” He pauses, mulling over his words for a tense moment before continuing. “Is something wrong? Did I hurt you? Please, sweetheart, talk to me, if there’s anything I can do to-”
“No!” You break free from his embrace, hot tears of frustration beading behind your eyes. The last thing you want to do is hurt him but the longer he stays the more it’s going to tear you apart later. Boba steps back, giving you space and your heart twinges in your chest. “You’ve done nothing wrong, really. It’s just…”
Blowing out a quivering sigh, you force yourself to look him in the eye—he at least deserves that. “It’s just that I don’t like this part, especially with how amazing and wonderful you were. You are. I think it’s just better if we don’t draw this out.” Once again, your eyes drop with the weight of the fast-approaching future.
The following silence is almost unbearably thick, the air congealing to a sodden, soupy haze in your lungs. How could this hurt this much already?
Boba rubs his fingers over his lips thoughtfully, his tan forehead creasing. “Princess… it’s better if we don’t draw ‘what’ out?”
Maker, he is really going to make you say it. No, it wasn’t enough to have made you come so hard you literally soaked the both of you, you have to admit you’re falling for a man twice your age that you’ve known for a month, too. It would be easier to make yourself hate him for that but you can’t bring yourself to confess and do that in the same breath.
Folding your arms over your chest, you force your focus back on his face. “Boba, I… I know this was just for fun and I’m sorry for making this weird but it would be easier for me if we didn’t pretend this isn’t a goodbye. Like I feel nothing for you. Like you won’t show up here tomorrow like you didn’t fuck me right into my soul in my parents’ backyard.” You squeeze your eyes shut, your fingers curling into tight fists. “Please, just go.”
You can hear Boba shift and you crack open an eye to see him looking at you with longing deep enough to drown in. Finally, he says your name in a voice streaked with a vulnerable emotion you’d never seen him display. “Babygirl, I want you to listen to me, okay? I don’t know how that boy treated you before, but this was never a one time thing to me. I’m far too old to lay down with a woman I don’t intend on having by my side the next day, and all the days after that.”
Hope seizes your chest as his words settle into you.
Slowly he moves in front of you, taking your hands in his and gently rubbing them loose like he did before. “Now I’m no poet, sweetheart, I’m just a simple man making his way through life. I can’t make this sound as beautiful as you deserve, but I need you to know that I would never ever do anything to hurt you. I know it’s only been a month but kark, baby, I want you. I want to wake up to you in the mornings and hear your voice when I call you at lunch. I want to bring you tea while you study and make sure you don’t work yourself too hard. Most of all, though, my beautiful girl, I want you to be mine… because I’m already yours.”
The entire world shifts beneath your feet and you collapse into Boba’s waiting arms. When you bury your face into his shoulder, you pinch your thigh to make sure this was all still real. “D-do you,” your voice shakes, your joy threatening to overwhelm you, “do you really mean it?”
He kisses the top of your head and gingerly tilts your face up, caressing the swell of your cheek. “I’ve never been more serious, princess,” he smiles tenderly, “I want to make you mine. If you’ll have me, of course.”
You can’t help the choked laugh that burst from your chest. Pulling him closer, you meet his lips and throw everything you want to say into your kiss, sealing your sentiment into him with the press of your mouth. As much as you want to get lost in his sweet embrace, though, you break to give him an actual answer. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” you giggle breathlessly into him between more kisses. “In fact, I want you to make me yours over and over and over…”
But before you can get too cheeky, he swats your ass with a smirk. “Dirty girl, aren’t you? I’m old enough to be your father, you know.”
“Ah, well, the younger ones never did it for me anyways. I’ve always wanted a man with some… experience in getting me wet.” You bite your lip playfully and wiggle your brows at him. Now that the oppressive cloud of doubt has lifted from your mind, you feel positively giddy.
Boba smacks your ass again making you squeal in surprised delight. “Now I want you to go upstairs, pick up that cute little dress you ruined, and bring it to me.”
Your breath catches at his dark, delicious tone and you blink up at him, confused—and definitely turned on. “W-Why?”
Boba spins you around to face the house then wraps an arm around your middle to pull you back against his rising chest. “Because, princess,” he murmurs sinfully into your ear, nipping at the tender spot behind it, “I want something to remember you by tonight. Wanna smell that sweet little cunt while I tug on my cock and think about you coming in my mouth. And on my cock. And all over me.”
His salacious request goes straight to your still-swollen clit and you scurry to your room before you can lose your nerve. When you return, you find him leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and expression smug at your obedience. Where your desire to sass him might have been at such pompousness, however, is filled with warm bashfulness as you shuffle over to him. He stretches out the hand that had, until very recently, buried between your legs. Biting your lip, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to look at him as your cheeks burn with aroused embarrassment.
“Ah ah ah, let me see those pretty eyes, sweetheart,” he tuts. “Let me see that sweet look on your face when you give me the dress I made you squirt all over.”
Heat scalds through you, your heart pumping hot desire into your veins as you drag your eyes to meet his dark ones. Boba takes the dress almost reverently from your hand then brings it up to face and inhales deeply, his eyelids fluttering shut. He groans into the material, desire scraping the sound raw.
Fuck how are supposed to keep your hands off him long enough to get anything done ever again?
Before you have time to jump his bones, however, Boba’s phone rings loudly, making you jump. He huffs in annoyance and unhooks his phone from his toolbelt. “Sorry, princess, gotta take this.”
He answers the call, but opens up his arm so you can lean against him. As he talks, his fingers trail up and down your hip, tracing absent-minded patterns that make you glow with affection. The way his body responds to yours, his subconscious little touches, they all confirm his declaration—you’re so happy you might float away if not for his hold on you. All your problems seem far away at the moment and you’re content to leave it that way, if just for now.
When Boba hangs up, he pulls you close to plant a kiss on your forehead. “That was another client of mine,” he explains with a sigh.
You pout. “So you have to go?”
“Unfortunately.” Kissing you again, he swipes his thumbs over your cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to, you know I’d much rather be with you. my pretty princess. Can I call you tonight?”
“Of course,” you smile. You enter your number into his phone and send yourself a text. “There. Now you’ll know it’s me.”
Looking down at the collection of suggestive emojis and hearts following your name, Boba lets out a hardy laugh. “As if I could ever forget you, sweetheart.” When he finally extricates himself from your feeble attempt to lock him in your arms, he tucks your dress into his belt with a wink. “For safekeeping,” he assures you.
Once he’s pulled away in his truck, you realize he left his flannel on the couch. Pulling it around your shoulders, you decide that if Boba could still put in an honest day’s work after fucking you senseless, then you could at least get some actual studying in. After all, your night is already booked.
#look y'all i wrote a fic about boba fett without calling him daddy for once 🙈#strongly implied though no worries#zwei writes#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#contractor!boba fett#star wars fanfiction#fanfic#an honest day's work fic
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THIS TENDER LOVE
—PAIRING: Boba Fett x F!Reader
—SUMMARY: When you’re a little nervous about your first time, Boba helps you get in the right headspace.
—WORD COUNT: 2.2k
—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, daimyo!Boba, virgin reader, implied age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), reader described as having hair, reader discovers a bit of her inner brat, some heartfelt feelings for good measure, lots of pet names per usual, Daddy kink strikes again (but only at the end)
Please let me know if I missed anything!
—AUTHOR'S NOTES: I don't usually write first times but bestie @baufraus inspired me to write about a certain princess getting shy and Boba's response. Daimyo Boba is so patient and daddy I can't imagine a better person to show you the ropes 😌
Divider by @saradika
Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist
You’d wanted this. You’d wanted this for so fucking long. Dreamed and wished for it.
So why can’t you just open the door and go out there?
Blinking against the clean light of the ‘fresher, you frown in the mirror. It’s not like you’re some blushing virgin who just discovered the place between her legs; you’d read and even watched plenty of things that had given you a chance to start learning what made you shake and moan. And although you’ve never done most of those things you fantasized about—much less had your first real kiss—you aren’t clueless about sex. You’re just a virgin, and Boba is just a man.
A man who dotes on you, protects you, and makes you laugh. The man you’ve fallen in love with. He’s been your whole life for the past seven months, ever since your uncle included you in his tribute to the new daimyo.
Your reflection sours at the memory of your despot relation. After you’d come of age, he got rid of you the second the chance presented itself, content to leave you at the mercy of the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter. But Boba had been nothing like the stories the servants had whispered when they heard the news, nor had he been anything like your tyrant uncle.
No, he had been kind to you. Rough around the edges, but kind. You’d even begged him not to send you back to your planet when he informed your pilot that he didn’t keep slaves or girls in his palace. Even back then, sacred and naive, you’d felt you were in the presence of a true ruler, a man who gave his word and kept it. He swore he would never hurt you, never pressure you, or let any harm befall you and you believed him.
You still do.
So why are your feet frozen in place and the thought of going to him suddenly impossible? You’re a modest person by nature but this shock of shyness is more than you’re accustomed to, especially since you’d taken to sitting in Boba’s lap on the throne and wading in the garden pools in light dresses while he smiled at your joy.
“Princess?”
Would you be enough? Would he find your inexperience a burden?
He said he wouldn’t, that he was honored to be the one you trusted with your tender love. But that was before you couldn’t imagine showing your face or looking him in the eye.
“Sweetheart? Everything okay?” his deep voice calls from behind the ‘fresher door. A hint of worry tinges his tone. “It’s not too late to change your mind, little one. I won’t be upset. This is all about you and your comfort.”
You don’t want to change your mind. You want to experience every sweet, sinful thing he has to offer. You want to learn and taste your combined pleasures.
So why can’t you move?
Tears threaten to well in your eyes. “Boba?” your voice cracks. Tears do form now, hovering in your lashes in hot frustration.
His voice is just on the other side of the door now, thick with concern. “You want me to come in?”
“Yes,” you sniffle, dropping your face into your hands in stinging embarrassment when you hear the door slide open. Just this morning you’d been giggling and teasing, whispering in his ear on the throne how you couldn’t wait to become his—now you’re a tearful mess. Even if he doesn’t say as much, it’s surely pathetic to him. Why would a king waste his time with a sheltered princess when there are beautiful men and women whose hands and mouths already know the paths to pleasure?
His unarmored chest presses against your back and you instantly ease back into the circle of his arms, your safe and sacred space. Boba gently turns you inwards so your head can bury into his neck. You curl your fingers into the soft weave of his undershirt.
When you try to speak he shushes you with a small sound and a kiss to the top of your head. He rubs the small of your back until the tension drops from your shoulders and you slump your weight onto his.
“That’s it,” he murmurs into your hair. “Relax, babygirl.” A few heartbeats pass before his hand tilts your chin up from his shoulder. “How about we just curl up tonight? Watch one of your holos?”
A thread of urgent fire lights down your spine. “No!” Boba’s brows shoot up and you wince at your echo bouncing off the walls. “I mean, no. I want to… tonight, with you. I just…” Heat blooms in your cheeks, your previous shyness taking over once more.
You try to return your face to your hands but Boba catches your wrists in a loose hold at your sides. His warm eyes flicker with first a thought, then a decision.
Bona leans slowly into your space, drawing out the small movement to allow you to pull away. When you remain in place, sweet and curious, he presses his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. The feel of him surrounding you, his warm smell, the feel of his strength just below his skin acts like a drug, overwhelming your senses and unfurling your desire like the first soft blooms of spring. He tends to you, encouraging your blossoming by leading your arms over his shoulders and dragging his tongue along the smooth seam of your lips.
His breathing deepens as you slide your palms over his wide shoulders, up his neck to pull him further into you. The heavy sound drips down your body in a sweet trail to your dampening core, the pant of his breath tickling your eyelashes and hairline. You had imagined what a kiss, a real kiss, would be like a thousand times. How your lover’s mouth might feel moving on yours, how your hands might roam and grab, the crushed feel of fabric and limbs seeking skin.
Yet kissing Boba is nothing like that.
Just as dreams are mere imitations of true sensation, kissing Boba Fett is nothing like you imagined—it’s so much more. Swirls of color that materialize into touch, sounds that brush against hot skin, and the humbling reminder that you are all too human and so is he. It’s mortal and frightening and perfect. You want to open up your chest and let him in, let him taste every part of you so you can exist within someone else.
Isn’t that what people crave? What they die for?
“Princess…”
The scraped restraint in the daimyo’s voice flickers in your belly. You wanted this, dreamed and wished for it. If you pull away now, you’ll lose it to the stifling swell of bashfulness dammed behind your kiss. You chase his retreating lips until he stalls you with a large hand on your jaw. “Easy, little one,” he soothes with a brush of his thumb over your cheek. “There’s no need to rush.”
“But I-”
“Want it?” He flashes you a white-toothed grin that has butterflies flittering through your insides. You can’t hide your face like this, so you scrunch up your toes and dig your nails into his shirt. He chuckles and kisses the tip of your nose. “Don’t even think about hiding those pretty eyes,” he gives a quick squeeze to your jaw, “keep them on me.”
Oh, the irony of having a staring problem and suddenly being unable to look at the handsome man in your arms.
Dragging your eyes up his face, you take in every dip and crease of his bronze features, remembering how the bow of his lips and how the texture of his scars felt against your soft skin. The same skin that now feels too hot and tight. When you eventually light on his eyes, they crinkle up in another bright smile. It almost makes you squint. “They were on you,” you mumble into his silence.
“What was that?” The firm way Boba’s other hand snakes around your waist has you swallowing back the sass you were about to give him.
Where is that coming from?
“I-I said they were on you.”
Something dark shifts in his gaze. Something that makes you clench on your emptiness. He considers you for a couple more seconds, his head cocking to one side like the many times you’d seen him on the throne with his subjects. Deciding.
When you start to squirm under his gaze, his lips quirk into a pleased expression. “You never cease to surprise me, little one.” Seeing your confused look, he continues. “You’ve got some brat in you... I like it. You stopped being so self-conscious when you ran that smart mouth.”
You suppose you had. Although you aren’t usually one to push back or act out—it was quickly punished in your uncle’s house—it did feel good to let the scrap of sass slip. Made you feel a tiny bit more powerful, more evenly matched with Boba’s strength and confidence. You test your next words on your tongue before you fire them.
“Then show me how much you like it?” you try.
Boba’s smile turns sharp, more hungry. “One kriffing kiss and she’s already getting greedy.”
You gasp when you feel the grind of his hardening bulge on your hip. He shifts you against him so he’s pressed against your center, rocking his hips to give you some friction. This time your eyes flutter shut in pleasure, the warm stretch of soaked fabric between your thighs catching on your clit with delicious effect.
“Not so shy now, are you, babygirl?” Boba hums low in your ear, gently sinking his teeth into your pulse point. “Just needed a little help from, Daddy, huh?”
A white-hot streak of embarrassment scores through your chest, charring your fledgling sense of bravery. Your pulse throbs in your pussy. Now you have a very different reason to be shy: you’d never told him those secret desires you came to in your bed but he knew them all the same.
“Shit, sweetheart,” he moans into your love-bitten flesh when you involuntarily buck against him. “Knew you liked me but are you really that desperate for an old man?”
“D-don’t be mean-”
You cry out when his hand presses between your bodies to cup your sex.
“Mmm I think you like it when I’m mean.” He grinds his palm against your clit and your knees buckle at the dizzying sparks of pleasure. “I also think your little cunt is dripping wet because you want to call me Daddy.”
The choked sound you make doesn’t hide the way your body reacts to his words. You shove your face into his shirt. “I never said that,” you grumble into the fabric. But you dreamed about it, worked yourself up and touched yourself to the thought of it.
“No?”
Boba retracts his hand and you almost cry from the loss. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking and smug at your desperation, his teasing dominance playing on every one of your desires. Everything that burns you up only seems to fuel him more.
“No, please-”
“Aw, baby, you want it bad, don’t you?” His hand comes back up to your face and you can smell your arousal on his fingers. He tips back your chin, his thumb pressing against your trembling lips. His eyes sweep over you, taking in the way you’re as downy and vulnerable as fawn before a wolf, and they soften.
Boba strokes your bottom lip gently, a small smile turning up his mouth. The crackle of electricity in the air dulls to a pleasant thrum. “You really are beautiful,” he breathes, his voice awed. Sensing your growing need, he presses his thumb into your mouth, his cock twitching against your stomach when you suck it happily.
“It really isn’t too late if you want to wait,” he reminds you. He chuckles when you shake your head rapidly back and forth, this calloused thumb sliding across your tongue. Smiling, he removes his hand and rests his lips on your forehead. “It’s an honor, you know. To be the one you trust with this.”
As if it could have ever been someone else. Even before you came to Tatooine, it was never going to be anyone but Boba. You’d never had the desire to share your intimacy with another person until him.
“It was always you,” you whisper. It’s not a secret, but it is something precious.
Boba buries his face into your hair, pressing you so tight to him you could melt into one. “I… I love you.”
Those three words hold a tender softness you know does not come easy to his surface. It fills you with a sweet kind of strength.
Loosening your hold on his neck, you draw back far enough to take in his beautiful face. “I love you, Boba. I want this. Want you.” He radiates pure joy at your confirmation, as bright and golden as the twin suns above. Leaning in, you hover your lips just over his ear. “Now, Daddy please-”
You don’t even have time to squeal before he tosses you over his shoulder for the bedroom.
#zwei writes#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#fanfic#this tender love fic
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NEW BOBA FIC FRIDAY!!! 🎉
As promised besties here is a preview of my upcoming WIP Worth the Risk! Inspired by the AU queen @maybege's dad's friend and matchmade!Boba thots, this fic's got all your favs: banter, bratting, and getting dicked the f*ck down 🥴
I should have the full story up in the next couple weeks, hope y'all enjoy 💖
—PAIRING: Dad's Friend!Boba Fett x F!Reader
—SUMMARY: Pushing your luck has its rewards.
—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist
<Better give me those panties now, princess>
Your cheeks heat immediately reading Boba’s message. You 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 a little higher up your thigh.
Your phone buzzes again and your eyes dart to the new message on your screen.
<I’m not going to ask you twice>
A heated shiver ripples down your spine, pooling in the dampness already forming between your thighs. You know you shouldn’t have riled him up before your family’s cookout but you just couldn’t resist after he’d been gone for a week. Missing his bone deep comfort and lightning touch, you wore a new flirty sundress and rubbed him half hard in the driveway, completely unable to contain your excitement at having him back in your arms. You’d been an absolute angel in his absence, texting him that you remembered to take your meds, drinking enough water everyday, and not touching where you wanted him most just like he asked.
Really, you’ve 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.
Yes, it had definitely been time to take matters into your own hands. And you’re not going to stop now. A sly grin sneaks over your face and you tap out a response.
<Or what? You can’t do shit with all these people around old man>
Adrenaline pipes hot as you hit send. Clicking the screen off, you make a show of stretching so your tits press together. You know he’s got a laser focus on you now after that little message.
Feeling rather pleased with yourself, you chuck your phone into the seat you’re saving for your cousin, Ari. You scan the crowd of family, friends, and neighbors searching for their telltale blue hair and catch it over by the drinks table. No surprise there, of course.
“My, my, my, such a dirty mouth on such a pretty girl.”
The hot shock of Boba’s sinful voice races across your skin. From the sound of it alone you know you’re in deep shit—maybe he’d finally snap and press you up against a wall in a hidden corner. After all, your “good” deeds never went unpunished with him, especially not when they involved blatant acts of brattery. And especially not when you acted like you could get away with them.
A hot spike fires in your core at the thought of what he might do next.
Putting your most dazzlingly innocent smile, you turn your face up to him, acting like you’re making pleasant conversation. “Oh I assure you, it can get much dirtier… remember that night in your truck?”
The corner of his lips twitch up. “Careful, princess.” The way his dark eyes burn with the unspoken magnitude of his threat almost draws a whimper from your lips. “You already owe me those pink panties of yours, don’t make me add to that list.”
divider by @saradika
taglist 💖
@agirlnamejacq @burningfieldof-clover @marierg @dukeoftheblackstar @imarvelatthestars
@saradika @baufraus @andrakass2 @samspenandsword @liadamerondjarin
@sleepingsun501 @sgt-morgan @rescuethewretched @rexxdjarin @ladytano420
@writingwintermoon @funnyducky666 @acatalystrising @xxladysquishyxx @lune-de-miel-au-paradis
@kimiheartblade @shinyshayminflower @wings-and-beskar @thirsty-boba-fett-posts @wolffegirlsunite
@echocolatt @100lxtters @bobaprint @cw80831 @anticipayosbot
#zwei writes#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#fanfic#worth the risk fic
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SOME REX AND RELAXATION
—PAIRING: Rebels!Captain Rex x F!Reader
—SUMMARY: After a hard week, Rex makes it his mission to see that you forget all about it.
—WORD COUNT: 3.3k
—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, Rebels!Rex, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), Dom/sub vibes, Daddy kink (bc I can’t help myself), nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering
Please let me know if I missed anything! Mando'a translations are at the end.
—AUTHOR'S NOTES: I miss Rex so this is getting posted today!!! After a rough week a bit ago, I started writing this as a comfort fic to make myself feel better and boy howdy, by the the end of it I was feeling way better 😈 Also: Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor deserve to live in comfy cottages in pastoral peace for the rest of their beautiful days. And I've decided that the clones age normally after the age of 25 so they have nice long lives ahead of them :)
This is my first ever Rex fic and I want to give a big shout out to my resident Rexpert @rexxdjarin for betaing this fic, I hope I did our captain justice 💙 Also thank you to @cloned-eyes for letting me use their amazing Rex art in my header!! That fresh out the shower Rex was some delicious inspo for this fic 🫠
Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist
The only thing worse than the day you’ve had was this week as a whole. Nothing had gone right with the New Republic school going up in town, and somehow the solution to several of those problems was what you’d said a week ago… but only when that bureaucratic sop from Coruscant said it. Not to mention the pipes burst in your apartment, you slipped down some stairs in front of a street full of people (with the worst bruise of your entire life to prove it), and to top it all off, you dropped your overpriced caf all over your shoes this morning.
Not a great week.
At this point, you’re only one minor inconvenience away from snapping—the fact that it’s the end of the work week is the only thing keeping you together. And, of course, your perfect, wonderful captain of a boyfriend, Rex. You’ve been staying at his farmhouse while repairs are made to the water lines that caused the damage at your place.
He and his brothers, Gregor and Wolffe, had come to your quiet little agricultural planet a couple years ago and fixed up a few of the old houses at the edge town to live in. They mostly keep to themselves, but are always willing to lend a helping hand when it’s needed, whether it’s making repairs after the annual monsoon, donating fresh produce for school meals, or digging out flooded irrigation ditches. They are good men and the town accepts them as part of their own, even if Wolffe is a little grumpy and Gregor turns all the local women into giggling messes when he’s around.
The three of them are mending a fence on the far side of the property when you arrive at the farmstead. Usually you would have taken your speeder over for a chat, but you don’t think you have it in you after today. All you want to do is take off your bra and flop face-down on Rex’s couch to wait for the world to stop sucking—which is exactly how Rex finds you when he comes inside a few minutes later.
“Another great day then, mesh’la?” he teases with the mirth of a man who already knows his question’s answer. His work boots make a thud on the stone tiles as he pulls them off.
Without looking up, you grunt a “no” into the cushions and shake your head.
“Do you want to come shower with me or do you need some alone time?”
“Alone time,” your muffled voice answers, “then Rex time. Lots and lots of Rex time.”
His warm chuckle and beard graze delightfully over the back of your neck as he bends to press a kiss to your hair. “Alright then, pretty girl. Just relax and I’ll be back to give you all the time in the world, okay?” You give him another muffled affirmative and he squeezes your calf affectionately before heading to the ‘fresher.
Maker, he’s good to you.
A year ago you would have never thought you’d find yourself in a long-term relationship with an ex-clone trooper who’s old enough to be your father, or that you would be calling said ex-clone trooper Daddy while he makes you see stars. The Force works in mysterious ways, you suppose… not that you’re complaining. Far from it.
Your relationship with Rex might have come as a surprise but you’ve never been happier: things with him are as close to perfect as they can get. He cares for you, makes you feel so safe and loved and warm that you could melt into a puddle at his feet, and you adore him. He’s kind, strong, and compassionate, a good leader through and through. The galaxy has never made a finer man, and not to mention, a finer lover.
Eventually, you muster the strength to roll yourself off the couch and ditch your work clothes for your much more comfortable loungewear, deciding to forgo panties as a nice little surprise for your boyfriend. Snuggling under his covers that smell of him, you flip onto your stomach to scroll through your datapad. Efficient as always, Rex doesn’t make you wait long, the ‘fresher door sliding open a few minutes later. The comforting, woody smell of his soap fills your nose as you take in his broad frame glistening from his shower.
Kark, he looks good. All broad shoulders and bronze skin, thick and perfect. How has no one made a statue of this man?
Noticing your interested stare, he winks as he hangs his towel on its hook. “Feeling better, mesh’la?”
You hum your delight and click off your tablet to give him your full attention. “Yeah, could be better, though,” you add with a sneaky smile.
“Oh yeah? How?” Flicking off the ‘fresher light, he starts towards you. The mischievous glint in your boyfriend’s eye is more than enough to get your blood pumping, especially combined with his shirtless upper half.
You flip up the covers next to you, grinning up at him. “Well for starters, you could get in the bed with me, handsome.” His brown eyes sparkle when he returns the expression, the corners of his eyes crinkling fondly. “And then you can hold me and make me forget all about this entire kriffing week.”
Your captain is quite good at making you forget things, whether it be a bad day or your own name.
Obliging as always, Rex slides in behind you and loops an arm around your waist to pull you flush against his bare chest. Your body reacts immediately to his touch, the tension in your muscles slacking. He nuzzles into your neck, making you giggle from the way his beard tickles the sensitive skin there, and starts kissing every bit of you his lips can reach. When you try to squirm away from him and his beard, squealing and panting from your laughter, he just locks his big arms around you and keeps going.
“Eeee! Rex! S-stop, you’re tickling me-you’re tickling me!”
In between smacking kisses, he chuckles into your ear. “I thought you said you want me to make you forget about this week, mesh’la.” His hold loosens enough for you to wriggle around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and admiring how handsome he is up close.
You brush your lips over his, gently running your nails down the back of his neck and savoring the way he shivers at your soft touches; knowing you have such an effect on him makes your skin hot. “Well Captain,” you drawl with syrupy sweetness, “I was thinking something more along the lines of… this.” You roll your hips against his, sighing at the pleasant sensation.
Rex groans his rumbling approval and drops his large hands to your ass to grind you harder against his center. “Anything you want, baby, just tell me and it’s yours.”
You know what you want: to be taken care of after this shit-show of a week, to be kissed and loved and cherished like only he can, doted on and held safe in his arms. You want to completely let go and surrender—no more thoughts, no more worries, just him. Just Rex. Your perfect, perfect Rex.
Capturing his lips in an indulgent kiss, you whine your desire into his mouth when you break for air, not caring how needy you sound.
He shushes you with gentle sounds, stroking over your hair. “Of course, sweetheart,” he coos in a sinfully sweet voice, cradling your face between his palms, “you’ve had a hard week… yeah, I know, I know. You need Daddy to make it all better, don’t you?” He pulls you crushingly tight against the strong line of his body, just how he knows you like, holding all your pieces together so you don’t have to.
“Please,” you gasp, burrowing deeper into him, “Don’t wanna… don’t wanna be anymore. Just wanna be yours.” The ache of existence in your chest is already beginning to melt underneath his weight, replaced by the tender warmth of his devoted attention. The edges of your mind go liquid as you let him pour you into his mold.
“Daddy’s going to take care of you, all you have to do is listen and let him make you feel good, okay, babygirl?” You bob your head in a nod, your eyes starry and wide as you await his next instruction. Rubbing the back of your neck, Rex places an affectionate kiss on your forehead for your obedience. “Good girl. Now turn over, face out and back to me… lift your arms… yeah, just like that,” he murmurs as he slides your top off, planting wet kisses on the new skin exposed to him.
His battle-worn hands skim up the swell of your tummy to take in breasts. You’re already buzzing in eager anticipation. You push into his touch, pressing your chest out in an offer of more, and you’re to be quickly rewarded with a low groan and his fingers rolling your sensitive nipples deliciously slow. Wanting heat rises through you like a flame catching to dry tender while little mewls of pleasure fall from your lips.
“So beautiful, so warm, my sweet cyar’ika,” he purrs between more lush kisses, “I know this makes you feel good… I’m going to give those perfect tits the attention they deserve.” He gives your peaked tips a gentle pinch and you moan, the electric sensation shooting straight to swollen clit. Smiling at your vocal pleasure, Rex begins an erotic rhythm that has you bucking your hips as his fingers alternate between pinching and rolling.
“Ooohhh, y-you feel so… you feel s-so good,” you whine, writhing against his ministrations. With the way his breathing has gone hot and ragged in your ear, you swear it could be enough to make you come untouched.
“That’s it, pretty girl, just feel the pleasure… just concentrate on how good you feel, nothing else,” he instructs, his deep voice like golden honey to your ears. “Daddy’s got you now, he’s gonna take care of everything. He doesn’t like seeing his baby so stressed and unhappy.” Rex latches onto your pulse point, sucking your heated flesh into his mouth and sending waves of pleasure throbbing through your nerves.
“Nev-never unhappy with you,” you pant, reaching your hand back to push him deeper into your neck. Rex is your shining sun who banishes all of life’s many darknesses, and the match which lights the fire of your loins. He’s everything to you, and right now, he’s all you can feel and see and smell. It’s utterly divine.
“Mmm, that makes me so happy to hear, you know why? Making you happy, taking care of my beautiful babygirl… it makes me happy. Daddy loves being there for his cyar’ika and he’d do anything to put a smile on her face, you know that?” Cupping your jaw, he tilts your head back to steal the little gasps of delight dripping sugary-thick from your lips. As hot and heavy as things have become, Rex doesn’t rush. He takes his time licking into your mouth and nibbling on your slicked bottom lip, all the while kneading and rolling your breasts, ever the man to keep his word.
Molten heat rushes through your veins as his words pour over your skin, spurring you onto new heights under his generous hands—the deep swell of his voice loosens the taunt aggravation of the week still stowed in your muscles. You’re like lavish wax under his care, worked pliable by him then molded into a work of weightless art, your very existence something to be admired.
His calloused fingertips sweep over the plushness of your lower belly, the shimmering heat of your arousal converging at his touch. When he dips below the fabric of your waistband, he sucks in a breath. “No panties, pretty girl? Now you’re the one spoiling me,” he groans, his cock twitching against the cage of your back.
You let out a delighted, breathy giggle at his body’s reaction to the discovery. “I thought you might like that,” you breathe out fond and pleased, “I did it just for you.”
He brushes lower, his middle finger tracing over the damp seam of your folds and a whimper sneaks through your smile at the feathery sensation. It’s these light, almost subatomic touches that make you come loose at the seams—and he knows it. Inside the year that you’ve been together, Rex has learned your body intimately, its history and inner workings revealed in the hours you spent in his arms.
“I love to hear your sweet little laugh, and I love to know that you’re smiling,” he murmurs affectionately, cupping your slick mound, “I’m so proud of you for letting me take some of the weight off you after this difficult week.” He takes a moment to plant kisses in the soft crook of your neck and up to your ear before continuing. “Now, just lie back, let me make you feel all warm and sweet. I want to watch you melt for me… melt and leave me with all your sweet honey to lick up.��
Each word shaped by his rich rasp further unmoors you from your senses. That sensual tingling feeling of submission bubbles pleasantly across your mind, your bones softening to downey cotton as you lose yourself to the sound of Rex’s voice. You can’t tell where the vibration of your own sounds of pleasure end and his begin, but it doesn’t matter. You’re safe, so, so safe and happy here in the glowing space between his arms. If only you could have him inside, too…
“C-can I have more, please? Want more of you, baby,” you pant, grinding into his palm between your thighs.
“Of course, mesh’la, you can have whatever you like. Anything and everything, all you have to do is ask.” Pressing into your lower lips, he spreads you apart. Your teeth immediately catch your lip when his trigger finger begins languidly sliding over your buzzing clit; the delicious friction fans the flames of your desire, heating you from the inside out. A rumble of satisfaction rolls up his chest when your head falls back against his shoulder with a contented sigh.
Rex takes advantage of the new access you allowed him, dragging his hot lips over your collarbone to nip and suck little marks onto your heated skin. “Mmm, I love touching you, I love feeling you,” he hums, thick and heady, “I want you to feel how much I care about you…” He scrapes his teeth up your tender throat to capture your mouth with his own.
Stars-Maker-kriff does he kiss like a god. A king amongst men, really, who- “Oh!”
Your eyes fly open as your captain easily flips you under him like a ragdoll, pulling your pants down and flinging them over his shoulder in one fluid motion that has you gushing.
“That’s better,” he mutters between hot mouthed-kisses down your sternum and over your tummy. The way his beard scrapes over your skin has chillbumps flowering all over. “It fills me up with so much happiness when I get to love on my sweet cyar’ika and take care of her. Makes everything else go away for me, too, sweetheart. I get to just focus on you.”
His large hands skate down your ribs then down the curve of your hips to massage the fullness of your thighs. “I’ve been waiting to worship this perfect pussy, pull all those pretty sounds out of you while you come over and over… just like you deserve.”
You’re nothing more than a warm soup of sparkling sensation, swirling around the ache building in your core. Rex isn’t usually one to tease you, but it feels like he’s taking an eternity to make it between your-
“Ohhhh, Reeeex!”
Wrapping his thick arms around your thighs, he literally lifts you up to his mouth, moaning like a man tasting some paradisic fruit after months in the desert. “Fuck, babygirl, your little pussy… I could feel hot and needy it was when you were rubbing up against me, how wet and messy you were… but this? Kark. I’m so lucky to be able to kiss all over this beautiful cunt. So lucky to have this pussy, this ass,” he gives an appreciative squeeze to your behind, “and this sweet little girl all to myself.”
The air is suctioned from your lungs by the gravity of his pleasure; it’s unrelenting and all-consuming, it’s all you can comprehend. Squeezing your eyes shut in focus, you manage a reply. “S-so l-lucky to have you, Rex. You’re s-so good to me… love you… love you so much.” You cut off with a shuddering cry when he sucks your bud between his lips, not caring that you’re swiftly losing a battle you don’t want to win.
“I love you so much, my mesh’la,” he pants into your heat. “My sweet, precious girl, I’m going to give you my fingers, okay? Gonna give you just what you need so you can come all over my face.” He slips two of his fingers in his mouth, sucking and releasing them with pop before easing into your soaked entrance. The twin sounds of your satisfaction fill the room, the stout stretch of his fingers making you moan while the clutch of your cunt has your captain grunting praises against your clit.
“Kark, you’re so tight and wet, so perfect… clenching around me,” he crooks his fingers as much as he can in the restrictive walls, “Don’t hold back, beautiful, let me hear you. Let me hear how good you feel.”
His words scorch your nerves to ash with a molten magma of pleasure that erupts from your core. Your spine bows up, making Rex find the soul-shattering spot that makes you scream in ecstasy. The world around you snaps into sharp focus, bright and loud before exploding in a shower of stars and lambent energy. You’re unmade, unwound down to your most basal form of hot-blooded, carnal need where time and worldly matters no longer reign in your existence. Primal satisfaction and the thrill of euphoria rule you instead for several effervescent moments.
When the flood of electricity flowing from every cell and synapse begins to ebb to jolting aftershocks, the sweet praise of your lover floats over you in warm waves. “So beautiful like this… keep going mesh’la, take what you need… I love you so much… love making you feel good, love feeling your perfect pussy on my fingers…”
Reverent kisses are bestowed like offerings to the divinity of your pleasure as you materialize back into reality one pounding heartbeat at a time. Joy radiates from every molecule in your body, the stress of the mortal coil dissolved and washed far away, leaving you light, free, and happy. You want nothing more than to revel in this glorious sensation with the love of your life, and you call out to your captain with a breezy sigh, “Rex…”
“Cyare…”
“Want you close, my love, want you to hold me.”
You barely register his movement in your hazy after-glow, but soon your chest is pressed against a familiar wall of muscle and there’s a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Snuggling into his open warmth, you nuzzle into his neck and inhale Rex’s timber-fresh scent.
Safe… happy… love. Him. Forever.
Your hazy thoughts drift across the clear sky of your mind, eventually coalescing into a nebulous sentiment your lips can form around. “Rex… love you so much… thank you, baby.”
Curling around you tighter, Rex’s beard brushes over your shoulder as he leans in to kiss your temple. “Anything for you, my sweet, perfect girl,” he smiles into your hair, “You are everything to me, the light of an old soldier’s life. I will always take care of you, my mesh’la, no matter what.”
And with the certainty only love can bring, you know him to be true.
MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS
cyare - beloved, love
cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)
mesh'la - beautiful
#once again i will think i am clever with these titles lmao#zwei writes#captain rex#captain rex x reader#captain rex x f!reader#captain rex x you#captain rex fanfic#captain rex fanfiction#captain rex smut#star wars fanfic#star wars fanfiction#fanfic#some rex and relaxation fic
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PART I: FOREWORD
—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader
—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—SUMMARY: When the new Mandalorian studies professor Boba Fett comes into the university library looking for help, you’re more than happy to be of assistance.
—WORD COUNT: 6.4k
—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, references to sexual themes, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), bisexual reader, reader described as having hair, alcohol consumption by reader and others, GRATUITOUS flirting (like a ridiculous amount), use of pet names
—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here it is, my first ever posted fic! I'm so excited to share this with y'all, it's been so much fun to write. Thank you for all your support for this series. Enjoy the Boba brainrot with me :)
Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist
Part II>
The university library is dead—classes aren’t in session and things are slow. The afternoon summer sun streams through the building’s tall windows, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the golden light. The faint rustle of papers turning is the only sound filling the idle air other than you and your coworker’s chatting at the circulation desk.
“No, I’m telling you there’s no good guys to date here. They’re all either emotionally unavailable or terrible in bed… or both,” your friend Selena gripes. She’s exasperated by the most recent of her flings ghosting her after their last hookup.
Swirling your iced coffee, you roll your eyes. “Well maybe you need to expand your dating pool, there’s more out there than just twenty-something guys who spend all their time in the gym.” You grin knowingly at your friend—she definitely has a type.
She throws an elbow at you. “Hey! Not all of us are into girls and men old enough to be our dads! Speaking of which…” she cuts off, wiggling her perfect eyebrows at you.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice calls from behind your back, “is there a librarian I can speak to about reserving my course materials?” The voice’s vowels lilt and come together like sand being molded by an ocean wave, powerful yet graceful—it’s a voice that could warm you in sunny, shallow waters or drown you in a raging storm.
All but choking on your coffee, you spin to face the front desk. Standing on the other side of the counter is the most handsome man you think you’ve ever seen: copper skin, white teeth, and dark eyes stand atop a crisp linen shirt rolled up to reveal thick, strong forearms. Pale, silvered scars crisscross his skin, glinting in the light, making him look equally dangerous and enticing, like a trap baited with everything you’ve ever wanted.
Shit, he could get me in a lot of trouble… and I’d let him. You clear your throat, doing your best to recover with at least some of your dignity intact—a difficult task when the absolute god of a man before you just heard that you’re definitely into men his age.
Selena, however, beats you to an answer. “Yes, sir, that would be my coworker here,” she answers in a sing-song voice, “she’s more than happy to help you with anything you need.” You shoot her a dirty look as she flounces away back to her desk in the back, her attitude completely unapologetic.
Being the flirt you are, you did fully intend to hit on this handsome professor, but that’s not the point. Rallying your thoughts, you flash him a dazzling smile. “Yes, I certainly am,” you confirm. “What can I do for you, professor…?” Your voice trails off in anticipation of his response, and you catch the dark gleam in his coffee-colored eyes.
“Fett, Boba Fett. Professor of Mandalorian studies,” he answers smoothly, his rich timbre confident and unphased by you and Selena’s antics.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, professor,” you respond, matching his blithe tone. You introduce yourself with your name and title as the research materials librarian.
He smirks, flicking his eyes over your frame in a casual, yet interested, way. “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” When his eyes meet yours again, they flicker with amber fire, bright and tempting.
You let his compliment hang in the sunlit air between you for a moment, gauging whether he too felt the electric connection buzzing between you two. Judging by the glint in his eye and quirk of his lips, he did.
Game on. “Well, usually faculty submit their materials for purchase and reservation at the end of the previous school year or at the beginning of the summer session,” you inform him with an overly patronizing tone. “But I suppose I can make an exception for you since you’re being so polite.” You end your statement with a wink, inviting him in to test the waters.
Taking your hint, he leans his muscled arms on the high lip of the desk, bringing himself closer into your space. “You’re too kind. Things have been a little difficult since I’m new to the school and wasn’t in the country until last week… and I’d really appreciate your help, princess.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like spiced honey, hot and sweet.
Your brows arch up and you run your tongue over teeth behind your lips as you consider the handsome professor. Most men you meet are either too intimidated or too stupid to give you a fair fight, but this Boba Fett… he might just be the one. Without saying much, he’s said it all: true power doesn’t need to be defended because it speaks for itself. His innate confidence makes your stomach tighten and your blood run hot—this is going to be even more fun than you first thought. “Why don’t you come into my office and I can see what all I can do for you, Professor Fett,” you offer with a flirty smile.
“Please,” he entreats with a saccharine smile, “call me Boba.”
Leaning against your doorframe, Boba shoulders his leather satchel, his broad shoulders rippling under the material of his shirt. The muscles in his arms carve out valleys in his marked skin, making your mind race with the thought of how those arms would feel around you, lifting you up, or pinning you down beneath him. The way he totally fills up the space around him is enough to send heat between your legs, and the snatches of fantasy only heighten the desire simmering in your core. You’ve done everything you can to help the professor at the moment, but neither of you seem too keen on parting just yet, much to your satisfaction.
“So how old are you, then?” he asks, eyeing you tilted back in your chair below him.
You’d teased him about his thesis date being long before your birth while you chatted as you submitted his materials requests. “Why, professor,” you taunt, looking up at him from heavy-lidded eyes, “are you trying to make sure I’m at least eighteen?”
He answers with a devil’s grin. “No, just trying to see whether or not I’m old enough to be your father.”
Yep, he definitely heard that earlier, you groan internally as heat pricks up your neck. Not one to be beaten so easily, however, you lazily trail your eyes down to his left hand braced on your door, a smirk splitting your face when you don’t find a ring. “As long as you’re single, I’m twenty-six.”
“And if I’m not?” he counters, cocking his head in pointed curiosity.
You pray to whoever might be listening that he is because you might not survive temptation much longer, not with the way he’s looking at you like you’re the sweetest dessert he’s ever seen. “Well then, I’d be twenty-six and disappointed.”
He snorts, shaking his head with a deliciously low chuckle. “You really are something, aren’t you, little one?”
Your stomach flips at his continued use of the sweet names, but you swallow it down. Boba Fett is a test you intend on passing and that means you have to keep your wits about you. “I have been told I can be quite the handful. Hope that's not a problem… don’t think it would be for you, though,” you reply, looking him up and down meaningfully and letting your eyes linger on the fabric stretched tight over his biceps. He’s built like a kriffing brick wall, thick and solid, and you want to climb him to the very top.
The sultry look he gives you makes you think he’d let you, too. “After forty-seven years, princess, I don't think it would be.”
That same hum of charged energy of your initial meeting fills your office as your gaze falls into line with the intense depth of his own. You were wrong before, he’s not looking at you like you’re dessert. You’re prey, soft and open, and he’s the predator tracking you deeper and deeper in the forest, far away so no one would hear your shriek when sunk his teeth into your flesh.
But did prey ever want to be torn apart by its hunter? You roll your lips together, squeezing your thighs against the embers of desire flickering to life between them.
A few moments later, your computer chirps with an email notification and you blink back to reality, the tension fizzling out into the surrounding air. Probably for the best since I’m about ten seconds away from jumping this man's bones in my office. Straightening up in your seat, you clear your throat. “Same time tomorrow, then, professor?”
“If it’s not a problem,” he shrugs, his heated gaze betraying his nonchalance, “I know you’re a busy girl.”
He’s clearly enjoying calling you everything but your name and you, much to your surprise, are lapping it up. In an attempt to even the score, you push up from your chair, snatching up one of your business cards from your desk and scribbling your cell number on the back. Sauntering over to him stretched out in your door, you stop just a little closer than absolutely necessary. You slip the piece of paper into his front pocket, pleased with the way the muscle in his jaw twinges at the contact. “Oh, no, it’s no problem at all,” you practically purr, “At the university, we want to make sure our new faculty enjoy everything the library has to offer.”
He huffs in amusement, not moving away. “Your efforts should be rewarded, then,” he notes, his voice like rich molasses, “You’ve been nothing but eager.”
Before you can stop the impish impulse, you rattle off your usual coffee order. The worst he can say is no, but something tells you he’s willing to indulge you just a bit more than most would.
He tilts his head to the side, his lips twitching into a smile in understanding a second later. “Size?”
“As much as you’re willing to give me,” you wink, flipping your pen between your fingers under your chin. You’d like to think he’d indulge you in that too, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.
“Don’t worry,” he assures, his voice like bittersweet woodsmoke, “I’ll make sure you get everything you deserve.” The promises laced through his words like invisible threads, weaving together images of love-bruised skin and rough hands pressed into soft flesh.
You swallow thickly, and almost groan in embarrassment when his eyes track the bob of your throat with a smug look. “You could get a man into trouble, little one. A lot of trouble…”
He shoves off the doorframe, his face swaying dangerously close to yours as he turns to leave. “See you tomorrow, princess.” He says the words like a promise rather than a casual expression.
“Oh, professor?” you call out after him. You can’t let this man come out of your office thinking he’s won your little game, your pride simply won’t allow it—and neither will the lurid desire bubbling up from somewhere deep within you. You want to push him, needle him until he snaps, poke the bear until he takes a swipe. Not very smart for someone who’s definitely the prey.
He turns to face you as if he had been hoping you’d stop him. “Yes?”
“You should know,” you bait, letting your eyes flicker down to his lips and back up in wicked pleasure, “I like trouble.”
Every day since your electrifying meeting has been an excuse to see him: hand delivering something that could have been interofficed, calling his office phone and inviting him to look over some course book in person, or volunteering to give him a tour of campus that happened to include lunch together. Boba’s like a burning sun and you’ve been ensnared in his orbit, your every phase and season given life by his heat.
When you couldn’t find an excuse to be around him, he found one; he came to make copies in the library because his department’s machine “never seems to work right,” the coffee shop gave him an extra pastry he “couldn’t possibly eat,” or the darn databases wouldn’t let him log in and you’re the “only one who can get them to work.” Even when your extensive partnership gathering his course materials came to an end, Boba was quick to offer you a spot in his office to work while last minute construction went on in the library before the start of the fall semester.
Boba’s office is tucked away at the end of a long hall in the gothic-style humanities building and quickly becomes your own personal sanctuary for the remainder of the summer. Its soaring ceiling and long, arched window gave a sense of lightness to the corner space, the natural light reflecting off the pale walls. Brass lamps with warm, golden light keep the room cozy when clouds roll in, along with the sumptuous oriental rug spread over the stone floor. Boba’s furniture is functional and comfortable; a large, sorrel leather couch sits perpendicular against the wall from his sturdy oak desk, accompanied by matching armchairs facing him for visitors. The walls are lined with bookshelves and cabinets housing his impressive personal library and mementos from his illustrious life.
It’s in this ivory tower oasis that your heart begins to grow into a softer shape and your mind settles into the rough-hewn grooves of the professor’s tides. The power of him both rouses and relieves, stirs and soothes; the shards of you are made into soft seaglass by the roll and drag of his waves against the sand. And oh, how you’re tempted to let him pull you under the glassy surface, to submit and let his current tow you to blissful paradise. You yearn to provoke his storms as well as seek his shelter from the harsh creatures of everyday life—you’re sure he’s going to be the end of you.
The week before classes start you’re slouched comfortably across the couch in his office. Sunlight dapples the room in a saffron glow through the forked leaves of ivy hugging the window as you’re half-heartedly responding to the numerous last minute item requests from harried professors. While most of them are smart enough to be polite, quite a few have decided to be rude, pain in the asses instead.
You grumble loudly, throwing your head back against the cushion behind you. Your frustration is not helped by the fact Boba is extra good looking today, his white shirt is practically glowing against his sun-kissed skin and open a button lower than usual for the breezy weather—not that you noticed those kinds of things about him. Just like you definitely weren’t aching for his attention that’s currently wrapped up in class prep.
“Why do all these professors expect me to drop everything to attend to their specific requests like I have nothing better to do?” you huff, massaging your temples with your fingertips. “I do have an actual job besides course reserves.”
Looking over a pair of reading glasses, Boba leans back in his chair, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Must have seen you doing it for me, princess.”
You blow out a dismissive sound and roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re different.” Snapping your laptop closed, you manage to keep the pleased smile from turning up your lips. You have Boba’s attention now, just like you really wanted.
“Mmm, different how?” he hums, his intense gaze now trained on your face.
The heat of his assured, teasing confidence makes your guts churn. While your mutual physical attraction to one another is surely evident to both of you, you’ve been doing your best to hide the fact that he holds your heart in his hands too. No use ruining the good thing you have going with the handsome professor by admitting you have an honest-to-god crush with feelings.
Rolling over on your side so you can prop your head up on your hand, you find Boba entirely too smug for your liking. Putting on your most innocent face, you blink up at him with wide doe eyes. “Oh, you know me, professor, always happy to help you older folks figure out all the complicated technology involved in getting your books.” Despite your efforts, you can’t help cracking a grin at the end of your sentence.
That sparks the fire you hoped it would in Boba, his eyes glittering and his posture shifting forward in response to your goading. “Watch it, princess. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”
Heaven help me, he looks so kriffing good, his shoulders alone make me want to risk it all. “Don’t worry,” you grin, “I’ve never had any trouble swallowing what’s in my mouth.”
“Well, well, well,” a rich female voice interjects from the door, making you jerk upright. “If it isn’t the new Mandalorian studies professor going at it with the pretty little librarian. I should’ve known that I couldn’t trust you around her, Fett.”
“Fennec!” you exclaim, relief dousing your prickling surprise: she knew you were a tease. You scramble off the lounge and throw your arms around your friend. “It’s Wednesday,” you state, perplexed, “I thought you wouldn’t be back from your trip until Friday?”
She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a satisfying hug. “Missed you too much, kitten, had to come back a little early,” she answers with her usual flirtatiousness. You don’t miss the way she winks at Boba over your shoulder as her palms slide over the small of your back when she pulls away. You secretly hope it will make him a little jealous.
“Never met a beautiful girl you didn’t try to seduce, have you Shand?” Boba pipes up from behind you, his tone familiar.
Your heart rate spikes at his compliment but you tamp down the heat threatening to creep up your face. Stepping back, you swing your head back and forth between the two professors. “You two know each other?”
Flicking her long braid over her shoulder, Fennec smiles, throwing a puckish look at the man behind the desk. “Oh, Boba and I go way back, long before either of us cleaned up and joined academia. Who do you think got him a job here?” she quips, sinking her weight onto her hip with her usual air of unapologetic fortitude.
“I got myself a job here,” Boba cracks back, his grumbling making it obvious he’s accustomed to Fennec’s ribbing.
She shrugs, grinning. “Don’t discount the power of a good word on the inside.” Slinging an arm around your shoulder, she loudly whispers in your ear, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing with a man like him anyways, kitten? Thought I taught you better than that.”
“Kark off, Shand,” Boba huffs, and Fennec throws her hands up in front of her chest in a showy apology.
Letting his languid gaze slide over to you, Boba studies the curves and planes of your body, mapping out each. You can’t squash the tingling glow buzzing in your chest at his attention, and your eyes sink down under fluttering lashes, your resolve weakened. “She’s a smart girl, she knows what she wants,” he finally says, releasing you from his inspection to smirk at his colleague.
The heat in your lower belly flares hot and wanting at his passive claim over you. Shit. Sometimes you wish he’d just shove your clothes aside and bend you over the nearest flat surface to take you for himself. Dangerous thoughts like those keep you up at night, wishing it his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy instead of your own.
You drop back down onto the couch to buy yourself a second to regroup. Kicking your feet up in an act of collected indifference, you drawl, “Aw, don't you two go fighting over me, there’s plenty to go around.”
“Yeah, but Boba doesn’t like to share,” Fennec snorts.
You grin up at the dark-haired woman and prop your computer back on your thighs. “Good thing we’re just friends then, Fenn.”
“Lucky him,” she chuckles. Straightening up and drawing a breath, her jovial expression settles into something more sincere. “Well, I’ve got plenty to do for classes next week, just wanted to stop by when I heard your voices. It’s good to see you again.”
Genuine affection spreads in your chest as you look up at your friend; for all her teasing and bluster, Fennec has a heart of gold. “Glad you made it back safe, Fenn, we’ll get coffee and catch up soon,” you promise with a candid smile.
“Sounds good, let me know if you ever want some better looking company.” She winks at you then tosses her head in Boba’s direction. “Always a pleasure to see you still in one piece, Fett.”
Despite his glowering expression, Boba’s voice is warm. “Same to you, Shand. Just remember to always watch your back.” The sound of the dark-haired woman’s throaty laugh echoes down the hallway as she heads towards her office.
When you look back at Boba, his mahogany eyes are already on you. They’re watching, as they often are, like you’re some fascinating phenomenon that might disappear if he doesn’t recommit it to memory repeatedly. “So you and Fennec are friends,” he states simply, leaning forward on his elbows. There’s something expectant in his tone, his demeanor hinting at anticipation. It makes the cozy atmosphere of the office crackle with intent.
You learned rather quickly that there was little use in trying to figure out Boba when he didn’t want to be figured, so you relax back into the couch and play along. “Yeah, she’s one of the first people I met when I started at the university. She took me under her wing and helped me find my way around here, she’s a good friend.” Before you can think better of it, you add, “But she’s only ever been a friend, despite what she might hint at.”
A small smile chips through the stony set to his features that makes your heart skip a beat. “Well that’s good to hear. Raises my hopes for your answer to my next question.” The richness of his voice belies any nervousness, if a man like him even feels such a thing. He always seems so sure, always in total control.
Was he jealous of Fennec? Your mouth goes dry and you force your easy smile to stay in place; Boba’s focus is zeroed in on you and you'd rather die than slip up in front of him—he'd enjoy it far too much. “Oh, do tell, professor. I'm all ears,” you urge, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your cool with passing success.
His lips twitch up, amused with your brashness. “You’ve been more than helpful these past four weeks, little one,” he begins, “I couldn't have gotten everything done for my classes or had the peace of mind to get properly settled here.”
“Really, it's no problem, I don't-”
Boba raises a hand for silence and your jaw clicks shut in quick obedience—much to your embarrassment and his obvious pleasure. “Whether you mind or not,” he continues, “or if you feel it's your job, I greatly appreciate all your efforts.” He studies you for a moment and it feels like he can see right through to your insides. “Can I take you to dinner at the Vineyard this Saturday, to thank you for all you've done?”
Genuine surprise releases a stream of words pouring from your lips before you can even register them. “The Vineyard? Downtown? It’s so fancy, you don't have to do that. I mean it's like $100 dinners and-”
“You deserve it, princess. I told you you'd get everything you deserve, remember?” Boba smiles, the corners of eyes crinkling in a fond expression. “Plus, I enjoy your company… and I think you enjoy mine, too.”
Your poor heart is beating so hard in your ribs you’re sure Boba's able to hear it. The safety of him and his space have disarmed your usual defenses, sanded down the spear of your tongue; it’s equal parts freeing and terrifying, uncharted territory ripe with possibilities and danger. You’re left unable to deny his assertion—or form any real words—so you opt to arch a brow instead.
“Don’t play coy, little one,” he chastens, his firm words and velvet tone skating over your heated skin. “I know construction in the library finished last week, yet you're still spending all your days in my office.”
Biting your lip, you do your best to look surprised. “Oh, really? I must have, uh, missed the memo on that,” you try lamely, scratching at the back of your neck. It’s a weak defense but it’s all you can muster at the moment, only half your brain is available to cobble together a response; the other half is too busy fighting the urge to leap over his desk and into his lap.
Boba chuffs a laugh, his handsome face all too knowing and his deep eyes sparkling with amusement—and maybe something darker, more sensual if you could bear to look. His reaction does, however, kick-start your customary attitude.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you fix him with the most sardonic look you can. “Well, I didn’t see you complaining, professor.” You tack on an eye roll for good measure as it never fails to get a reaction from him. And, oh, how you wanted to get one out of him, be the reason he’s loses his cool. Just the mere thought of it makes you ache.
Cocking his head to the side, he has the gall to look like he’s already won. “Why would I complain about getting what I want?” His face is drawn in a question, but his eyes flash with the answer.
“Well, you… you, er,” you stammer, suddenly unable to find a foothold. Boba had shaken the very earth beneath you with his admission, it has scattered your mind and rattled the bedrock of your resolve. The familiar nagging, forbidden desire to give in, to submit wells up in your throat; it would be easy, sinfully easy, to give up the fight and let Boba win. But easy’s never been my thing, has it?
Rolling back your shoulders, you mount your last stand. You let your head loll over to look at him directly, your eyes peeking out at him from under hooded lids. “And just what do you want, Boba Fett?” you answer, your voice husky and weighted.
The air itself thickens around you, dampening the outside world to something far away and unimportant as Boba contemplates his response. This is the impasse the two of you had been circling all along, choosing to precariously balance your brash determination against his indomitable will rather than risk tipping the scales. The only true solution is for one of you to give, but neither of you had yet been willing to break.
Finally, Boba’s lips part, a quick tongue darting out to wet the chapped skin. “I want,” he starts, low and deliberate, “to take you out to a nice dinner, have a good glass of wine… and have you all to myself.”
His words are etched in crystalline honesty and thus you have no choice but to respond in kind, even if it only skirts your shared quandary. “Then who am I to deny you, professor?”
The rest of the week might as well not have even happened as far as you're concerned—all that mattered was making it to Saturday. Boba had dangled the promise of sweet reward in front of you and seemed content to watch you flounder your way to it over the intervening days. It also didn’t help that Selena could not shut up about it, even now as she’s standing behind you, pinning and primping your hair to her liking.
“Ooo, I can’t believe it’s really happening!” she squeals, sliding another bobby pin into place against your scalp. “You and the hot professor, going on a date to a romantic restaurant all dressed up! I bet he’s going to invite you back to his place after. Do you think he has a big… you know?”
“If you never finish with my hair, I’ll never have to know,” you grumble. Now that the time has nearly come, you’re about sick to your stomach with all the overthinking you’ve done. You almost talked yourself out of going three times before Selena even came over to help you get ready.
“Hey, none of that sad shit,” she chides, pointing a hairbrush at you in the mirror. “You’ve been dying to go on this date all week, you’ve just got a little case of nerves. Totally normal.”
“But what if he doesn’t actually see this as a date? He never actually said it was. Or what if he really just wants to sleep with me and ditch me after this?” You groan, flopping back against your vanity chair miserably. Your earlier suspicions about his mutual feelings for you had soured—now you’re not even sure he likes you.
Selena thwacks the back of the head. “Ow!” you yelp, glaring at her in your reflection.
“Pull yourself together. Anyone within a mile radius of you two can tell you’re crazy about each other. Now sit still so I can get these pieces even,” she orders, centering you in the mirror with her hands on your shoulders. You do as she says, focusing on the practiced movements of her hands as a distraction for the feeling in your gut.
By the time you pull on your dress and slip into your shoes, you’re beginning to come back around to your usual self, likely in part due to the shot of tequila Selena convinced you to take with her—not that you needed much convincing to begin with.
She hypes you up as she fastens the clasp of your necklace around your throat. “Shit, girl, you look hot! I’m not sure he’s going to be able to take his eyes off you long enough to drive to the restaurant.”
“I do look good don’t I?” You flash yourself a smile in the mirror. After a trip to the mall yesterday, you and Selena had decided on a simple black satin slip dress and matching strappy heels. The deep “V” of the neckline and snug fit around your hips gave the dress just enough sex appeal while still being elegant. Twisting around, you check the lines of the dress in the back. “It’s too bad no one can see these panties, they’re so cute.”
“Oh, someone’s going to be seeing them alright,” Selena giggles from her perch on the end of your bed.
You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the girlish grin turning up the corners of your mouth at her insinuation. Shit, I hope he rips them off me. “Only if I decide he deserves to.”
“There she is, there’s the girl we know and love. Give him hell!”
Your phone dings on your bedside table and your friend snatches it up before you can get to it. “Hey! Give it!” you demand, grabbing at the device.
Sliding up the bed out of your reach, Selena hunches around your phone. “He’s here! And he sent a bunch of heart emojis.”
Your nerves tingle in cold-hot anticipation, your face going slack in disbelief. “He did?!”
Selena bursts into laughter. “No, I’m just messing with you, he just said he’s outside.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you groan, snatching away your phone. “Go ahead and see if I keep helping you come up with texts to send all your gym rat side pieces.”
She lays a hand on her chest, feigning shock. “You would never. Now get out there and blow his socks off, or you know, whatever else you want to blow.” She smirks suggestively, shooing you towards the door. “I’ll lock up, now out out out.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going!” Your heart hammers in your chest and you consider another shot of tequila before dismissing it—no need to set yourself up to be any hornier than you already are for the Mandalorian professor. Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you’re out the door.
Leaning against a sleek midnight black Audi is Boba Fett in all his glory, dressed in a well-fitted pressed shirt (with the sleeves rolled up, damn him) and gray slacks. His salt and pepper stubble and dark eyes make his already handsome face look even better. Catching your appearance in the doorway, he juts his chin up in greeting, his eyes sliding over you in obvious pleasure. “Evening, princess.”
He holds out an arm and you take it to step off the curb, testing his muscles underneath your fingers as you do; if Boba notices, thankfully he doesn’t say it. He opens the passenger door and you step in, settling down onto the supple leather of the lush interior.
He doesn’t close the door right away, instead standing and clearly enjoying the view down your dress. You glare up at him in mock annoyance. “You gonna stare like a dirty old man or are you going to take me to dinner, professor?”
“You’re the one who got all dressed up for a dirty old man, sweetheart, I figured you'd want me to enjoy it,” he replies smoothly, his lips quirking into a smirk as he shuts the door before you can manage a response.
Yep, these panties don’t stand a chance.
“So, Fennec tells me you were some sort of deadly mercenary gun-for-hire before you settled down to teach the impressionable young minds of university students,” you smile cheekily over your glass of wine, swirling the sparkling contents around the cup’s curves. “That true?” Stars help me if it is, I don’t know if he can get any sexier.
The evening air is crisp and warm, a mild sea-breeze rustling the hem of your dress under the table. The scene laid out around you is so terribly romantic you have to pinch yourself a few times to make sure it’s not all part of the best dream you’ve ever had. Tables for two are scattered over a stone patio overlooking the sunsetted ocean, with glowing candles in their centerpieces and string lights criss-crossed overhead illuminating the space with soft light.
Boba lets out an exasperated sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Of course she did. Don’t believe everything she says about me, she loves to tell a good story.”
“Avoiding the question, are we?”
“Sure you don’t want any dessert?”
“Aww, come on Boba, pleeease? Please tell me,” you whine playfully, sticking out your bottom lip for extra effect. He hadn’t denied you anything yet tonight—and you intend on keeping it that way.
He sighs, resigned to his fate. “You’re going to be the death me, you know that, princess?” You squeal a pleased sound and lean in conspiratorially on both your elbows, eager to hear his answer. Tossing his napkin from his lap onto the table, he leans against the back of his chair and props his arm up, gazing at you over the candlelight. “I’ll tell you, but you have to answer a question of mine if I do. Deal?”
Running your teeth over your lip, you nod, blinking your eyes down to his crotch and back up to his face slowly so he’s sure to notice. “Yeah, we have a deal. Spill it.”
True to his word, Boba recounts what you’re sure is a heavily abridged version of his life before becoming a teacher. He was born on a rainy little island called Kamino and lost his father young. While his father was a Mandalorian, Boba himself didn’t necessarily consider himself to be one, hinting that he hadn’t felt the most welcome by his father’s people when he visited the island of Mandalore before it’d been nearly wiped off the face of the earth.
Alone in the Mandalorian diaspora, Boba had turned to what he knew best to make his way in the world: fighting. Working protection gigs, “recovering property” (which no doubt was not entirely legal), and retrieving missing or abducted persons, he made a name for himself in that world as the best since his old man. It was also how he met Fennec, who apparently was one of the best espionage mercs money could buy, and why he had a ridiculous amount of money for a college professor.
“So why did you go into teaching then?” you ask, pushing your now empty glass aside. “Kind of an interesting choice considering your… previous profession.”
“Didn’t plan on it.” Boba drains the rest of his glass and sets it next to yours. “After one too many close calls, though, I knew I couldn't continue that life. All of that wasn’t-isn’t the legacy I want to leave behind. The death of my father and his heritage might have been out of my control, but I will not let it be in vain. So I took what I knew, learned what I didn’t, and started teaching in Mandalorian studies.”
You two sit in silence for a while, watching the tide roll in under the silver gleam of the moon. “Thank you for sharing.” Your voice is almost a whisper, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. He would've been so proud to see the person you’ve become, I’m sure of it.”
Boba tilts his head to the side, studying you as if you’ve said the most interesting thing the world has ever heard. “Thank you… that’s kind of you to say,” he answers quietly, as if he doesn’t quite believe you himself. The careful look in his eye makes you wonder what other secret burdens the handsome professor bears in silence. Even more so, it makes you want to shoulder some of it, or at least provide him some sort of relief.
The table off to your right bursts into hoots of laughter and the dusky spell between you is broken. You blink the haze out of your eyes and Boba clears his throat.
“Time to pay up, sweetheart. It’s my turn to ask you a question,” he smiles, his white teeth catching the flickering candlelight. The faraway solemnity in his eyes is replaced with dark heat.
“Go right ahead, I’m all yours,” you grin back, “ask away.”
Signaling your server for the check with two fingers, Boba leans forward, taking your hand in his large one. “Tell me, little princess, am I dropping you back at yours after this, or are you coming home with me?”
—Endnotes: I don’t know anything about cars, I just know that Audi is a fancy car brand, at least in the US. Don’t judge me 😭. Also I guess this is a coastal university. I don't have a name for the school yet though, what do y'all think?
Part II>
#this one is for the girls the gays and george lucas#but most importantly#temuera morrison#the flirting is based on yours truly ✨#that is IF i would even be able to form words in front of a man who is a clone of tem#might just be high pitched giggling#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#professor!boba fett#star wars fanfiction#professor boba fett#fanfic#ex libris fic#zwei writes
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SANCTUARY
—PAIRING: Boba Fett x Female Character
—SUMMARY: Sometimes sanctuary isn’t a place, it’s a person.
—WORD COUNT: 1.2k
—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—TAGS & WARNINGS: third person narration, explicit sexual content, Empire era!Boba, yearning, themes surrounding sex work, oral sex (fem receiving), open-ended ending (like not sad but not necessarily happy either? ends on a sense of longing)
Please let me know if I missed anything!
—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you so much @wolffegirlsunite for this amazing song prompt ask! I'm trying out third person for the first time (so lemme know if y'all like it) and idk if this counts as a reader insert but I intended for it to kinda be like one, so I kept the female character's description vague. I am also trying to practice writing shorter pieces with these song prompts and let me tell you!! I do not like shutting up!!! I have many thoughts concerning this man!!!! But it wouldn't be a challenge if it was easy 🤨
Enjoy besties 💖
Song: Sanctuary by Joji
Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist
If you’ve been waiting for falling in love
Babe, you don’t have to wait on me
‘Cause I’ve been aiming for heaven above
But an angel ain’t what I need
It’s always after dark when he comes to see her. Like a fallen star, he touches down on the glimmering world of Canto Bight in the dead of night—a whispered name amongst the patrons in the casino as he passes through the velvet ropes to the pleasure house above. Boba can feel their eyes, their titillation, their curiosity, their fear of him on his back as he ascends the stairs. He pays it no mind because when he crosses the threshold into the Black Rose, only one thing matters to him.
Low lights soon give way to neon walls where beautiful men and women dance, their dark silhouettes enthralling their audience as drinks are served and credits are spilled from pockets. Boba doesn’t bother to stop and admire the show, however, he strides directly over to the pink-skinned Twi’lek sitting in the corner booth. She greets him with a familiar smile, knowing who he is and what he’s here for. She nods wordlessly towards the curtain behind her and the guard steps aside to let him pass.
The music dampens to a dull thump in the gilded waiting room, the air fragranced with dusky rose and sultry amber. He takes off his helmet to let the sweet air kiss his face, a gentle brush over the tips of his ears, the bow of his lips, the tip of his nose. Boba breathes it in, the scent of his escape. The scent that clings to his clothes even after he leaves, reminding him that she’s only ever one call away, laying alone and empty of him. Those thoughts, that sinful fragrance… they make his body ache for hers.
It drives him almost as much as his desire to be the best to honor his father’s legacy. That dull throbbing in his bones is his pain’s pleasure: the satisfaction of completing another job is made even greater with the knowledge that his reward is waiting on Canto Bight. It’s only after his pucks are turned in and his bounties paid that he allows himself to see her. She is a wine he must only sip, her sweet intoxication too tempting to allow himself anything greater.
Her taste already stains his lips, keeping him from coming in the light of day, despite that the dim interior is never any brighter than it is after the sun sets. Because then she would know. She’d know that if she’s holding out, waiting to fall into that unspoken love that she wouldn’t have to wait on him, that his heaven isn’t one floating in the sky. An angel isn’t what he needs... it’s her.
That’s why he no longer seeks out anyone else to fulfill his desires, why she’s become the only one. Boba has experienced the thrill of pleasure with many in his years, discovered what he liked and what gave him the release he required to keep his mind clear. Most of all, however, it revealed how he needs the warmth of equal to truly soothe the burning in his core, something more than just the colorful amusement of a dancing girl or the rough diversion of another hunter on a long job. He needs more, firmer ground to touch down upon. He needs a sanctuary.
She likes to make him wait for a couple minutes when he arrives, let their mutual anticipation build to a low boil. Swiping on her trademark ruby lipstick, the Madame of the Black Rose smiles at her painted reflection. Boba Fett is in her waiting room, fresh off a hunt, pent up and ready to burn through all that raw energy. He needs her. He’s never said as much, but she knows that’s why he comes to her, to work through the knots in his soul after being wound so tight.
Donning the sheer black robe laid out on her chair, she saunters into her waiting room practically purring with delight. Boba is reclined on the low slung chaise, legs apart with his helmet propped on his knee. His pretty lips twitch into the smallest of smiles at her appearance, his dark eyes glinting with salacious intention as they slip down her body. All she has to do is hold out her jeweled hand and he’s pushing her back into her rooms, his hot mouth sealing over hers.
The fervid way they tear into each other, pulling clothes and armor off as quickly as their tangled limbs will allow, speaks the words their lips do not: what you want is what I want. Sincerity in motion, acted out but never spoken of. Two souls that lie awake when apart dreaming of the courageous, secret reality where they give into something real. Something that they passed off for child’s play or a fantasy fit only for those on the opposite side of the galaxy’s underbelly—either way, certainly not something for them. Bounty hunters and working girls, no matter how revered or expensive, don’t get happy endings together. Not in this life at least.
When he kneels between her thighs, Boba revels in the slick warmth and breathy moans that she allows him to wring out of her with his tongue and fingers. One orgasm is not enough for him, nor two, and just barely three before he comes up for air, panting praises and curses into her soft skin while she runs her nails through his hair. It gives her such pleasure, such luscious pride to see his glossed over eyes and slick-shined face so overwrought and pussy drunk. She hasn’t even touched him properly yet and he’s a man consumed.
When he finally gives her his cock, it’s hard and leaking, flushed with violet want. She relishes in the way he fills her cunt every single time he takes her; the lurid stretch of him burns in her veins, her heart pounds against her ribs as he snaps his strong hips against the back of her thighs. When she flips him on his back to ride him how she likes, she yanks his face up by his curls to kiss and bite and bruise her way into him. Maybe if she kisses him long and deep enough, he’ll hear all the things she cannot bring herself to say. That if he loves her like she loves him, he doesn’t have to wait any longer to make her his. That she doesn’t want an angel or a savior, just him.
Skin to skin and cheek to cheek, she hopes there’s an osmosis of sentiment. Fuck me harder, she begs her with body, fuck me like you’re not going to leave. Fuck me like our lives won’t end up apart. And he does, again and again, every time he darkens her door. He digs his fingers in, sinks his mark into her giving flesh, pulling her so close because they can never know how long their lifetimes will be. When he holds her so tight her lungs protest and her ribs threaten to crack, she locks her legs around his muscular torso and presses her lips to his ear. We can aim for heaven above, baby, you don’t have to wait on me.
#i have so much to say about this man#especially empire era!boba and all his feelings#zwei writes#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett x ofc#boba fett x oc#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#sanctuary fic
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miss ma'am @rexxdjarin inflicted beach!AU Boba thots on me and now it's EVERYBODY'S problem 😈
Explicit content, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Quick notes: f!reader is younger than Boba and Boba has the tattoos in the pic above because tatted!Boba makes me i n s a n e 😩🥵
You're walking down the beach with your favorite cousin, lugging a cooler in between the two of you with a sneaky grin plastered across your face
When Boba catches your eye and starts toward you, you wink at him and whisper something to your cousin which makes the two of you erupt into giggles
With a dark brow cocked, he flicks his eyes between you. "I'd offer to help you girls with that but I think it's the only thing keeping the two of you from whatever scheme you're planning."
Your cousin informs him it's too late to escape your clutches and you complain that your arms are just so so tired, and he scoops the cooler onto his shoulder like it weighs nothing, rolling his eyes like he wasn't planning to carry it all along
You just know he's flexing the thick muscles in his arms just a little bit extra for your benefit and you make a show of praising what a big, strong man he his all the way to where the rest of your family is camped out on the beach
When everything is settled in, you make sure Boba is watching as you untie the knot holding up your swim wrap, letting it fall into the sand at your feet. As many times as he's seen you naked, Boba has never seen you in a swim suit, and this one is your favorite because it hugs you in all the right places, making you feel nothing short of a beach goddess
Based on the way his eyes nearly pop out of his head, you'd say he thinks you look the part too
"Kark, mesh'la, you're making me feel like a goddamn teenager all over again in that," he whispers gruffly in your ear when he wraps an arm around your hip for a group photo
"Aw, you gonna come in your pants, too?" you snark back after the photo, wriggling out of his grasp before he can do anything about your sass and running towards the ocean waves with peel of laughter
When you peek over your shoulder, Boba is giving you a look that means you'll definitely be paying for that comment later and flash of heat shoots down your spine
Boba is soon covered in a small gaggle of your younger cousins who adore him--much to his confusion--who want big, strong uncle Boba to pick them up and toss them into the water over and over again
You float in the shallows with your cousin and her girlfriend, talking and laughing as you catch up on each other's lives, watching Boba get climbed on like a piece of playground equipment by the little ones
The way his bronze skin positively gleams in the sun, his tattoos rippling with his muscles, (and if you're honest, the way he's good with the kids, even if he's a lil gruff around the edges) has your mind wandering and heat pooling in your belly
When your little group heads back to shore for some drinks and snacks, you take mercy on Boba and extricate him from the numerous little hands clinging to his arms and legs
You mercy, however, is short-lived. After arching your back and toweling off nice and slow in front of him, you slink over to your bag and pull out your sunscreen
Batting your lashes at your handsome boyfriend, you start rubbing in your sunscreen a little more suggestively than necessary before asking him to get your back for you with a flirty smile
He obliges, and when he's done, he grabs the back of your neck in a firm grasp and whispers in your ear with that sinful, graveled tone of his. "Have all the fun you want now, little princess, because I second I get my hands on you I'm not stopping no matter how much you beg and cry."
Craning your neck back to look at him over your shoulder, you give him a wicked grin. "Mmm, I just hope that's a promise." You place a quick kiss on his jaw flounce away, smug as ever
This time, he joins you in the waves, the kids having pounced on another uncle. You relax for bit, enjoying his company and the salty air
Eventually, however, the heat simmering inside you begins to bubble up again at the sight of his perfect smile, sun-kissed features, and dripping wet body. All those beads of saltwater running over his broad chest make you want to lick each and every one up with a slow tongue
You link your arms around his neck and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He's so warm perfect you could melt right into him
The opportunity to grind your hips against his proves too tempting but he locks his large hands on your hips to press you still before you can get too out of hand. "Just can't help yourself can you, sweetheart?"
"At least I'm not the one getting a hard on in front of my whole family," you retort with a smirk. Boba pinches your ass under the water and you squeal, slipping out of his arms and wade your way back to the sand as Boba chases behind you
You're pushing your luck and you know it
You duck behind where a group of your aunties are drinking and chatting so he's waylaid by them wanting to talk while he's conveniently dripping wet and glistening
As nonchalantly as possible, you open one of the coolers and unwrap a popsicle and pop it in your mouth
Being behind the women he's talking to, only Boba can see the way you start to slide the icy dessert in and out of your lips, letting the juice drip down your chin and neck. Only he can see how you hollow your cheeks and roll your eyes back as you suck on the popsicle with wanton delight
When you pop the treat from your lips and circle your tongue around it's tip, you see the way he snaps: his brown eyes darken and his jaw clenches, the muscle in his neck jumping
He smiles down at your enamored aunts and excuses himself. "I'm sorry ladies, my lovely girlfriend just let me know we need more ice."
He flashes a predator's grin and catches you by your bicep when you slip in the sand trying to get away again. "Oh no you don't, little brat," he hisses in your ear, "I told you what was going to happen if you kept acting up and you didn't listen. It's time to pay up, sweetheart."
You half-heartedly struggle in his tight grip as he pulls you along to his truck, your insides knotting in arousal-fueled anticipation. He yanks open the passenger side door and pushes you in the seat
Shoving a hand underneath your swimsuit, you both groan when his rough fingers slide through your slick folds. "Fuck, princess, you really are dirty. Getting this wet from being a karking brat, you really want me to bend you over and fuck you til you're sorry, don't you?"
Y'all I am truly incapable of shutting up so tell me if you want a part 2 because I had to cut myself off somewhere or I would never stop 🥴🫠😮💨 also this might have been inspired by professor Boba from Ex Libris because when @acatalystrising said we need some Boba near water it never left my mind
UPDATE: Read Part 2 here!
Taglist & additional Boba lovers 💖
@agirlnamejacq @burningfieldof-clover @marierg @acatalystrising @dukeoftheblackstar @imarvelatthestars @saradika @baufraus @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @historianwithaheart @andrakass2 @samspenandsword @liadamerondjarin @sleepingsun501 @sgt-morgan @rescuethewretched @rexxdjarin @ladytano420 @writingwintermoon @pheo-nixpas-calian @erinthevampire @xxladysquishyxx @rain-on-kamino
@thirsty-boba-fett-posts @ghostvizsla @vorpan-yaimi @pickleprickle @wings-and-beskar @extra-standard-deviation @kimiheartblade
#this got out of hand 🥴#julie this is all your doing#i just want my boba fett beach episode#and for him to absolutely rail me after i spent the day getting on his last nerve with my teasing when he can't do anything about it#boba fett x reader#boba thots#thots#boba fett#zwei writes
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Do you think Boba would ever fall for someone who is shy but can bring out the sass once in awhile once they feel comfortable? And maybe who is quite sensitive? I don't know. I keep looking for Boba x reader fics for different types of readers and keep coming up with the same themes which are often quite triggering for me. I am in a writing slump or I'd try to write it myself, but I think maybe I just misunderstand him. I know this is fandom and fun, but I also care about the character and want to get him right and maybe he just doesn't care for someone like that. What are your thoughts on the kind of people Boba would love?
Alright my beloved anon, I have been sitting on this ask for a bit because I really wanted to give it some thought and give it the answer it deserves 💖
In short, yes! I totally think Boba would fall for a shy person, and the sass when they open up would be a bonus for him but definitely not a requirement. I write sassy/bold/loud and proud readers because that's how I am irl but by no means is that the only type Boba would go for. My thoughts on OT!Boba and Daimyo Boba below the cut.
Ok so OT!Boba is much more rough around the edges than he is as an older man in TBOBF; he's driven, angry, and one big ball of pressurized emotion during the Empire era. He the best of the best and he does everything to make sure it stays that way, guarding his reputation with as much ferocity as he goes after his bounties with. He doesn't bother giving energy to things like "love" or "feelings," preferring to work out his frustrations and tension with a (preferably) nameless partner who feels the same. Anything else is too risky, too soft, too vulnerable. He's a lone wolf by choice.
HOWMSTEVER, when he comes across of his highest-paying repeat client's quiet daughter (just choosing for pronouns, def can be gn), he's struck by you. The way you move, quiet as a whisper and soft as a sigh, unseen and unheard by the ruckus around you. He notices you though, he sees you. And he knows you see him too, your watchful eyes flitting over him beneath your lashes when you think his helmet is pointed elsewhere.
You make him curious. Curious as to why a quiet little thing like you would so much as glance his direction twice. He pushes the thoughts away time and time again, but they refuse to be banished, coming unbidden to him in his bunk or during the long hours in hyperspace. What thoughts are swirling in that head of yours? Do you sneak looks at anyone else? Is your voice as sweet as he imagines?
It's nonsense really, he tells himself. You're just some girl, a tender flower who shies away from the sun. He would crush you, break your leaves and trample your petals. You're not made for men like him... so why does he watch you bloom under the moon's light, gentle and perfect? He would only be your ruin.
But oh, what it would be to be the one you blessed with inner light, to be the one who you found deserving of everything you kept to yourself. Maybe even be the one you trust. He certainly doesn't deserve it but, maybe, one day he could.
Boba aches for a balance to his tipped scale. That might look like an outspoken, smart-mouthed partner to match his fire with their own, corralling his blaze by channeling his pent up energy into them. A sun for a sun, a tandem orbit instead of careening through the galaxy.
Just as likely, however, his sun could be balanced with a silver moon, reflecting his light back on him and mastering his violent tides with undeniable, quiet strength. This partner might seem small or nonexistent in comparison to him, impossible that they would attract his desire. That is surface-level thinking--just because the moon goes through phases where it wanes and disappears doesn't mean it doesn't exist. In fact, while the sun sets, the moon never does, it's always there if one pays attention.
I think OT!Boba would admire and find himself attracted to the way a shy, sensitive partner is able to feel and experience their emotions in a way he does not allow himself to. Furthermore, as a man of few words who is in his own bucket more than anything else, he would understand solitude in both its necessity and its pain. There would be a learning curve if the two of pursued a relationship and Boba would undoubtedly hurt your feelings as he tries to learn to navigate his own, but ultimately, the two of you would find reward in each other.
ALRIGHT now onto Daimyo Boba. He's older, wiser, and more keyed into his feelings than his younger self even if he still has a LOT of work left to do in that department (my green tincan man is bunch of repressed emotions walking around in beskar and I love him ok). No longer is he a lone wolf fighting his way through the galaxy, now he's found his pack, his tribe, and he's able to open up to the possibility of having someone at his side.
Now, just as before, that person could be a fiery and bold or reserved and more delicate or anywhere in between. What I believe the theme here is his partner's sense of power. Whether that partner already feels a sense of empowerment or needs support to find it, Boba wants his cyare to appreciate everything that they are and will nurture his partner. It gives him pleasure to care for another, to be in a position to give rather than take, restore rather than destroy.
He is strong man, confident in his power, and wants the same for his partner. The sassy ones need a soft place to land and the shy ones need place to shine, and whichever end of the spectrum his beloved falls on, Daimyo Boba will happily provide them a safe haven.
I hope this coherent and what you were looking for anon 💕 for a shier, sensitive reader fic, I recommend @thirsty-boba-fett-posts Princess Saga series. It's beautiful and touching and isn't one of those stories where the protagonist is "fixed" by becoming an extrovert, but rather focuses on the character's growth and healing.
divider by @saradika
#i pondered this for literal days#thank you for the ask bb 💖 i truly enjoyed answering this#i could talk about boba forever 😭#boba fett#zwei writes#ask
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PART V: PREFACE
—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader
—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—SUMMARY: You make sure Professor Fett knows just how much he means to you.
—WORD COUNT: 8.6k
—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, use of restraints (reader's hands are bound), creampie, lots of pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, choking, use of a vibrator, pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tiniest bit of breeding kink, Daddy kink 🤭, lil bit of angst when Boba has some bad dreams
We've got some new chapter warnings this time, so be sure to mind them. As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations are at the end.
—AUTHOR'S NOTES: We're back baybee and better than ever! Part V will conclude Volume I of Ex Libris, but fear not: your fav professor/librarian duo will be back for more sexy escapades (and fEeLiNgS) in the future in Volume 2 💚🖤
A big thank you to @agirlnamejacq and @rexxdjarin for betaing this series, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖
Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist
<Part IV — Interlude>
Boba Fett is a man of exquisite extremes: a simple man when it comes to himself, his personal effects minimal but well made, but quite the opposite when it comes to you. After he had a taste of spoiling you rotten on your date to the poppy fields, he couldn’t get enough, no matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to spend any money on you. You so much as glanced at something for too long and you’d find it tucked away somewhere for you to find, wrapped in a ribbon. You didn’t mind, not one bit, but you don’t want him to think that he had to keep doing it to keep you happy—just him by himself is enough to last you till the end of your days.
“Boba, you don’t have to keep doing this, really, I-”
“Princess, what’s the point of all my money sitting in the bank if I can’t spend it how I like?”
“But… I love you without all that.”
“I know you do, cyar’ika, I know. Now that we’ve got that established, let me spoil you like I want to, like you deserve.”
You gave in willingly after that conversation, allowing him to buy you all the little trinkets and sparkly jewelry your heart desired. One of his favorite things to do, you’d found, was to tuck his black credit card in your purse and send you to the mall with Selena, placing a kiss on your forehead and a slap on the ass as you went out the door. In return, you’d put on a little fashion show for him when you returned, ending with you in whatever risque lingerie you purchased for him to rip off and devour you whole.
You currently have on one of the sets he hadn’t gotten the chance to tear off your body, a blush rose pair of elegant satin and lace that’s delightfully comfortable and smooth against your skin. As you consider your dress choices for the evening ahead, you can feel the way Boba is admiring you from across his bedroom while he’s buttoning up his cream-colored shirt. “Which one do you think,” you ask, turning and holding up the two choices, “the green or the blue one?”
Adjusting his collar down flat with practiced skill, he smirks. “Which one will be easier to get into later tonight?”
Even after all the filth that’s come out of his mouth, his flirting can still make you flush like a schoolgirl. “Boba!”
“What?” he shrugs with a rakish smile, “I’m asking for… research purposes.”
You can’t help but laugh, the man did have a sense of humor when he wanted to. “Well if you bend me over and pull them up, they should be about the same,” you respond, biting your lip and wiggling your eyebrows. You picked these dresses precisely because they provided easy access: what Boba doesn’t yet know is that you have a little surprise that has nothing to do with your dress, and everything to do with him.
He crosses the room in a few strides and stops in front of you, letting his gaze travel down your body with lush attention before flicking between the two options you held. “Hmm, the green one, I think. Green looks good on you,” he hums, leaning in to press a slow kiss to your lips.
“Looks good on you, too,” you mumble, deepening the kiss. Boba had shown you his father’s armor, now his, that he carefully unpacked and mounted on a stand in his study. The reverence with which he handled each piece was a poignant reminder of the grief buried deep within his ribs and the pride he took in being his father’s son. You felt honored that he trusted you to share that part of himself; even in the short time you’ve known him, it’s readily apparent that he is a private person when it comes to his past.
When his roughened hands slide down to grab your ass, you reluctantly break the kiss. “We’re gonna be late if you keep that up…”
“Oh, I can make it quick, princess. Promise.” He trails kisses down the thin skin of your throat and kneads the plushness of your ass. “You know I’m a man of my word.”
Stepping back out of his reach, you give him a scolding smile. “I know you are. Now, help me with this thing.” Boba huffs, more as a show rather than actual annoyance, and does as you request, dutifully lacing up the ties of the sage green garment across your back. Once done, he sits in the armchair to put on his shoes while you slip on your jewelry—including the piece you’re going to surprise him with.
As you secure the anklet around your leg, you admire how the interlinking chain twinkles in the light. The jewelry soaks up the heat of your body quickly, sitting heavier and warmer as you imagine what the professor’s reaction will be; you know he has that protective streak in him, that desire to care for and nurture you in a way you suspect he never received himself. That, combined with the claim he so enjoys laying on you, filling you full of him and marking your skin with his mouth, hands, and hips, leaves no doubt in your mind that your little surprise will drive him wonderfully and perfectly insane.
Now that the time has come to set your plot in motion, it takes everything in you to school your giddy expression. Sinking onto the end of the bed, you lean back on your hands and lift your leg to wiggle your foot in his direction so he gets a look up your dress—which he takes, of course. “Can you help me with my shoes, handsome?” you simper, batting your lashes for extra effect.
Boba rolls his eyes, muttering how you’re spoiled rotten as he scoops up your heels and slides on the first one, balancing the ball of your foot on his abdomen. He fastens the straps with deft fingers, then takes the opportunity to press slow kisses up your calf, keeping his deep eyes locked on yours. It’s surprisingly sensual, warmth feathering out from your core and fluttering in your stomach. You bite your lip, enjoying his slow touches and he winks. Fuck, he’s so kriffing hot.
He sets your leg down and braces the other against him, this time trailing his lips down from your thigh to just above the straps of your shoe. Securing the straps, nods at your anklet. “Mmm, what have we here?”
The gold piece looks even daintier against his thick fingers as he runs them across it.
You tilt your chin up just a bit as you watch his expression through heavy-lidded eyes. “Just a little something that reminded me of you. Thought I would wear it tonight.” Boba adjusts the jewelry around your ankle so he can examine the stylized letters adorning it. The anticipation of him seeing “Daddy’s Girl” dangling off you for anyone to see has restless energy lighting up your nerves.
A second later, Boba gasps, sucking in a sharp, sudden breath and his face snaps up to look at you; you’re as licentious and dusky as an old Hollywood star as you peer back at him. His grip becomes almost unbearably tight, but it feels so good that you hope it leaves a bruise to remember it by. His lips part but no sound comes out, every muscle in his body rigid. Something has come over him, something so visceral it strikes him to the core of his being.
This you know you’ll remember for the rest of your days, until the end of time even—you know you will. The time you made Boba Fett, the strongest, most unshakeable man you’ve ever met, break. Not crease or fold. Not snap. Break.
“Say it.” The words fall from his lip hoarse and cracked. A wild energy crackles and grows behind his glossy eyes.
You drag your hands closer to your body to push yourself up higher, and your heart rate picks up. You almost want to make this last forever. “Say… what?” you drawl, blinking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.
One of his hands drops to your thigh, his fingers digging into the pillowy flesh there. A sizzle of air rushes from behind his teeth. “Say it. Say it right now.”
Heat is radiating off him so hot you can feel it, like a star burning itself into creation. The primal rawness of his desire, its baseness, permeates into your skin and makes his feverish desire become your own. You can’t deny him, not when it feels like his scalding becoming will remake you anew, too.
Blistering heat fills you from the inside out as his eyes bore into you. You lick your lips, savoring the last of the moment before this man shatters your whole world from the inside out in a glorious passion. “I’m… I’m Daddy’s girl.”
Tossing your adorned leg over his shoulder, Boba crashes into you, his lips searing a kiss onto your mouth that’s so hot your mind leaves your body for a few breathless seconds. You’re effectively folded in half by his crushing weight and it makes your muscles scream in the most delicious way. Boba curses into your open mouth as his hips grind what has to be a painfully hard erection into your ass.
“Fuck, ner cyare, tell me that’s what you want, tell me you want me to be-”
“I want you, want you to be my Daddy, Boba, please.” Hands balled in his shirt behind his neck, you gasp your answer with the breath from his lungs.
A string of coarse curses pour from his mouth. “Gedet’ye, sweet girl, let me have you. Let me show you just how good Daddy can make his babygirl feel.”
He’s a paradox of pleasure, impossibly dominant yet unbearably vulnerable in his need for you in this moment. He can see all of you and you can see all of him; it’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced, a culmination of the trust the two of you had been building between your hearts and in his bed. Hearing him say those words in that voice has you breaking into a million needy pieces, ready for him to put you back together again.
Fuck, how could I say no to that?
Looking directly into his blown out eyes, you give him the permission he needs. “Fuck me.”
You want to sear the sound that he makes at your confirmation into your brain forever. He shifts back, lowering your leg off him to quickly work himself out of his pants. Propped up on your elbows now, you can see how his thick cock is weeping and dripping with need, the velvety skin of his shaft so red it’s almost purple. You curse under your breath, your mouth and your pussy filling with moisture at the sight of him. He pumps himself a few times, a snarl tearing from his chest when you moan from watching.
Grabbing both your ankles, he yanks you down the bed, pushing the hem of your dress over your stomach and hitching your legs over his hips. “Shit, you’ve soaked right through those pretty little panties,” he groans, curling his fingers around the satin material and ripping it clean off your body, the stretch and snap of the fabric making you hiss. A deep moan escapes him at the vision of your glistening womanhood now on full display, and Boba pushes your thighs up to get an even better view.
You feel like you’re in the middle of a supernova, melting into his star; your every thought runs into the next and sensations bleed into one another—you’re totally lost to the pleasure of the moment. Boba bends to lick up a taste of your arousal when the words come rushing out of your mouth. “Fuck me, don’t wait, just fuck me. Split me open on your cock, Daddy, please.” You want to feel the size of him, so much of him that it’s all you can comprehend.
He stiffens, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. “Princess,” he grits out, his restraint taking visible effort for the first time, “d-don’t say things like that, not when… you know I have to prep you.”
You don’t care—you want him in you now, forcing himself through your tight walls and making you feel every kriffing inch of his cock. Slotting your hands under your knees, you spread yourself even wider in an open invitation to take what’s rightfully his and only his. “Pleaseeeee, please, sir, it’s all yours, please fuck me, give me your co-”
Boba’s hand slaps across your pussy, tearing a sharp moan from your chest and making you gush. “Enough!” he barks, “You know the rules. Or do you need to be reminded across my knee?”
The lasting sting radiating out from your clit and his imperious tone has your mind scrambling to right itself; you’re so kriffing turned on you can barely think. Apparently you take too long, because Boba’s left hand shoots around your neck and squeezes the thoughts right out of your head. “With behavior like this, I think you do need to be reminded of Daddy’s rules, little brat.”
Your eyes widen, his absolute authority has you trembling in anticipation. You hang on his every word even as your brain struggles to form a complete thought.
Boba lightens the pressure around your throat to allow you to speak. “Tell me the rules, and keep those legs open. Number one,” he commands, smacking your pussy, making you yelp.
“Honesty!”
He gives you another slap across your clit. This time you moan, the stinging sensation quickly turning into pleasure. “Number two.”
“Respect!”
After the third strike, he leaves his hand sitting on top of your searing lips. “Number three.” You answer correctly and he rubs his fingers over your clit, sending sparks shooting up your spine. “Four, last rule.”
Boba fingers begin to rub faster over your slick, swollen clit and you drag your mind to the answer, gasping, “No coming… without… permission!”
A pleased look settles on his handsome face and he releases your throat to caress your cheek with his knuckles. “That’s my good girl, so smart, did so well for me,” he praises in a tone sweeter than golden honey, “Daddy rewards his princess when she’s good, even more now that she’s his little girl. How do you like that, sweetheart? Come on, talk to me.” His fingers slow to a halt between your open thighs and he eases your legs back down on the bed.
You feel at an immediate loss without his touch, like everything is suddenly too much.
Rule number two, make sure your needs are met. “Can you hold me while we talk? Need to feel you, please.”
Boba’s eyes widen, concern flickering over his features as he scans for any additional discomfort. “Of course, babygirl. Wanna get undressed, too?” he asks, his hands rubbing your thighs to give you a point of contact as you consider his question.
Your unease stops rising enough for you to crack a smile. “We’re really not going to that play, are we?”
Chuckling, he smiles down at you. “No, princess, we are absolutely not.”
That established, Boba helps undo all the work of getting you into your evening attire—spending extra time kissing down your legs to remove your heels, his fingers playing with the anklet that led to the evening’s fun—and gets out of his. Tucking you into his side, skin to glorious skin, he pulls the covers over the both of you and begins rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “That better now?”
“Mmm hmm, so much better,” you confirm, burying your face into his warm chest. The rising tension in your own abates and your heartbeat slows back to normal.
“You want to keep going, princess? We can call it a night if you want to.”
You start kissing up his neck in answer, yours hand roaming up the inside of his thigh. “Yes, Daddy, I want to keep going. I wanna keep going until you’re coming dry,” you tease, biting down on his shoulder.
He gives your ass a swat. “Behave.”
“Yes, sir,” you giggle, resting your head back down on him and reigning in your wandering hands.
Boba strokes his thumb over your hip bone and you can tell he’s trying to find the words to say whatever he’s thinking about. After a couple moments, he asks in a low voice, “So you… really want that from me?”
You trace over the tattoos swirling over his pectoral with your fingertip. “Want what?”
“Your anklet… do you really want to be my girl?”
“I am your girl.” You smile to yourself at his sudden sheepishness; you know what he’s trying to ask but you want to hear him say it in that luscious voice of his. Is it selfish? Maybe, but you think you’re entitled to a little fun at his expense every now and again, especially when you’re about to let him fuck you into oblivion.
Boba grumbles at your insistence on being difficult, exhaling a long breath. “I mean, you want me to be… Daddy?”
As cute as it is to see your big bad dominant boyfriend have any doubt about your wish when you’re literally wearing jewelry that says so, the coals of your desire are starting to glow hot and ready in your belly. And he makes it sound even better than it already is with that voice. “Yes, Boba. I want you to be my Daddy,” you smile up at him with a peck to his jaw. The professor is a deeply caring man under the thick armor of his exterior. He craves an outlet for the tenderness the universe never allowed him just as you long for the safety the world so rarely afforded you.
“Oh babygirl,” he groans, pulling you into lap so you’re straddling him. He cups the back of your head, slotting your lips against his in a passionate kiss. “I’m… you’re… what made you want this?” he gasps into your mouth, his lips never leaving yours.
His growing desperation and the hard length of his cock twitching against your thigh has your hips rocking over his. “Well… when I first saw the anklet… I thought it would be a funny way… to rile you up. So I bought it… with your money of course.”
He chuckles, peppering kisses down your jaw to your neck. “I would hope so, princess.”
You pull him farther into you with a hand on the back of his head. “But the more I thought about it… the more I liked the idea-fuck, just like that.” Boba has taken your pebbled nipples between his fingers and is rolling them just perfectly. “I read some stuff about those kinds of relationships online and it just seemed right. You take such good care of me and I trust you with every bone in my body. And you’re just so… you. Knew it was what I wanted ahh-” He had pinched your nipples, making you keel into him with your back arched.
He grabs two handfuls of your hips and presses you flush against him, his lips seeking yours once more. When you’re sufficiently breathless, Boba pulls back with a soft smile. “Thank you, princess,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “That kind of trust you have in me, it… it means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hug him close, breathing in his scent feeling the beat of his heart against your own. Who knew love could be like this? Powerful and sweet; intense, yet soft. Unplanned but perfectly balanced.
“Now what do you want for your reward, pretty girl?”
It had seemed like a wonderful idea to ask Boba to tie you up and use the new vibrator you’d bought before he fucked you into next week, but now that you’re strung out and openly sobbing after your third orgasm of the night, you’re not sure so sure. Every nerve in your body is raw and burning, and you’re consumed by even the slightest physical sensation, down to Boba’s breath on your damp skin.
“Aww, look at you taking it so well, sweetheart,” he coos proudly, slowly dragging the toy up and down your folds, “You look so good like this, you know that, my pretty girl? I wish I could see you like this all the time. You’re so beautiful.”
All his sugary words only add to the thick haze of overstimulation shrouding your mind; you can’t do anything but whimper and moan as you convulse at the incessant vibrations buzzing on your clit. Even though he’s lowered the power several notches, you’re so kriffing sensitive that you’re crying from the overwhelming sensation of your unabating pleasure.
“Little princesses should be taken care of, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he promises, “Gotta make sure you’re nice and sensitive so you can feel every single inch of Daddy’s cock when he’s fucking you.”
His words cause the frayed string of your remaining sanity to snap. You wail at the thought of having him inside and out, rocking through your sopping cunt. “Oh, fuck, oh ffffuuuuck! I’m gonna-I’m-” you choke, desperately trying to get the words to form on your tongue that feels too big for your mouth, “P-please can I come? Wanna-wanna be good but it’s too f-fucking much, please!”
“That’s my good girl, go ahead, go ahead and come for Daddy,” he permits, “I wanna hear you scream.” He pushes the vibrator more firmly against you so no matter how much you shake and squirm you can’t escape its boundless energy.
Too much, too much, feels so good, too much, FUCK! You explode with ragged pleasure, your nerves raked to shreds, the overbearing sensation ripping through your wound-up insides like some sort of demon of desire.
When Boba removes the toy from your clit it almost makes you scream again, the sudden loss of contact shocking your senses like you’d been dunked in ice-cold water. “Shh shh shh,” he soothes, the tender pride in his voice caressing over your harsh angles, “I’ve got you, that’s a good girl, there you go.” He continues to coo over you, rubbing your overwrought muscles loose from their tensed state. He doesn’t untie you though.
“You did so good for me, little one, I’m so proud of you,” he praises, ”coming four times for me. That’s a new record, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Parting your lower lips, he brushes his fingers through the unbelievable amount of wetness there. You shudder and whimper as you press your thighs together in an attempt to stop the agonizing friction of his fingers against your aching clit. Boba tsks, slapping his free hand down on the meat of your thigh, making you squeal and jump at the stinging strike. “Ah ah ah, you don’t decide when you’re done, princess, you don’t get that choice. Only I decide when you’ve had enough.”
“B-but it’s s-so m-much,” you sniffle, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks as you pull against the restraints that have your hands fastened to the headboard—the only thing tethering you to this universe.
He rubs his large, warm hands up and down your ribcage in slow strokes. “Aww, I know, pretty baby, but you want to be good for Daddy, don’t you?” Dipping down, Boba plants soft kisses up the valley of your breasts and neck and over your chin, finally landing on your quivering lips. You bob your head, a broken hum from your throat confirming your sentiment. “That’s my girl, my sweet little angel. Now open up those legs nice and wide for me, let me see that pretty pussy.”
With another sniffle, you crack your legs apart against your body’s instincts, feeling so exposed yet totally safe with him. You know down to the depths of your soul that he would only ever care for you. That in his bed, you’re perfect, adored, and safe, you’re the center of his universe. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you if you asked and no amount of pleasure he wouldn’t bring you.
Humming in enjoyment of what his work wrought, Boba shifts down the bed to layer wet kisses over the expanse of your slicked thighs and puffy folds. He stops to lick and suck your arousal up with his tongue while he mumbles about how delicious you taste just for him. The fog of your orgasms clears just enough for desire to start to spark again between your thighs at his wet tongue and salacious praise.
You want him inside you, no, need him inside you, painting your insides with his mark and sweating curses into your skin. You crave the way he’s stripped bare by your body and the pleasure it brings him, those precious few moments where he can shed the weight of his pain and be lost in you. “Daddy, please, want you inside me, want you to fuck me,” you whine, arching up with an offer of your body, “Wanna make you feel good, too.”
Boba groans at your request, his dark eyes fluttering shut as he bites down into your thigh. “You’re so good to me, cyare, so, so good to me…” He rests his forehead on your soft belly for a moment, looping his arms around you and holding you close for a handful of heartbeats. He then slides up your body to release you from your bindings. “Let Daddy hear you beg for his cock one more time, pretty baby. Let me hear it one more time and give you just what you want, just what you need.”
You do as you’re told, pleading and simpering while you watch how Boba begins to crack under his desire, his arousal glowing through his fissures like magma beneath a volcano. Maker, how you want to feel the tectonic power of him, the unforgiving slate of his hips and the obsidian points of his lust-blown eyes, to drown in his primordial pleasure. Digging your nails into his back you tell him so, panting your desires into his ear until he finally erupts.
Snarling, he tosses your legs over his shoulders and buries himself into you in one smooth, frictionless motion. He sets a harried pace that has your anklet swinging right next to his face with every thrust of his powerful hips. And true to his word, you can feel every single goddamn inch of him pounding into you; you swear you can see the brink of ecstasy’s insanity on the horizon, brought closer by every ridge and vein of his thick cock sliding in and out of you.
Boba’s fucking you straight through the mattress, pinning you underneath his massive bulk and forcing the air from your lungs with every stroke—it’s almost violent and you fucking love it. Seeing him lose control, burn through his restraint, has you clenching around his length as it pumps inside of you.
“Fuck, princess, baby, I’m not going to last long,” he growls, pressing his lips into you calf, “You’re so karking hot and wet and tight. I’ll never get tired of-shit-of fucking this perfect cunt.” His fierce pace of his snapping hips begins to falter and you know he’s close, your swollen walls sucking him into your velvet heat over and over as your own mind begins to dissolve.
You feel too hot for your own skin in the best possible way. Boba’s a wreck and it’s making you insane. “D-don’t,” you plead, ragged and fucked out, “j-just come in me, please.” The wet sound of skin slapping and his dick shucking into your soaked pussy is all you can hear.
“N-no, want you to… fuck, I want you to come too, you’re so perfect… so fucking good to me, I want you t-to come with me-”
“Daddy, please,” you whimper, what’s left of your mind knowing it would shatter the remainder of his restraint, “Oh, please, Daddy! Daddy please come inside me, I want you so bad. Want to ache and feel you dripping out me all fucking night!”
Boba makes a primal sound that has to be both a curse and prayer, his face contorting in the shape of pure pleasure as his muscles ripple and lock, his hot release pumping into your insides with a sweet heat. He bites into your ankle, just below where your jewelry hangs and his fingers carve bruises into your soft flesh.
You’re marked with him in every conceivable way—the thought of truly being his inside and out has another orgasm slamming into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs as you cry out in unexpected ecstasy. You can feel his spend spilling out around his cock as he continues fucking into you. It ratchets you even higher, making your pleasure feel like an epoch of its own, unending and rapturous as it burns you alive. “F-fuck, Boba, I can’t stop-I can’t stop coming!”
“D-don’t you dare stop, don’t you fucking dare… ner mesh’la cyare you feel so karking good I’m going to lose my fucking mind…” Boba’s rough rasp is utterly wrecked and only prolongs your pleasure; so long you’re afraid you won’t be able to make your mind fit back in your body it’s so full of him.
His hips don’t stop rutting into you as his head drops to your shoulder, moving on their own accord. You shiver and moan into one another as the pulsing waves of overstimulation wash though you. “C-can’t s-stop, babygirl, can’t stop. You feel s-so good,” he pants in a thin, strained voice, his hands running over every piece of you that they can.
In your blissed out existence, your only marker for the passage of time is the feeling of his length beginning to swell and harden inside you, the erotic sensation making your fluttering hole clench tight around him. He groans and starts rubbing your clit with shaking fingers and you contort with the overwhelming pleasure, pulling his hardened cock even deeper into your ruined cunt. Boba begins to push deeper and faster inside you, the very idea of him fucking you again making you throb around him. You know you’re too far gone to come again, but you want nothing more in the whole galaxy than to feel him fill you up when he’s already dripping out of your pussy.
Weakly moving your hips to match his thrusts, you mewl into his ear, intent on giving him all the pretty sounds you can to push him over the edge. You could break him like this, but all you want to do is heal him in whatever way you can, to give him everything he has given you. So when you get your next idea, you don't think twice about it: slinging your arm around his neck, you beg him to fuck you like he’s gonna be a real daddy, beg him to fuck his load so deep that it takes.
A groan rips out of his chest like his spirit is tearing free and he snaps his hips so far into you he might have ended up in your guts if he hadn’t knocked into your cervix first. The sharp pain doesn’t even matter, intense and harsh as it is, because Boba is fucking coming. Inside. You. Again. The wet sound of him pounding a second load of his seed into you to the point of overstimulation for both of you is sin itself, nearly drowning out the sound of his ragged curses, your broken moans, and both your haggard breathing.
When he finally collapses on top of you heaving and sweat-slicked, you’re smiling, your face soaked with the tears running down your cheeks and temples from the intensity of the night’s pleasure. Eventually, he pulls you on top of him, careful to slot your legs between his own instead of straddling his hips so you’re comfortable. He kisses the tears from your lashes and whispers how kriffing naughty and dirty you are for begging him to knock you up; you just giggle and praise the Maker for birth control.
After a quick shower that’s more or less the two of you wrapped in one another under the hot water, you’re curled into him under crisp sheets with him just as the sun finishes setting, painting the walls in carmine light. You’re both out before the moon even rises.
The next day you’re sore, incredibly sore, as in every-damn-step-you-take sore. You don’t mind, not really, not when the previous night’s pleasure and its reminder make you dizzy to think about. You do, however, milk it for all it’s worth, insisting that your handsome professor baby and coddle you to the point of ridiculousness. Your plans for a day out quickly turn into a day in, snuggled under blankets with him and take-out food.
Boba himself is utterly infatuated by you and the entire situation, the pride of fucking you so deep and good that you nest the next day—in addition to setting his own personal record in recovery time—mixed with the almost bashful remorse of causing you a lasting discomfort. You don’t think there’s been a second where he wasn’t massaging or rubbing out some muscle in your body the entire day. Maybe heaven really is a place on earth.
No one calls at 1:27 in the morning unless there’s a problem. Ragged anxiety scratches down your nerves, pricking your skin and pumping awful heat into your blood. Boba’s name stares up at you from your phone screen as it continues to ring, its light too harsh for your sleep-adjusted eyes. Forcing a path through your thorny dread, you yank your phone off its charger and drag your finger across the screen to answer the call. “B-boba? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You don’t mean for your voice to come out as distressed as it does. But no one calls at 1:27 unless there’s a problem.
The familiar deep voice of your professor on the other end attempts to assure you. “Easy, princess. Everything’s alright.” There’s a long pause that keeps your heart from settling back down from your throat to its place in your chest. “I’m sorry to wake you, I just… I needed to hear your voice.”
The uncharacteristic hesitancy and tightness in his tone makes your stomach churn; things are definitely not alright. Spiked adrenaline starts to flood your system, making sweat bead across your skin as you stumble out of the bed towards your closet to find real clothes. I have to be ready to help him, go to him. “Boba, baby, tell me what’s wrong,” you coax, yanking a hoodie on while you consciously attempt to keep him from clamming up, even as your own anxiety claws up your ribs.
There’s a couple breath’s worth of leaden silence that is far too heavy for the few seconds it lasts. “I-I shouldn’t have bothered you so late, princess, I’m sorry…” He sounds ragged, like he’s still trying to catch his breath after losing it.
“No, no, it’s okay.” You’re doing your best to keep your voice calm despite the fact every alarm bell in your head is screaming at full volume. “Just tell me what’s wrong, Boba, tell me, baby.” You’ve never called him that before—baby—but it feels right, feels soft and comforting in this moment. You might not know what’s wrong, but you do know he needs comfort.
A heavy sigh crackles through your phone speaker; you can almost imagine how Boba’s brows are furrowed together, his handsome face creased in a stormy expression as he searches his depths for the right words to say. You know you have to be patient, give him the time he needs, but you’re so anxious you’re pacing the distance between your bed and closet, chewing your lip.
When he finally speaks again it’s like it’s been ages since you last heard his voice, its sound like a balm on your mind. “The dreams are back, and I don’t always sleep well… you always make it better, I just needed to hear your voice, know that you’re safe.” The torment in his beautiful voice is like a vice around your heart; it makes you ache all the way down to the dust in your bones at the prospect of him suffering so greatly. You know he has his demons, the ghosts of his past that you sometimes catch flashes of like haints in the mirror of his eyes. He hadn’t yet acknowledged them and you haven’t pressed, aware that he needs a wide berth around his inner self.
But now? He’s reaching out a hand and you’re going to do everything in power to pull him from the rapids roiling inside him. “I’m safe, baby, I’m okay,” you soothe, chucking your phone between your face and shoulder so you can pull on a pair of leggings, “Tell me what you need.”
“I’m fine now, cyar’ika, really. I’m sorry for waking you up, just get some rest for me, babygirl.” Boba’s voice is beginning to steel over and you can tell he’s closing in around himself.
I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s wrong. You have to take a firmer approach.
“Oh, no you don’t!” you declare sternly, planting a hand on your hip even though he can’t see you, “No one calls at 1:30 in the morning if everything’s ‘fine.’ I’m coming over. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You’re wide awake and your body is itching for action: you can’t rest knowing the man you love is in so much pain he actually allowed it to be seen.
“Don’t you dare,” he growls, “I don’t want you on the roads at this hour.”
You already have your purse in hand. “Then you better start talking, or I’ll be knocking on your door.” You shake your keys loudly so he can hear—sometimes you have to threaten the man for his own good.
He groans and falls silent and you can tell he’s reached his limit for words—you have to tread very carefully to keep him from shutting down completely. He needs action, touch, something physical to soothe his soul, immaterial words did very little for him. “Hey,” you try gently, your voice softening, “Why don’t you come over here. You always sleep better with me, yeah? And that way you can make sure I stay put.”
After a moment of consideration, Boba grunts out an affirmative. “I do sleep better with you…”
“Then get over here,” you urge, “the light’s on.”
“I’ve already disturbed you enough, little one, it’s-”
“Boba Fett, since when have I ever passed up the chance to have you in my bed?” you interrupt. The nerve of this man, I swear.
Your exasperated question garners you a weary chuckle from the professor. “I’ll give you that, princess.” He sighs and you can hear that he runs a hand over his face. “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”
Your heart clenches at the genuine concern in his voice. If only he would care for his own wellbeing as much as he does for mine. “It will be the exact opposite of trouble,” you promise, “I sleep better with you, too.” It’s the truth, his solid warmth next to permitted you a sleep you didn’t even know people could get.
Boba finally acquiesces at your assurances and says he’ll be over as soon as he packs some clothes. Satisfied, you flick on a lamp and wrap yourself in a blanket on your couch to wait for him. Now that relief is starting to cool off your shock, your eyelids begin to droop at the late hour. You’re determined to stay awake until he arrives, however; you open one of the games on your phone and half-play it until a message notification pings with Boba letting you know he’s pulled up. A minute later, there’s a knock on your door and you pick up your blanketed self to let him in.
You’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that fits snug across his broad chest. As good as he looks though, it’s all overshadowed by the slump in his proud shoulders, the darkness shadowed under his deep eyes, and the weariness creased in his face. He manages a tired smile when he sees you. “Hey, princess.”
Relief rolls through you when you see him whole and breathing on your doorstep. Wrapping your arms around his thick frame, you just hold him close for a moment. He sags just the slightest bit under your touch, leaning into you and inhaling in your scent. You would carry the weight of a mountain for him if it meant he could find some solace in your arms. “Let’s get you to bed, professor,” you whisper with a chaste kiss on his lips.
Whether it’s the dark hour of night or the promise of your body beside him, Boba is pliant, allowing you to pull him over the threshold and down the hall into your bedroom. You take his shirt for the next day and hang it up and stow his bag away for the morning. He’s practically carved from stone the way he stiffly stands, his only movement coming from his fists clenching and uncurling at his sides as he watches you with a fraught, lost expression.
Catching the tumult in his eyes, you reach out and snag his hand, pulling him down to the bed beside you. You can see the tension held in his shoulders and corded in his neck, the amount of vulnerability he’s allowing beginning to take its toll. You don’t overwhelm him with words, you just quietly pull the blankets over his body and him into your chest. For being built like a brick wall, Boba is surprisingly pliable underneath your hands as you guide his head under your chin. His arms wrap around you after a moment, tightly pressing him to you as if you are the only thing keeping his head above the water.
You find yourself humming some nonsense tune you remember from your childhood as you stroke over the back of his head and neck with gentle fingers. One by one, you feel his muscles start to relax where he’s pressed against the line of your body; his breathing slows and evens and his strong heartbeat thumps easier against your chest. You don’t know how long you stay like this, in the warm and peaceful dark, and it doesn’t matter. This is a turning point, a moment of revelation in your relationship with the Mandalorian professor, that happens in silence. Words are unnecessary when the understanding itself is so palpable.
You are not alone Boba Fett, you care for me and I care for you. Your strength is commendable, impossible even, but that is not what binds me to you. No, it is your heart, that thing you claim is just a scarred-over place between your ribs. I will hold it close to mine, protect it in my own chest as you clear the past out of the spot where yours belongs. There is no rush, no time too long for me, my love. You are mine and I am yours.
You aren’t sure if Boba is even still awake until you feel his lips move against your collarbone in a hushed tone. “I love you.”
It’s a whisper of a thing, wrapped in the safety of the night between the warmth of your bodies—he hadn’t said those words since that first night you were together. You never needed him to, although it’s music to your ears, when his actions spoke far louder than his words.
“I know,” you sigh, brushing your lips over his scarred skin, “I love you, too. All of you.”
His admission and your affirmation seem to unhook the last of the pain from his chest and he settles into your body, content to melt back into your shared slumber. Looking at him before you shut your eyes, you wonder if the sun ever gets to appreciate its own light and warmth, or if it’s doomed to the cold vacuum of space without ever knowing the life it gives.
It might have been all a dream were it not for the gentle hand caressing your cheek the next morning, waking you to the world of the living. Haloed by the sun beginning to peek through your windows is the man you held in arms through his storm, radiant and beautiful as ever as he rumbles out your name. “Time to wake up, cyar’ika.”
He truly is a sight he is to behold as the morning sun lights up his brown eyes like warm honey and skates across his bronze skin… Maker, you wouldn’t mind waking up like this everyday. “‘Morning,” you mumble back, smiling sleepily up at him as you rub the haze from your eyes. The aroma of fresh bread and savory cheese wafts golden and delightful under your nose. “What smells so good?”
“Breakfast, of course.” Boba flashes you a smile that might as well be liquid sunlight with the way it beams and he reaches down to retrieve a box loaded with pastries from the Cuban bakery down the street. Squealing with happy surprise, you nearly crush the box between your bodies and you lurch forward to throw your arms around his neck. “Careful, princess,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, “Got some coffee, too.”
You accept the travel up he presses into your hand and the strong smell of the island roast floods your senses. Savoring the first sip, you make a sound of delight at the rich flavor. “How’d you know how I like my coffee?” you tease.
He smirks at you. “You informed me quite early on exactly how you like your coffee.”
“Yeah,” you giggle, “it’s just how I like my men.” When Boba cocks a brow, you grin with the joke on your lips. “Strong, sweet, and full of cream.”
Boba groans at your words, shaking his head with chagrin written across his face. “What am I going to do with you, my little princess?”
Checking the time on your phone, you pat the spot next to you. “Well, you can come back to bed and eat these with me. We have time.”
He obliges you, slipping back under the covers and letting you snuggle up against him as the pair of you tuck into the delicious pastries. After you both have had your fill of the savory danishes, Boba moves to get out of the bed to start getting ready for the work day ahead.
“Wait,” you call out to him. He stops, turning back to face you and tilting his head as he waits for you to speak. “I need you to promise me something.”
You know he needs things said plainly. You can’t assume he understands you’ll care for him just as he cares for you, that he’ll acknowledge his feelings and let you be the support he needs when everything comes crashing down.
He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “Name it, princess.”
You take his face gently between your palms, pulling him back close. Brushing your thumbs over his lips, you search his deep brown eyes. “I know last night was not a one-time occurance. You don’t have to tell me everything or even anything, really, but I do need you to reach out when you’re hurting. You don’t have to face your pain alone. Not anymore.”
His expression clouds over, his walls threatening to go up. “Sweetheart, it’s fi-”
“If you say ‘it’s fine’ I won’t let you near my pussy until after the school year ends.” Boba groans and clicks his jaw shut. “Imagine if I didn’t let you take care of me when I’m hurting or if I didn’t let you help me when I needed it.” Seeing his displeasure with the thought, you continue, “That’s what it’s like for me when you bottle everything up and pretend it’s all ‘fine.’ I need you to promise you’ll tell me when you need help. We don’t have to talk, you don’t have to explain yourself, just tell me what you need in the moment.”
For the first time in your life since you’ve known him, Boba Fett looks afraid. As painful and wrong as it feels, you’re immeasurably grateful that he’s allowing you in to help. “What if… I don’t know what that is,” he finally croaks, unable to meet your eyes.
It breaks your heart to see him like this, so lost in his own mind that he can’t see a way out. “Then just tell me that, my love, and we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone, Boba. Not now and not every again,” you murmur, brushing a kiss on his lips. You give your words time to sink down through the depths of him, past all his doubts and uncertainty to settle into his heart. “Can you promise me that?”
The rise and fall of his chest is his only movement as he mulls over your words—shifting one’s universe takes time. Eventually, Boba lays his hand over yours and turns his face to the side to press a kiss into your palm. “For you, ner kar’ta, I will try.”
“And that’s all I’ll ever ask of you,” you promise.
The morning eventually carries on, both of you going about your routines in pleasant harmony. Boba takes great joy in picking just what bra and panties you’ll wear for the day when you ask him to, and even greater joy in putting them on you. You yourself quite enjoy buttoning up his crisp blue shirt across his wide chest, especially when he lifts you on your dresser as he kisses the breath from your lungs. You don’t know if it’s the new layer of your relationship or the air of domesticity surrounding the morning, but you swear you’ve never been more in love with Boba than you are right now.
“We’re gonna be late, professor,” you gasp as he kisses down the column of your neck.
“Mmm, they won’t miss us…” he rumbles, grabbing the meat of your ass and pulling you to the edge of the dresser so you can wrap your legs around his torso, “My first class isn’t until ten o’clock.”
Biting down hard on your lip in an attempt to focus your restraint, you shoot back, “Yes, but my first meeting is at 9:30 and I need to answer emails first.”
Grumbling, Boba shakes his head. “Tsk tsk tsk, when did you get so responsible?”
“When you started calling me your good girl,” you answer with a cheeky grin, “Gotta live up to my name.”
“Oh now she wants to be good,” he chuffs, leaning back to look at you with a smile turning up his mouth.
You nip at his plush bottom lip, wiggling in his embrace. “I’m your babygirl, your sweet little angel, remember?”
He snorts. “When you want to be.” Running a hand down your leg, he pulls your knee over his hip so he can feel that your anklet is on. “Still Daddy’s girl?”
Linking your arms around his neck you pull him flush with your chest, you ghost your lips over his. He is yours and you are his, forever.
“Always.”
MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS
(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love
cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)
gedet’ye - please
(ner) kar'ta - (my) heart
osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"
<Part IV — Interlude>
#well folks it's been a wild ride and i enjoyed every minute of it with y'all!!#i am truly grateful for all the enthusiasm and support everyone has for this series 😭#please feel free to send me ex libris thots/thoughts 💕#zwei writes#fanfic#ex libris fic#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#professor!boba fett#professor boba fett#professor au#star wars fanfiction
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PART IV: ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
—PARING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader
—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—SUMMARY: Your new relationship with the Mandalorian studies professor begins to take shape.
—WORD COUNT: 11.2k
—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), alcohol consumption by reader and others, reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, oral sex (male and fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), creampie, lots of pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, light degradation (discussed before, use of "slut" and "whore"), choking, hair pulling, one dude being a creep but nothing bad happens
As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations at the end.
—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Y’all I’m not going to lie to you, this got filthy FAST and idk how this ended up at 11k but I’m not sorry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And, yes, I am naming these chapters after different parts of a book because I think I’m clever. We've got some new chapter warnings this go around as well, so be sure to mind those!
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 III — Part V>
Rain plinks steadily against the thick, wavy glass of the library’s windows, its hypnotic rhythm lulling you into a trance as you watch the gray sky curl and coil outside from your post at the circulation desk. In your relaxed daze, your mind slips back to your date with Boba and the morning after. You think about how you got to fall asleep in his arms, tucked into his chest that was so warm and safe you only needed the sheet on top of you, and how even in his sleep he kept a protective arm slung over your body.
The way he woke you up with kisses on your neck, whispering how happy he was to wake up with you in his bed as his tongue laved over the bite-shaped bruise he left there the night before, and how it felt when you let him kiss down your body until he was once again laying between your thighs. How his hooded brown eyes searched for permission to continue like you would ever deny him any part of you.
“Can I taste you, princess? Can I have that pretty pussy for breakfast?”
“Please, it’s all yours.”
He was in no rush to take you apart, groaning into your wet heat and sucking more bruises into the tender skin of your thighs in between licking and fucking you with his tongue until you finally begged him to push you over the edge. After he let you soak his face, he stole you away to the shower, promising you his fingers and his cock. Afterwards you had returned the favor in the steamy, warm water, not content until he spilled every last drop of his release down your throat, cursing with his fist in your hair that you were going to suck the life out of him.
“No,” you smiled deviouly, licking the last dribble of cum off his cock, “just your soul, old man.”
Flashing you a shark-like grin through the haze of his release, he reached behind you and turned the water to cold before jumping out of the shower. You might not have forgiven him as quickly as you did if he hadn’t made you the best omelet you’d ever had for breakfast.
Since neither of you had been willing to part, you spent the day sprawled across him watching reruns on TV and talking about your lives: what books you liked, your dream vacations, what the best pasta sauce is, first crushes, anything really. The conversation flowed with such ease you might have talked the whole day away if you hadn’t gotten distracted with exploring each other’s bodies. It wasn’t all sex—though there was plenty of that too—it was soft touches mapping out curves and lines to memory, lips tracing over scars and dimples, warm hands on sore muscles. In short, it was pure bliss, like coming home after a long journey.
You had been loath to leave him when the treacherous sun started to set at the end of the day; Boba even threatened to keep you forever if you weren’t careful, as if that was supposed to make you want to leave any more. How could you be expected to sleep in your own bed now that you knew the warmth of his? Go to sleep without his chest rising and falling next to you? You were falling hard, tumbling down into love’s abyss with arms open and heart willing. That should scare you, it had in the past, but how could you be afraid when it was Boba Fett you were getting lost in?
When he finally did take you back to your apartment once the sun dipped below the horizon, you almost convinced him to come inside for “just one drink” before he thought better of your ploy to keep him and sent you through your door with a smack on the ass.
“Nice try, princess. I know what you’re up to.”
“What? I’m just being a hospitable host.”
“I’m pretty sure hospitable hosts don’t try to put their hands down their guests’ pants in the doorway.”
“The good ones do, and only for guests who can fuck like you.”
He laughed with that rich, delicious rumble of his then kissed you until your head spun and your lungs cried for air. Just thinking about it now makes your chest tighten and breath catch in the back of your throat. Gods I wish I could sneak over to his office and kiss him like that again. Run my hands over his broad shoulders and strong chest, feel his heartbeat quicken when I kiss him.
With the advent of classes, you’d hardly seen him outside of the afternoons when he’d walk you to your car at the end of the day. Talking on the phone every night was great, but it couldn’t replace actually being with him, especially when you’d been able to spend almost everyday with him those last two weeks of the summer break. All this time apart served to show just how much you enjoy just being around Boba; you miss the weight of his voice, the serenity of his solid presence, his dark eyes and the bright smile he seemed to reserve for you alone. He fed a part of you that you didn’t know was starving and tended to the soft pieces of yourself that had been trodden down by the unkinder parts of life.
Oh, and he can make me come so hard I forget my own name. Repeatedly.
The sound of someone actually saying your name interrupts your daydreaming. Unhappily snatched back from the rosy past to the dreary present Thursday, you swivel towards the source of the interruption: a smirking Selena leaning against the back office door with her arms crossed, smug. “Thinking about your professor again?”
“No,” you deny rather unconvincingly, rolling out your shoulders to sit up straight with a huff. You’d been caught fair and square but that didn’t mean you're going to admit it.
Your coworker scoffs, rolling her eyes, clearly not fooled by your posturing. “Pfft that’s not what the hearts in your eyes say. I think you even have a couple floating above your head.”
Looking around the spacious room, you throw your hands up. “Does nobody in this library have any work to do besides harass me?” There’s barely a patron in sight, the large oak tables in the atrium sitting empty except for a handful of students hunched under the green bankers lamps lining them.
“On a day like today? Absolutely not.” Selena drops down on the chair next to you with a yawn and a stretch, not bothering with the guise of work at all. “Did you decide what you’re wearing to the baccalaureate reception tomorrow?”
The event in question is the big kickoff to the academic year for faculty and staff at the end of the first week of classes. Held in the space the two of you are currently seated in, the library’s ornate atrium would be cleared of all its furniture and set up for an evening of hors d’oeuvres and drinks on the university’s dime. Despite the ostentatiousness of it all, you enjoyed the reception as it let you catch up with colleagues you rarely got to see during the academic year and mingle with the new professors. You were especially looking forward to this year’s, not in the least because it provided the opportunity to see a certain Mandalorian studies professor dressed to the nines.
“I was thinking of the green velvet dress, the one with the mesh top,” you answer. The outfit in question is one of your favorites; the rich material hugging your curves in all the right ways making you feel effortlessly sexy—you can’t wait to see Boba’s reaction to it. If you're lucky, you hope, he’ll drag you off somewhere and have his way with you before the night is over. And then again when we get back to his house.
Selena squeals and claps her hands excitedly. “Eeee, the one that makes you look snatched?” she wiggles her eyebrows at you “‘Cause if it is, your man doesn’t stand a chance!”
You laugh, curling your hands inward and cocking your head dramatically. “Yes, that one. You still got those black heels I can borrow?”
“Yeah, as long as I can use that clutch you let me use the other week.”
“It’s a deal,” you grin. “Oh, and Boba said we can get ready in his office so we don’t have to go all the way home and come back.”
“Are you sure he meant ‘we,’” she gestures between the pair of you skeptically, “or just you? I’m not trying to cut my contour while you two are going at it on the couch.”
You throw a pad of yellow sticky notes sitting on the computer at her. “He meant we, and besides,” you smirk, “I’ll just suck him off before you get there so you can fix my makeup after.” You both burst into giggles after a poor attempt of stifling them, your laughter earning you a glare from a passing professor, which you ignore.
Balancing her chin on her hand, your friend considers you for a moment. Her big brown eyes are a bit lighter than Boba’s, ringed with dark lashes and expertly applied winged eyeliner. “So you really like this Boba Fett then?”
A sunny smile spreads over your face, the answer easily on your lips. “You know what? I do, I really, really do. He’s strong and kind and funny in his own way, and he makes me feel safer than I have in my whole life. He matches my energy like… like he was made just for me. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at him or hearing him talk. He could read the kriffing phone book to me and I would be riveted.”
“Hold on, let me write all this down so I can send it to Hallmark for their next movie,” Selena interrupts, grabbing a pen from the cup on the desk. You roll your eyes and she snickers before softening. “Really though, I’m so happy for you, girl. It’s not every day you find someone who makes you feel like that.”
Her warmth and genuineness make your heart twinge: you are truly grateful to have a friend like her. “Thank you, Sel, that means a lot.”
She leans in and rests her head on your shoulder, and you give her a squeeze. “Now,” she starts, grinning, “do you know if he has any sons around our age for me?” Dissolving into giggles once more, you decide to give up on work for the remainder of the rainy day.
You rest a hand on your hip, taking a swig from your water bottle and admiring the efforts of the last half hour’s labor: the primly decorated circulation desk showcasing all the library’s services and resources for the reception guests to peruse. The attendees would begin arriving any minute and you were eager to present all the library offers for the faculty; you genuinely enjoy your work and you’re proud of the new primary source collection you’d established over the summer. It also meant you finally got to see Boba—you hadn’t gotten to see him when you and Selena went to his office to change, his department meeting having run over.
Try as you might, you can’t help the wanton tingle that sparkles down your spine under your dress, or heat creeping into your cheeks at the racy memories of the pleasure you found on his tongue, cock, and fingers. What you wouldn’t give for a quickie right now, just a little something to take the edge off…
“Excuse me, miss, where can we put the catering carts?”
Right, I’m supposed to be working. Stuffing all the wicked thoughts swirling in your head to the back of your mind, you smile at the event server and direct him down the hall. Hearing the swell of voices from the lobby, you turn and see the first attendees filing into the atrium, dressed in cocktail dresses and suits. Your eyes search for Boba in the crowd but you’re quickly caught up doing your presentation on the library’s collections and resources.
It’s not until your last group before you hand over your representative duties to Selena for the remainder of the evening that you spot Boba leaning against the wall across from the desk, watching you with Fennec at his side. Your practiced spiel jumbles together at the wicked gleam shining in his eyes and he smirks, whispering something to the handsome woman next to him. Taking a sip of water, you recover and roll your shoulders back to stick your tits out just a little more with your chin held high at his challenge.
After the group clears out and you hand things over to your friend, you saunter over to your two favorite professors. Sticking out a hip, you trail your eyes up the oxblood colored shirt stretched across Boba’s chest, taking in the delicious way his sharp onyx suit is tailored to his thick frame. Knowing what all is hidden underneath his clothes only makes the whole ensemble even hotter. “Can I answer any questions about the library for you, professors?” you ask in a syrupy voice, your tone laced with dark sugar.
Gazing at you rather appreciatively, Fennec answers first. “Yeah, are you free later?”
Your brows raise with a suggestive arch, biting your lip and leaning into her game. “Why, what do you have in mind?” you shoot back, letting your gaze linger on her pink lips.
She’s practically purring, running her long, graceful fingers down the length of your arm. “Why don’t you come home with me and find out, kitten?”
“Mmm sorry, no can do, Fenn,” you hum, flicking your eyes over to an amused Boba, “I already made plans with the new Mandalorian studies professor after this.”
“What? That old man?” she scoffs, flicking her intricate braid over her shoulder.
Boba throws an elbow at her, grumbling, “We’re the same karking age, Shand.”
“Well, Fett, I guess some of us just wear it better then.”
“I don’t know, that’s not what she was moaning in my ear last weekend,” Boba replies, as smooth as Corellian whiskey and just as sinful. A jolt of arousal shoots between your thighs, his open possessiveness sending heat straight to your core.
That remark earns a full-bellied laugh from Fennec. “Touché.”
Another faculty member passes by and steals Fennec away, allowing you to slip into her spot next to Boba and press your arm against his. While you don’t intend to hide your more-than-professional relationship with him, you don’t want to draw judgment down on either of you. “Fenn make you a little jealous?” you tease, bumping your elbow against him.
He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Not when I know you’re coming home with me, princess.” He slips a hidden hand between you and the wall to skim his fingertips down your back to settle his palm just above the swell of your ass, making your skin light up with the sensation of him. “It’s good to see you, babygirl, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it before the reception started,” he adds in a sweet, low voice, pressing a quick kiss into your hair. “And your presentation was excellent.”
You lean into him for just a heartbeat, savoring his affection before breaking away. The heated pulse between your thighs spurs you on. “Oh, you were actually listening? Looked to me like you were peeling this dress off me in your mind.”
“I heard you're supposed to imagine everyone else naked to do public speaking.”
You smack his arm, giggling. “That’s if you’re the speaker!”
“Ah well, it was worth it anyways,” he grins at you. Seeing a group approaching, he regretfully takes his hand off your back.
A few faculty from the biology department come over and greet you, its ever-affable head, Professor Bernard, pressing a glass of champagne in your hand. “The department of biology’s honorary member needs a drink!” he proclaims with a hearty laugh before clapping a hand on Boba’s shoulder, telling him, “Come see this one here if you need anything. She’s found papers and journals I didn’t even know still existed!”
“I’ve heard she has some… special skills,” Boba answers with a quirk of his lips.
Catching the tone gilding his words, you slide your gaze over to him and see that same mischievous twinkle in his eye. Oh, so it’s going to be like that then? Hope he knows what he’s started. The conversation continues as introductions are made on both sides and stories of the first week of classes are shared.
“You didn’t get stateside until a few weeks before the semester? How on earth did you manage to get everything done, old sport?” Bernard questions.
“Oh, that would be thanks to me,” you interject, grinning at the ensuing laughter, “Lucky for Professor Fett here, I was able to work very closely with him to get everything he needed.”
“And for that, I am eternally grateful. It’s not everyday you get someone who's so eager and willing to please,” Boba replies calmly, sipping from his own drink like he’s simply discussing the weather.
You cover your scoff with your glass and drain the rest of it. “And now since he owes me one, I’ve got him at my mercy. Just where I like him.”
“Looks like you’re in for it now, my friend!” the old biology professor guffaws, grasping Boba’s hand in a firm shake. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fett. Stop by my office for a drink some time.”
The group moves on to the next familiar face in the crowd, leaving you and Boba alone. “Better watch it, princess,” he rumbles, enticing danger coating his words, “Or I won’t show you any mercy later tonight.”
With a cursory glance to confirm that no one is watching, you brush your lips over his ear, just enough to raise chill bumps on his tan skin. “Oh, professor,” you whisper, sordid and low, “that’s what I’m counting on.”
Though he’s never confirmed it in so many words, you know your professor likes to watch you play your little games, talk and flirt and ensnare yourself so deep in your own undoing you have no choice but to beg him for mercy when the night is over. He’s the patient hand of justice to your calculated subversive impulse, the solid weight to balance your scales. He’s the rock you scrape your match against to set your passions ablaze.
You’d learned to build bonfires, great roaring things, on the summer camping trips you’d taken with your cousins as a kid. You were even quite good at it, the framing of the timbers and the flick of the wrist necessary to strike the flint coming naturally to you. Maybe that’s why you were so good at burning through Boba’s patience with slippery innuendos and heated looks.
You know building a fire takes time; seasoned wood must be gathered, tinder procured, a spot cleared for the blaze, all this before the pyre can be built stick by stick. If constructed correctly, the dry litter would catch the struck spark and burn bright and hot, igniting the kindling to crackle and snap, eventually spreading the growing flames to the larger logs for a sustained burn. If the ratio of smaller sticks and thicker pieces was off or the build of the bonfire didn’t allow enough oxygen in to feed the early feeble flames, then the pyre would be nothing more than a smoking pile of cold wood. And that would not bring Boba to a boil, make him spill over hot and scalding in vexed passion.
His restraint and control were truly commendable. To his credit, he’d spent the larger part of the evening calmly watching you work the room during the baccalaureate reception, gifting smiles and glittering laughs to men who didn’t deserve them and to women who wouldn’t actually do anything with them, even if they wanted to. You are in your element and you know it, making you not only powerful but dangerously so.
Taking a sip of the sparkling flute of champagne pressed into your hand by the one of the history department, you let your eyes wander around the vibrant space, taking in the celebratory atmosphere around you as laughter and animated conversation twine together in a lively buzz. You take your time in your survey, knowing that your gaze would eventually land on what it sought. You spot Selena next to one of the exquisite floral arrangements decorating the room laughing with one of the film professors and Fennec leaning against one of the polished marble columns in deep conversation with a pretty woman with sparkling eyes. Looks like I’m not the only one going home with somebody tonight.
Finally, your languid scan of the party falls on its target: a certain Mandalorian studies professor. He looks truly glorious under the glistening chandeliers illuminating the library, they cast a soft, warm glow that makes his bronze skin gleam and scars glint with tantalizing effect. It’s his eyes, however, that make your knees go weak: they shine dark and expressive, the umber of them always on you no matter where you found yourself in the room. If eyes really are the windows to the soul like they say, then Boba Fett has a soul like the ocean, with unknowable depths and enough pressure to break bones, towering waves that doom sailors and hidden currents that whisk the unsuspecting into the abyss.
Gods above, you want to drown in him even if it takes calling down Poseidon's wrath to do so. You’ve built your pyre, now all that’s left is to light it.
Putting on your most dazzling smile, you sidle over to the drinks table to casually “bump” into Professor Lancaster, the admittedly handsome 30-something hot shot bachelor of the university faculty. “Oh, I am so sorry!” you apologize in a breathy rush, immediately grabbing a napkin to dab at the splash of champagne on the young man’s suit jacket. The look of surprise on Lancaster’s face swiftly morphs into opportunistic pleasure when he sees that the person with their hands on him is the young research librarian in a tight dress.
He grins. It’s a scavenger’s smile, hungry for a kill that isn’t his. “No worries, bright eyes. You okay?”
“Better now that I’m with you.” His brows shoot up and, you’re absolutely sure, so does his dick based on the way his pupils dilate. “Sorry,” you giggle, fluttering your lashes, “too much?”
You can feel how his greedy gaze slides over your exposed skin in open interest. “Maybe not enough,” he winks, “Let’s get you another drink.”
You spend the next twenty minutes at the young professor’s side as he slowly inches you towards the side door by circulating from one group to another under the guise of “making introductions”—like you didn’t already work at the university. The entire time you sneak peeks at Boba watching your antics with rapidly decreasing levels of patience. Eventually, you lose sight of him behind a cluster of English professors.
You’re literal feet from the exit when Lancaster slides a hand down to your waist, tugging you against his side by your hip bone. “What do you say, bright eyes? Wanna get out of here?”
The pompous look on his face tells you everything you need to know about this man: he’s used to getting what he wants and he’s not afraid to take advantage of your possible inebriation to get it. He’s disgusting. Suddenly, you’re very conscious of how much you dislike this man and consider slamming your heel down on his overpriced loafer. Before you get the chance, however, a familiar deep voice sounds from behind your back.
“Excuse me, I have some business with this one here.” Boba’s voice leaves no room for disagreement, at least if one was smart enough to know it.
Lancaster, unsurprisingly, is not. “We were just leaving,” he says dismissively with an annoyed expression, reaching to turn you towards the exit, “It’ll have to wait.”
“Don’t think it can,” Boba responds flatly. He grabs your bicep and peels you out of his grasp. Ignoring the younger man’s sputtering as he leads you down one of the hallways branching off from the atrium, going far enough that the noise from the reception starts to fade off. Rounding the corner into the stacks, he abruptly flattens you against the wall, caging you in and pinning you with his hips.
If his slight manhandling of you before had you wet, this has you soaked: his thick forearm rests on the wall next to your head while his other hand remains locked around your upper arm, just tight enough to remind you it could bruise if it got any tighter. His hips, however, are likely to leave their mark on yours—it’s all enough to drive you nearly insane with desire. You’re too hot for your own skin and Boba is radiating enough heat to brand you and melt your brain like wax.
“Not so brave now, are you, little princess?” Boba croons, licking his lips like he can taste your salt on his tongue. “Now that you’ve got nowhere to run and no pretty boys to bat your lashes at.” His muscular thigh pushes its way between your own and he grinds up into your center, forcing a moan up behind your teeth.
“I have… no idea… what… you’re talking… about,” you gasp, writhing on his thigh as your hands fly out to fist his suit jacket in a gnarled grip. You can feel your brain melting down the sides of your skull under his piercing gaze.
“Oh, you don’t?” he mocks, “Well let me enlighten you then, sweetheart. You spent the entire evening driving every man and the women Shand didn’t get to first out of their minds with your pretty little face and flirty little mouth. And all for what, to get my attention?”
You’re burning so hot you can’t even think, much less get your tongue to unstick to form a coherent sound, so all you can answer with is round, shiny eyes and a shiver.
“Well, now you have it, princess,” he continues, a predatory smirk slashing across his dark features that makes your insides twist with his danger. “What are you gonna do with it?”
“I-I was just having fun,” you manage, your voice coming out hoarse and pitchy. Boba’s pressed so far into you that you’re scraping along his thigh as you ride it.
He grunts, shaking his head in disbelief. “She says she was ‘just having fun…’” he mumbles to himself as if the thought is amusing to him. You flash a tentative smile in hopes of sweetening him up, but the lurid flash in his eyes signal that it’s far too late for such mercy. “If that’s what you do for fun, princess,” he hisses out the pet name, “then it looks like I need to keep you on a shorter leash.” Releasing your bicep, Boba’s hand wraps around your throat faster than your muddled perception can register.
The strangled curse that claws up from your chest can’t even escape the confines of your throat to sound. Blood rushes to your head as your entire existence narrows down to the rough hand pressing in on your airways. You’re gushing into your panties, the amount of wetness now coating your thighs utterly obscene. Fuck he’s going to be the death of me and I want him to do it.
Boba’s rumble of pleasure at your response rattles in your own chest as he eases up on the pressure of his fingers to let you suck in desperate air, rubbing the delicate flesh underneath. “Oh, you liked that didn’t you? You like it when I’m rough, dirty girl.” His taunts are pouring fire into your bloodstream and sweat begins to slick your skin. Leering, he drags his tongue over your racing pulse point and your mind goes searingly blank. For a moment, you think you might have actually come with the way blinding pleasure floods your entire body.
“Fuck, Boba!”
A sinful chuckles drips from his plush lips into your damp skin, and he seals it away there with a wet kiss before pulling back to look into your glazed eyes. “Do you know what I do with brats who forget their place?” he asks in a timbre so low you can feel it in your bones.
This you know, you think, this you can push back on and regain some ground. “You punish them with your silly little toys and spank their asses a bit,” you spit out, your derision honed sharp as your initial surprise begins to wear off.
“Oh no, princess, you’d enjoy that too much.” An acidic laugh pours from his lips, making your blood run painfully cold, and he smiles at you like you’re struggling prey caught in his maw. “What I do,” he growls, “is I don’t let them come.”
Before the words even leave the air between you, Boba releases you and pushes away from the wall where he had you pinned. You stumble forward, your head spinning with the dizzying loss of contact and terrifying revelation. Panic sticks needles into your skin. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t, right?!
“Aww, is that not what you were expecting, sweetheart?” Boba asks with a crushing amount of false sympathy, chucking up your chin on two fingers. You’re coming apart at the seams and he loves it. “Thought you could pull one over on me?”
Heart pounding against your ribs, you race to figure a way to repair your situation, one that ended up with him fucking you through at least one orgasm. Kark, why did I think this was all a good idea again? Gods I’m so kriffing wet I can’t think. Come on… focus, focus! The second you get the idea you act on it, wasting no time debating its worth.
You drop to your knees right in front of him, yanking him forward by his belt buckle. Boba catches himself against the wall with an outstretched arm and a curse, his smug expression shattered by genuine shock. As he stares down at you with wild eyes, you grin a wicked thing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that not what you were expecting?”
Boba stares at you like you’ve remade his entire universe, his broad chest heaving under the straining buttons of his shirt. Sucking in a ragged breath, he hauls you to your feet and slams into you, his hand cupping the back of your skull so it doesn’t hit the wall when his lips crash into yours. You pulse and throb into one another, your every breath melting into his as your hands claw into clothes seeking the heat of the other. He becomes you and you become him as time stops moving—if only for a minute.
“Baby, princess, angel,” Boba moans into your mouth, “I gotta have you, I have to have you right fucking now. Go to your office and start touching yourself. Get yourself nice and ready so I can slide right into that perfect cunt as soon as I get you home. I’m going to pull the car around.”
Your panties don’t even make it into the house: Boba literally tears them off you as soon as he puts the car in park in his driveway, stuffing them into his pants pocket and promising to buy you a hundred more so he can do it again. Stumbling with you up the blessedly short path to his front door with a handful of your ass, Boba jams his key into the lock and you both tumble in the door, lips still connected. “Shit, aren’t you always good for a surprise?” he pants between kisses, fumbling with the door bolt until it locks behind him. “Dropping to your kriffing knees in the library. Kark, couldn’t even punish you after that, my bold little princess. Made me too fucking hard.”
Your lips smile against his as you push his jacket from his shoulders. “You just bring it out of me, sir, I-I can’t help it. Couldn’t stand the thought of not having you.” Boba groans at the epithet and you start pulling open his buttons with shaking hands. “That’s why I do it… can’t help myself, just want you so kriffing bad.” When you reach his pants at the end of his shirt, he snatches your wrists and spins you so your back is shoved against the door.
“You’re so good to me, so fucking good. Even when you’re a brat, you’re my little angel, doing it all for me. Maker, you’re perfect.” Boba snags the hem of your dress and bunches it over your hips, allowing the cool air access to your slick folds and making you shiver. “Good girls get rewarded, don’t they, princess? Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to make you feel so, so good, give you the reward you deserve.”
Your desire-dazed brain can’t decide whether to focus on the stream of filth pouring forth from his mouth or his lips as they kiss over your dress and down to your soft belly as he comes to kneel in front of you. Effortlessly tossing your leg over his shoulder while balancing you against him, Boba steadies your body with his hands on your hips. “Will you let me return the favor, pretty girl? Will you let me lick up this perfect pussy?”
Smiling down at him with lust-blown eyes, you answer in a breathy laugh. “But I didn’t even actually suck you off.”
“Bet you would have, though, princess, if I had let you.”
Fuck, he’s probably right. You weren’t kidding when you said you can’t help yourself. “Yeah, I would have,” you giggle, “Why didn’t you?” The thought of slipping his thick cock in between your lips when all those other people were just a hallway away sends a fresh wave of arousal dripping from your core.
“Mmm because I want to hear every single sound that comes out of your mouth tonight… and none of those fuckers deserve to even think about you, much less hear those sweet noises you make when you’re coming apart.” Boba begins layering sloppy kisses over your thighs and abdomen, circling ever closer to your drenched center. His dark eyes flick you to capture yours in a heated gaze. “Let me hear it, pretty baby, can I eat this sweet cunt?”
Lacing your fingers with his hand on your opposite hip, you lean your head back on the door. “Please, sir, please let me have your tongue.”
The words don’t even finish leaving your lips before he dives into between your legs, groaning like a man starved getting his first meal in months. The sounds of his slurping and sucking have your knees giving out almost immediately, rapturous pleasure consuming your entire being. All that exists is the way his tongue fucks into you, the way his lips wrap around your aching clit and how he pulls moans deep from within your stuttering chest. When his thick, calloused fingers push inside your weeping heat and curl, your hand slaps over your mouth to stifle a ragged scream as explosions of color blur your vision.
Boba claps his palm against your ass and pops off your clit. “Don’t you fucking dare cover that mouth of yours. I want to hear everything, sweetheart, I want you to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood with how good I make you feel.”
The torturous coil in your belly tightens to a delicious pain and you let your pleasure be heard, your jaw falling slack as your head tips back against the heavy wooden door. Boba redoubles his efforts, cursing and praising, sucking and licking, twisting you tighter and tighter around your own desire until it’s almost unbearable. When a third finger slips into you, it feels like the floor drops from beneath your feet and you know you're doomed to your desire. “Please, can I-can I-”
“Fucking come all over me,” he growls straight into your clit, digging so deep into you think you see the Maker.
A wail tears free from your chest, echoing off the walls and vibrating in your skull as you dissolve into pure pleasure, raw and vulnerable against the mountain of his body. To be so ethereal and untouchable in his arms is a new, divine dimension of your ecstasy that heals you even as you fall apart into a soaked, quivering mess.
“Nau’ul be kar’ta,” Boba coos in a voice like crushed velvet, rich and dark, “my beautiful, perfect girl, come here.” You collapse in a trembling heap into his waiting arms, your mind nothing but a plane of warm, fuzzy bliss. You’re lifted and arranged in his lap by impossibly strong hands as you drift through the glowing stars of your high. Boba rocks you gently against his heaving chest, a stream of patient praise streaming from his lips pressed into your hair. “You did so good for me… taste so sweet, makes me want to keep you on my tongue forever… kark, bet the whole street is jealous with how loud you were, such a good girl, letting me hear that sweet voice just like I asked…”
Eventually your senses start to return and you wiggle around to straddle him, placing your molten core directly over top of his straining erection and eliciting a graveled groan from him. “Mmm, that was amazing, professor,” you hum into his throat, “Now let me return the favor.” You tug his shirt off and he lets you drop it to the floor. “I wanna go over every single tattoo on your body with my tongue until it’s all I can remember.”
“Kark, you’re filthy, princess,” he groans, his cock twitching with interest underneath his pants as hauls you up with him off the floor. By the time you stagger to the bedroom, your clothes are gone, littered in a trail from the door to his room. Seizing your opportunity, you shove him back on the mattress and hop on top of him, pushing a grunt from him that makes you giggle. “Easy, little one, I’m not as young as I once was,” he grits out between your kisses.
Grinning into the thick muscle of his pec, you nip at the ink you just traced with your tongue. “Sorry, I forgot I have to be careful with you, old man.” Boba pinches your ass and you squeak, though you remain unrepentant.
“You must want me to be mean to you tonight, sweetheart.”
You continue licking and sucking over the dark swirling patterns on his chest. “Mmm, maybe I do.” While you’d never been much for that sort of thing before, none of those men before had been Boba. If his praise is sweeter than honey you can only imagine how delicious his ire would be, and something hot sparks between your legs. “But I wouldn’t want to wear you out, old timer.”
A dangerous, low chuckle emanates from the ribs under your lips and your insides twist into knots. “You really know how to bring it out of me, don’t you, naughty princess? I think you really do want me to be mean, want me to treat you just like how you’ve been acting all evening.” Snatching you against his chest, he grabs your jaw in a tight grip. “Tell me, little one, is that what you want? You want me to call you names and remind you who you belong to?” He brushes his thumb over your cheek in a small show of affection that reminds you this is all a game, and you can call it off if you want to. It makes your heart sing—and your pussy clench.
“Yes, Boba,” you rasp, molten desire pumping hot and heady under your heated skin, “I want that, please.” You’ve accepted the fact that Boba Fett makes you want things that you never have before, sinful things that make your cheeks burn and heart race. It’s a forbidden fruit that the professor is all too willing to indulge you in, him licking up its sweet juice as it dribbles down your chin.
“Anything you don’t want me to call you? Any limits you want to set?” he questions, his voice taking on that firm, guiding tone he always used when he worked through things with you.
Chewing your lip, you consciously slow your breath like how Boba taught you so you can focus in the moment when you’re all worked up. “Don’t call me ‘bitch’ or anything too serious like that. ‘Whore’ and ‘slut’ are fine though.”
He nods, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Remember to stop me if you don’t like something, babygirl, I’ll never be upset if you do. What’s our word?”
“Kamino,” you answer dutifully, wriggling a little in your excitement, desire licking up your thighs—your evening-long machinations were about to come to fruition.
“Good girl,” he praises, “Ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
The dominant, possessive side Boba tucked away during your discussion returns tenfold more wicked now that it’s all decided. He sits up, taking you with him as drops down into the armchair against the wall. “Then get on your knees,” he sneers, “You want to act like a whore, throwing yourself at everyone who shows you any interest in that tight little dress you had on, I’m going to treat you like one. I want you sucking my dick like that’s all you know how to do.”
You drop so fast it makes your head spin, allowing your base desire to freely submit. You undo his belt with hungry fingers, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants to reveal his half-hard girth. Instead of yanking down the last barrier separating him from your tongue, you run your nails up his thighs and drag your open mouth over his growing bulge over his underwear, pulling a hiss from his lips.
“I didn’t say tease me, girl,” he admonishes, though he’s fully hard now, straining against the confines of the fabric still on him. “If you do as you’re told, maybe I’ll think about giving that pussy what I know it needs.”
You moan into him, his cock jumping at the feeling. You tear down his underwear and his beautiful cock springs forth, proud and already leaking. “Fuck,” you exhale as you take him all in, “you’re so big.” Kark, I swear he’s even bigger than last time.
“Aw, don’t be scared, sweetheart, I like it when they choke,” he taunts with a cruel chuckle that goes straight to your sopping cunt. He pumps his tanned length a few times and your mouth waters at the sight of it. “Now open up that pretty mouth.”
Your jaw drops open and you stick your tongue out, wide and ready, your hands folded in your lap. Wiggling in anticipation, you blink big eyes up at him through your lashes.
“Fuck, look at you. You’re fucking filthy for me, aren’t you? On your knees right where you belong, tongue out like the good little slut you are. Go ahead, princess, I know you want it.” He smacks the head of his cock on your waiting tongue and you lunge forward, ravenous for more of him. He groans as you swirl around his frenulum, lapping off the pearls of precum waiting for you. Your hands travel up his thighs and he releases his grasp to let you replace it with your own.
Cupping his balls, you plant wet, sloppy kisses down his length, pleased when you feel the slightest tremble in his thighs. Peeking up at him, you find Boba looking down at you, his eyes pitch black and voracious in their desire. Keeping your gaze fixed on him, you lean in and pepper kisses around his base before flicking your tongue out to drag along the seam of his balls.
“Shit-fuck!” His right hand flies to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Kark, you’re dirty,” he rasps, tugging your face back a little to look in your eyes.
You grin up at him, spit already dripping down your chin. “Just for you, sir.” Your voice is breathy, your chest already heaving from exertion.
“Good girl, learning her place already. Now finish this up for me, little princess, I still have to fill that pussy full so everyone knows just who you belong to.” The whimper that falls from your lips would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so turned on you can barely form a thought that isn’t concerned with getting his dick inside you. “Aw, does that make you wet, pretty baby?” he mocks, clearly enjoying your depraved reactions. “You like it when I talk to you like you’re my personal whore, my warm mouth and tight little pussy to take whenever I feel like it?”
You pull at the hand holding you back by your hair, desperate to have him down your throat, desperate to cry and gag at the size of him. Boba chuckles, deep and pleased in his chest and loosens his grip so you can get him back in your eager mouth. Once you have him heavy on your tongue, you hum happily and begin bobbing your head over his velvet length, gradually taking more of him into your mouth. Boba’s hips stutter when you slide your tongue along the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock, triggering your gag reflex.
You try to swallow down the suffocating feeling, but the sheer girth of him makes your throat close up. Choking and coughing, you pull off of him, tears beading in your lashes and spit running down your neck. Boba takes your face in his warm, calloused hands and tilts your face up to him. “Everything okay, little one? Too much?” he asks, concern lining his handsome face.
“No,” you pant, voice already ragged, “‘s perfect, just caught me by surprise.” You smile up at him then turn your head to kiss his palm. He’s so good to you that it makes you ache.
He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the moisture collected on your lashes. “Okay, I want you to tap me anywhere three times if you need to stop. It’s the same as our word if you can’t speak. Can you say that back to me so I know you understand?” You nod, repeating back the information. “That’s my good girl,” he beams, “Now I think there’s something you need to finish.”
You’re on him in an instant, guiding him back into your waiting mouth hungrily. As much as you love licking and sucking up and down his cock, slurping and swirling with abandon, what you really want is to do is take him to the hilt and swallow him down until he loses control. Taking what hasn’t made it past your lips in hand, you start pumping him and twisting your wrist, your fingers sliding easily over his spit-soaked skin.
“Fuuuu- that’s it,” he grunts, “look at you taking me so well. You must really want me to fuck you, my filthy little princess, must really want- shit.” He hisses, his hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall when slide enough of him in your mouth to take your hands off him to rest them on his hips. You look up to see his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched, and you hum appreciatively around the thickness stuffing your mouth, “Osik, d-do it, I know you can take it all, sweetheart. Do it for me and-shit-and I’ll fuck you so good I’ll be dripping from your pussy for days.”
You moan, your throat relaxing to take the last inch and you swear you could’ve come just from the sound that ripped free from his chest if it didn’t take all your brainpower to keep him seated in your mouth.
“Kark-fucking-stars above,” Boba chokes out, his free hand coming to guide you up and down his cock at a steady pace, “Look at you taking it all, I’m so proud of you, so p-proud, fuck, pretty girl.” His eyes are locked onto where he’s disappearing over and over again into your open mouth.
Blinking up at him with watery eyes, you swallow around his thick cock and he snarls. He tugs you off him and pulls you up into his arms, kissing you like he needed you to breathe and walking you both back until your thighs hit the bed. It feels like he’s everywhere, his tongue filling your mouth, his hands grabbing every inch of you as his hips pin down your own. “Shit, open up those legs for me, princess, I need to be inside you right fucking now.”
You fall back on the mattress, letting your thighs fall open. “Please, sir,” you gasp when two of his thick fingers slide inside you with no resistance.
Boba groans, the sound so deep it feels like it rattles in your own. “This fucking wet just from sucking my dick. Kark, you’re really a whore for an old man aren’t you, sweetheart?” You can only moan in response, clenching around his rough fingers and keening into him, unable to communicate any more of an answer than that. “Cockdumb already, little princess? Here I thought you were my big girl… maybe I should just go back to fucking your mouth if you’re not going to use it. You certainly were eager to run it earlier though, weren’t you? Talking to all those other men like they could possibly make your sweet little pussy feel like I can.”
His thumb finds your clit and you cry out, arching into him. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me, please give me your cock!” Your head is snatched back by your hair, making a high whine catch in your abused throat at the sudden movement.
“You know better than to say my name,” he threatens, his rasp dangerously low. “Mmm, since you suck cock so good I’ll let it slide this one time, but you had better not forget again, little girl. You hear me?” Boba’s eyes are ablaze with dark fire, the intensity of him burning with the heat of a dying star, sucking you into his inescapable gravity.
“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you whimper. His scalding words are going to make you come apart at the seams just as much as his fingers.
“Oh, you will be.” He pulls out you with an obscene squelch, a trail of your arousal connecting him to you. “Look at that, my princess wants it so bad. She wants anything I fucking give her. Isn’t that sweet? No, you know what, don’t answer that. Be a good little slut and clean this up for me.” He pushes his slick coated fingers past your swollen lips and you moan at the tang of your own arousal, your heady taste spreading over your tongue as you suck his fingers clean. He removes his hand from your face, the digits in your mouth coming out with a lewd pop.
Lining himself up with your dripping slit, Boba takes your face gently in his large hand, the caress so much softer than his previous words. “Hey, look at me, babygirl.” You slide your gaze up his broad chest to find his sable eyes. “You good? Everything okay? I know I usually prep you a little more than this.”
“Yeah, s’good. I’m so fucking wet, bet you’ll slide right in,” you giggle, slurred and happy. Truthfully, you hope it’d hurt a little, just enough so that you’d feel it tomorrow—a secret reminder that you were his.
Boba gives you a smile, a real smile bright and shining, not one of his mean ones from your game. “Okay, little one. Remember you can say your word or tap me three times if it gets to be too much. I don’t want my princess hurting.”
Golden affection blooms in your chest even as you give him a sassy little salute. “Yessir.”
“Maker, what am I going to do with you?” he huffs, exasperated. The twinkle in his eye betrays him, however.
“Hopefully, fuck me.”
“As you wish, brat.” Boba slots his lips over yours and slides into your heat, inch by inch as you moan into each other’s mouths, completely enraptured with the feeling of one another. When he pulls back to sink in further, he hisses out a curse. “How’re you always so fucking tight? Shit, you feel so fucking good.”
The way he’s slowly splitting you open makes your eyes roll back in your head, your hands scrabbling across his shoulders for purchase. “Fuck, you’re going to tear me in two… don’t stop,” you whine. The stretch around his cock burns, quickly fizzling into hot pleasure that makes you crave more, deeper, harder. It’s ungluing the edges of your mind, pushing your good sense out of your skull one thick inch at a time. Tears prick your eyes at the delicious strain, your teeth biting down on Boba’s lip as he pushes flush with your hips. You’re not sure if the guttural moan is his or yours or both combined, you’re so full of him.
Boba snaps his hips, jolting you further up the bed and setting a harsh pace that has your legs shaking around his hips. You’re burning, melting, screaming, completely wrecked by his pleasure. He’s leaning over you now, an arm bracing himself next to your head as he drills into you with unwavering force. Tearing his lips from yours, he licks a searing stripe up your neck that makes you clench around his pounding thrusts. “Fuck, you think that boy can fuck you like this? Think he can stretch you out on his cock and make you cry and beg for him? Hmm?”
Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Whimpering, you shake your head. “N-no, s-sir, only you! Onlyyouonlyyou, fuck, only you!”
“Fuck, you’re dirty, aren’t you? Ready to suck my dick with all those people there, riling me up all night so I’d take you back here and fuck you like the slut that you are for me. That’s right, isn’t it? Yeah, I know it is. You’re such a good little slut for me, taking my cock like that’s all you were made for. Kark, I bet you’d let me fuck you in front of all of them wouldn’t you, my filthy little princess?”
You moan, raking your nails down his back and making him curse in pleasure. “I w-would do anything, you feel so good, fuck, I would let you do anything to me! Just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
“You want it, huh? You want me to fuck you and make you all mine, fill up that tight little cunt and so my cum runs down your legs? You gonna take every drop I give you like the good little girl I know you are?”
“Yes, sir, please,” you sob, overwhelmed by the rough drag of him against your collapsing walls and his skin burning into you with each thrust of his powerful hips.
“Then tell me who this pussy belongs to, I wanna hear you say it so you never karking forget it again.”
“You, you, it belongs to you!”
“Say my name, princess, say my fucking name.”
“Boba! It belongs to you, Boba Fett, I’m all fucking yours, Boba, please!”
He pulls back, grabbing the back of your thighs and shoving them up, folding you in half. Slamming back into you, he slides a hand between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, maddening circles.
“More, please more!” you beg, clawing at his free hand until he lets you have it, and you place it on your throat.
Boba growls, wrapping his fingers around your neck and squeezing so that your world narrows down to just the feeling of him. Finally just him and nothing else.“Osik, you’re so fucking filthy and perfect, never wanna stop fucking this sweet cunt. K’atini ner cyare!”
“I’m gonna… can I… please,” you choke out, barely holding onto the last shreds of your sanity against the onslaught of ecstasy burning through you.
Groaning, Boba covers your mouth with his. “Come for me, soak my cock, give it to me, come on, princess, I know you can do it.”
Everything goes blank, your muscles constricting and your nails digging into his shoulders. Pure, electric energy fires through your veins, overloading your senses to a searing bright pleasure that makes you understand how the universe could start with a bang. You’re rocked with two, three, more pumps that shatter your fledgling universe and then you’re flooded with the sweet heat of his release.
You’re not entirely sure if you’re conscious as you float through the glittering galaxies that flash behind your eyes in dazzling color; you’re not even sure you remember how to breathe but you must be, because your lungs aren’t protesting. The next thing you’re truly aware of is being in Boba’s arms, laying curled into his chest on the bed while his fingers scratch pleasantly against your scalp. Humming in delight, you snuggle deeper into his woody scent.
“Mmm, there she is,” he chuckles, the warm sound buzzing in his chest.
“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, squeezing your eyes back shut—you want to be lost in him forever.
“Gotta come back some time, pretty girl, or I can’t get you in a nice warm bath then tuck you in bed with me,” he entreats, rubbing warmth into your limbs with calloused hands.
You consider this tempting offer; it certainly would be better than sleeping sticky all night, you suppose. “Can you bring me a snack?”
“I can bring you a snack.”
“And I can have a massage?”
Boba lets out an amused huff, giving you a squeeze. “And I will give you a massage,” he confirms.
You make a show of pondering the issue further, chewing your lip and studying the ceiling thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll allow it then, professor.”
Boba laughs again and eases you both up to a sitting position before sliding from underneath you so he can walk around to your side.
Rolling over, your thighs spread a little, and you gasp and slap them back together when you see the mess there. “Boba!” you squeak.
“What, little one?”
“You, it-it,” you stutter, tripping over the words in your shock, “how is there so much?”
He cocks a brow and you let your legs fall all the way open. “Oh, princess,” he breathes out, his voice a strained rasp. The inside of your thighs are slick with both your cum and your folds are coated in his pearly release, the excess dripping down to soak a spot on his sheets. Boba reaches down and spreads your lower lips a little farther apart, sending more of him leaking down your slit. Boba curses and you bite down hard on your bottom lip around the moan flooding up your chest.
“Well,” he grins, smug as the cat who caught the canary, “I did tell you I was going to fill you full, princess.”
Feeling equally refreshed and drowsy from your warm bath, you robotically go through the motions of your nighttime routine. From his bathroom mirror, you catch a glimpse of Boba where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed: he looks forlorn, his eyebrows furrowed over a pensive expression. For such a larger-than-life man, he seems almost… small.
His pain weighs heavy on your soul, prompting a visceral reaction in your gut. The muscles in your chest tighten and your arms yearn to press him close so there would be no room for pain in his body. Flicking off the light, you pad over to him with deliberate ease as not startle him in his revelry; Boba is a hardened man, you know, but you want to nurture that slip of vulnerability he allows himself in your presence, protect it close to your own.
He smiles when he sees you approaching, quickly papering over his melancholy expression with a happier one, but it doesn’t manage to make it to his brown eyes. He spreads his legs a little wider so you can stand between them and pulls you close with his hands on your hips. “All done, princess?”
“Yep,” you answer, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. You let a few silent seconds slip by, making way for him to speak his mind. When he doesn’t acknowledge his latent discontent, you settle back on your heels with a sigh. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or am I going to have to threaten you again?”
Boba grumbles a huff that sounds a lot like “too observant” and tips forward to bury his face in your tits, pulling you further into him. You allow him a few moments of respite, stroking the back of his neck with light fingers before easing his face up to look at you.
“It’s nothing, really-” he starts, his expression clouded over with false reassurances.
“Don’t try that crap with me,” you cut him off sternly. Then, more gently, you add, “Please Boba, be honest with me. You help me… let me help you.”
“You know I can’t deny you,” he mumbles after a moment, defeat echoing in the back of his throat. He leans forward, and you let him rest his cheek on your chest while he silently composes his thoughts as your fingers resume their patterns on his neck. “Watching you tonight… you are so bright and young and beautiful, and I’m just an old man with a scar for a heart that never quite worked right. You deserve… so much more than what I can give you. Someone who can make their words come out right because you deserve to know how special you are, cyar’ika. Someone who doesn’t have a past like mine, a person without so many sharp edges and broken parts. I’m missing pieces and you deserve someone who’s more… whole.”
There’s true pain in his voice, the agony and strife of a man who has endured and had to bear the cost of that survival on his own, with wounds that never completely healed alongside scars that run so deep they’re etched into his bone and being. If only he knew how beautiful it made him that he never let that secret soft part of him die, you think. That despite what would have been the logical choice for anyone in his position, he chose to tuck his tenderness away for safekeeping rather than letting it wither in reality’s harsh sun.
“Boba, I want you to listen to me and listen to me good.” You take his beautiful face between your palms and trace your thumbs over his cheekbones, mimicking the affectionate gesture he often used with you. This close you can see the dark lashes around his brown eyes and all the torment held within them; it makes you physically ache to know that this man, this perfect, wonderful man doesn’t think he deserves everything good and pure because he’s roughed up and his soul has some dings in it. That it somehow precluded him from deserving the same love he so willingly gives to you despite your own imperfections.
“I love you, Boba Fett, I love every scar on your body, every bruised muscle and broken bone. I love your dark, hidden parts just as much as the ones which see the light. You know why? Because they made you who you are, they made you into the man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel beautiful and happy. You are a man of action and that’s worth far more to me than any string of pretty words ever could be. You are enough and you are mine, and the sooner you accept that, the better.”
By the way his fingers clutch into the plush of your hips, you can tell he desperately wants to believe you, that he wants to reject the jagged demon of doubt buried in his heart like old shrapnel. But Boba casts his eyes down, still unsure.
“Do you trust that I can make my own decisions?” you ask, soft and firm, patient but unrelenting. He nods with a hum of agreement. Closing the gap between you, you rest your forehead against his creased brow, “Then let me make this one,” you whisper, kissing him until your lungs burn for air, and even then you stay on his lips for a few more lingering seconds.
Boba looks into your eyes, staring like you held all the secrets of the universe within them. After a couple of heartbeats, he loops his arms around your waist and pulls you back on top of him on the bed, making you yelp and giggle. Kissing you, he maneuvers the two of you under the blankets. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he breathes into you, the peaks and valleys of his father’s tongue rippling in your mind like cool water over rounded river stones. “Thank you for that, babygirl. I will try.”
You hadn’t yet asked him what any of the Mando’a words that slipped out of him meant, permitting him his secrets for now. Shifting your hips over his and deepening the kiss, you lick into his mouth as you lazily start to rut into him. Boba has given you a lot just now and you want to see that he’s rewarded for it.
“Little princess,” he chastens when your pace begins to pick up, “it’s late and I’m old.”
“You're not that old,” you nip at his lip, “and I’ll be on top.” You accent your offer with a grind of your hips that has him groaning at the friction between your bodies.
“You're not a very good listener, are you?” he grunts, “Besides, I need you well rested for tomorrow. I'm taking you out on a date.”
You stop dragging your hips over his, pulling back to stare at him. “A date?! You didn't tell me that, I didn’t bring anything to wear!”
“That’s because first, I’m taking you to get some more of those little sundresses you like to tease me with so much, and then I thought we’d go to that poppy farm you showed me on your phone the other day. They have ice cream there and a lemonade stand.”
You squeal in delight, kissing Boba all over his handsome face while he smiles warmly up at you. “You are too good to me, Boba Fett!” you manage between your flurry of pecks. He puts the sun in your chest and in air in your sails, and on top of all that, he’s apparently a secret romantic.
“Princess, I'm just getting started. You mean so much to me and I'm going to do my best to never let you forget it.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you settle into his side, curling into him. “Now get some sleep, cyar’ika, I’ll be at your side, always.”
—Endnotes: I went to a poppy farm the other weekend and it was so effortlessly romantic I knew I had to write some Boba to go with it. (also don’t look at me like that, y’all KNEW this was gonna be a sugar daddy fic eventually lmao)
I've got some stuff coming up so the next posting will be two weeks out instead of one (I'm sorry 😭) but rest assured that I will be posting some extra snippets to make up for it!
MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS
(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love
cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)
nau’ul be kar’ta - light of my heart
ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - I love you, (lit. "I hold you in my heart forever")
osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"
<Part III — Part V>
#i honestly do not know how i survived writing this#i think i passed out several times and my fingers just kept typing because 😮💨🥴🥵#professor boba owns my entire ass (and p*ssy)#zwei writes#fanfic#ex libris fic#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#professor!boba fett#professor boba fett#professor au#star wars fanfiction
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PART III: DEDICATION
—PARING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader
—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—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, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, 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), dirty talk, lots of pet names, lots of praise, some more self-discovery
As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations at the end.
—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 II — Part IV>
“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
cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)
osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"
<Part II — Part IV>
#i nearly did myself in writing this 🥴#i am consumed by the thought of boba slipping into mando'a when things get hot and heavy#zwei writes#fanfic#ex libris fic#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#professor!boba fett#star wars fanfiction#professor boba fett
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PART II: INTRODUCTION
—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader
—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—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, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, reader is a BRAT and I love her, some self-discovery, some pinches of soft Boba for good measure, spanking, praise (so so much praise), use of pet names, making out, dirty talk
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>
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>
#and so the smut begins#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#professor!boba fett#star wars fanfiction#professor boba fett#fanfic#ex libris fic#zwei writes
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oh my gooood tell me about cross my heart (def not bc I'm a med student nyehehehe) (ok it may be bc of it but shh)
Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it.
Bestieeee thank you for ask!!
Below is the scene that came to me that started the whole idea for this fic (sorry, it doesn't have any medic-y stuff but it's in rest of the story I promise). I have this multi-part fic about 70% finished before edits so hopefully y'all will get it sometime later this fall. (and yes there is PLENTY of spice 🌶️)
Snippet below the cut
As always, my work is intended for 18+ audiences even if there are no explicit sexual content.
18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
“I would sleep with your brothers… if you weren’t an option.” You had convinced the sniper to come out and enjoy the planet’s temperate night air and conversation, but now it’s silent, the only sound of the fire crackling between the two of you.
Folding his arms across his chest, Crosshair grumbles, “Don’t say things you don’t mean, it looks terrible on you.” The usual tit for tat the two of played had taken a rather sudden turn and he didn’t like it one bit. Especially not when it concerned you fucking one of his vode.
“Who said I don’t mean it?” you shoot back, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively at the sniper seated across from you.
“Lying looks even worse,” he retorts, “I know my brothers are the more attractive options, Hunter with his handsome looks or Wrecker with his muscles and good nature. Even Tech and Echo are the caring kind of boys you girls go after.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
Rolling your eyes, you lean on one arm to look at him. “It’s not like you haven’t had your fair share of women, Cross.”
Looking away, his tongue moves his toothpick to the opposite corner of his mouth. “That’s different. The bunk bunnies who didn’t get to my brothers first got stuck with me.”
“Quite the pity party you’re having over there for someone with a beautiful woman all to himself,” you snort and his eyes dart back to yours.
“You’re either pitifully desperate or a rather unconvincing whore.” With that, Crosshair flicks his toothpick into the fire and leans back into the night's shadow, sure that he’s landed a blow that will put you off him. No use in entertaining your little game any further, especially not with the way the moonlight is hitting your eyes and the fire is making your skin glow ever so beautifully.
The smirk you give him over the fire tells him that you’ve seen right through him, however, and he hates it. Hates that you refuse to be pushed away and hates that you’re even giving him any semblance of hope. Oh, how he wishes he could hate you too.
Leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, you call out to him. “Oh come on Crosshair, don’t be such a grump. Let a girl give you a compliment.” You flutter your lashes at him as a flirtatious grin plays across your lips.
Those lips… "I’d rather get a blowjob, at least then I’d get something real out of it," he replies flatly in another attempt at dissuading you.
The way you toss your head back and laugh nearly makes him snap. “Well if you won’t listen, then I won’t tell you what I think about you… handsome.” With a wink at slender man, you pick yourself up and slide your coat up your shoulders as you move around the fire to head back to the ship. As you pass him, you let your fingertips brush his shoulder. “Night, Crosshair.”
He tries, he really tries. He tries to let you slip away back to the ship, leaving him alone and his pride intact. He tries, but he fails.
Without glancing up, his hand shoots up to grab your wrist, keeping you at his side. “Wait.” He feels you still at his side, silent and expectant. “What were you going to say… about me?” he grits out, his jaw clenching as if to prevent the words from leaving this throat.
If he had had the balls to look up and meet your eyes, he would have seen their tender sheen and the soft smile curling your lips. But he doesn’t, so he only hears your answer.
“Mmm, well I was going to say that you’re tall, dark, and handsome.”
Scoffing, he throws your hand away from his shoulder in disgust. He knew it, he kriffing knew you were just leading him on, riling him up for a joke. “Fuck off.” Why couldn’t he just shut you out like everybody else?
You reach back down and place your hand firmly on his shoulder. “Oh, come on, Cross, lighten up, I’m joking.”
Attempting to shrug your hand off, he answers with only stone-cold silence. When you tighten your grip, he shoots a venomous glance up at you. Before he can speak, however, you continue, “What I actually was going to say is that… well…” Your eyes search the stars for your next words as your teeth take your bottom lip.
The sudden shift to uncertainty in your tone gives him the opportunity to cut you off—he's not making the same mistake twice. “Don’t bother wasting your breath coming up with a lie. Save it for someone stupid enough to believe you.”
“Oh, for Maker’s sake, Cross!” you exclaim, giving him an exasperated shove. “What I was going to say is that I really do think you’re handsome, you’re tall and strong and smart… and the way your eyes see everything… and your voice, that kriffing voice alone.”
His eyes burn into you, searing your flesh like they could brand you, searching for the smallest hint of insincerity. He desperately wants to believe you, believe that you would ever desire him the way he desires you. Or even, if he were truly honest with himself, believe that you could see him as someone worthy of your affection as well as your body. He wants to believe it all, but he can’t. He won’t. He’s not worth it anyways.
Crosshair stares down at his boots and pushes your hand off his shoulder. “Goodnight.”
Though his ears are not as good as Hunter’s, he hears the small disappointed sigh you let out. Good, misery loves company. You and his happiness stood just within reach, which meant it would all be taken from him the second he acknowledges it.
“I wish you would believe me,” you sigh.
He gives a noncommittal huff, leaning away from you and towards the fire, denying you the very voice you craved. Just because you can see right through him doesn’t mean you get to hear him too.
Just when he’s sure you’re going to give up and walk back to the ship, you turn and come to kneel before him, the fire burning a halo around your folded form. Placing a tentative hand on his knee, you peer up at him with those soft eyes. “Look at me.”
He closes his eyes, opening them to meet yours. Hurt and hope swirl around his darkened irises.
Placing your free hand on his other knee to balance yourself, you offer up a small smile. “How’s this for something real?” You lean in and place a chaste kiss on his frowning lips.
Electricity shoots down his spine, crackling through his bones and boiling his blood. The feeling of your lips lingers on his own even after you pull back. Before you can move too far away, he reaches up to grab the nape of your neck, his long fingers splaying over the back of your skull and holding you close. If anything was ever real, he prays to the Maker, let this be because the final thread holding him back snapped when your lips hit his.
“Say it. Look me in the eye and say that you mean it,” his demanding tone pleads, his fingers digging into your skin.
“I mean it,” you promise, tender earnestness coating your words as you center yourself in his fire-lit eyes.
Like a dark, heavy cloud bursting open, he falls into you, his lips crashing into yours. You let the storm of him roll over you for a moment before you murmur against his lips, “I swear I mean it, cross my heart and hope to die.”
Taglist 💖 @agirlnamejacq @acatalystrising @baufraus @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @andrakass2 @samspenandsword @liadamerondjarin @sleepingsun501 @rescuethewretched @rexxdjarin @ladytano420
some others who have interacted or might be interested (lemme know if you don't wanted to be tagged in the future) 💕 @writingwintermoon @ghostvizsla @erinthevampire @rain-on-kamino @crosshairs-wife @cross-my-heartt
Divider by @saradika
#i debated sharing some of the spice from this because it's so gooddddd#but this will be feelings fic as well as spice so emotions y'all get#zwei writes#crosshair x reader#fanfic#cross my heart fic#ask#ask game#wip
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EX LIBRIS
—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader
—SUMMARY: There's much to be learned from the handsome professor Boba Fett, both about yourself and your pleasure.
—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—WORD COUNT: 53.1k
—SERIES TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), bisexual reader, reader described as having enough hair to grab, alcohol consumption by reader and others, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM
Please check chapter-specific tags for additional warnings!
Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist
VOLUME I
—I: FOREWORD - 6.4k
When the new Mandalorian studies professor Boba Fett comes into the university library looking for help, you’re more than happy to be of assistance.
—II: INTRODUCTION - 7.9k
Professor Fett helps you learn a few new things about yourself through some old-school discipline.
—III: DEDICATION - 8.6k
Professor Fett makes good on his promise to give you everything you deserve.
—IV: ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS - 11.2k
Your new relationship with the Mandalorian studies professor begins to take shape.
—V: PREFACE - 8.6k
You make sure Professor Fett knows just how much he means to you.
INTERLUDE
—IDYLL - 10.4k
Taking a little inspiration from some literature, Professor Fett indulges you in one of your fantasies.
EXTRAS
—WHEN I THINK ABOUT YOU - 866
Being alone never bothered Professor Fett, that is, before you came along. Set between Parts I and II.
—Ship asks about Professor Boba and library princess
one, two
#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#professor!boba fett#star wars fanfiction#professor boba fett#fanfic#ex libris fic#zwei writes#fic masterlist
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INTERLUDE: IDYLL
—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader
—SUMMARY: Taking a little inspiration from some literature, Professor Fett indulges you in one of your fantasies.
—WORD COUNT: 10.4k
—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, alcohol consumption by reader and others, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), lots of petnames, praise kink, dirty talk, mild degradation (discussed beforehand, use of “slut” and “whore”) choking, (sugar) Daddy kink, money kink, consensual non-consent (marked in story, can skip over and still enjoy the rest of the spice)
—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Welcome back y'all! I hope you guys have a sweet tooth because this ten thousand words of pure sugar baby filth 🤑 I chose the title "Idyll" because of its associations with romance and the fact this one-shot is an interlude between Vols. I and II, and to keep with the literature theming for part titles (and yes also because I think I'm clever lmao).
A big thank you as always to @agirlnamejacq and @rexxdjarin for betaing this series, and thank you to you my beloveds for all the support and feedback 💖
Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist
<Part V
The idea hadn’t left your head since you read that Maker-forsaken chapter in the book Selena recommended to you. It’s dogged you for days, scrambled your thoughts, and ruined every pair of panties you’ve worn this week just thinking about it. You’d come embarrassingly quickly on your fingers the night before fantasizing about the plan you’d made to turn the chapter’s plot into your and Boba’s reality this weekend. Watching the clock tick down until five o’clock today had felt like literal torture; you’re so ready for the work week to end and your sexy little scheme to begin.
Your nerves thrum with excitement as you make your way to Boba’s front door with your overnight bag slug across your shoulder and the groceries you’d picked up balanced on your hip. Jiggling the key he’d given you in the lock, you ease over the threshold into the house, careful as not to drop anything. Setting your bag to the floor, you begin flicking on lights as you make your way to the kitchen.
Boba had to deliver some materials to another member of his department after class, giving you just enough time to start some dinner to surprise him with when he got home. With midterms fast approaching, he’d been putting in longer weeks and though he never complained, you know he could use a good home cooked meal and a little extra fun in the bedroom to take the edge off.
Once the groceries are sorted, you put on some light music and pour yourself a glass of the sweet wine Boba gets especially for you since you don’t care for dry reds he prefers. The kitchen is soon filled with the fragrant scent of onion and garlic as you busy yourself with the meal preparation, cutting and sauteing and seasoning, losing yourself in the familiar process.
Sometime later you hear the front door shut, signaling Boba’s arrival home. You wipe your hands on the blue-striped dishrag to your left and pluck another wine glass down from the shelf, filling it with the velvety red wine your professor favors.
“Careful, princess,” Boba’s luscious voice warns, “a man could get used to coming home to a beautiful woman cooking his dinner.”
And I could get used to doing it, you think as you re-cork the bottle, especially since this domestic stuff always has him on his knees wanting to have me for dessert.
You can’t help the flirty smile that blossoms across your face as you take his glass in hand and turn to face him. Your response evaporates from your wine-sweet lips, however, when you see the colorful bouquet of flowers in his hand. Your eyes travel up his arms to his broad shoulders before landing on his pleased expression and twinkling eyes. “Looks like we’re both full of surprises,” you grin—the flowers are your favorite kind.
Boba winks, “Gotta keep my best girl happy since I haven’t gotten to see her much this week.” He closes the space between you, setting the flowers on the counter so he can link his arms around your waist.
“And I have to keep Daddy fed so he has the energy to keep up with me all weekend,” you tease before pressing a kiss to his lips. Boba eagerly accepts it and his hand slides down to grab a fistful of your ass, jostling the wine glass in between your bodies. You pull back, doing your best to look annoyed. “If you spill this on me, I’m going to make you lick up every last drop.”
A chuckle rumbles in Boba’s warm chest pressed against you. “Is that supposed to be a threat, sweetheart? ‘Cause it sounds like an incentive to me.”
You make a scandalized noise, your free hand falling onto your chest. “Sir, how dare you! I am a proper young lady who-” You’re cut off by Boba’s mouth on yours, his tongue dragging slowly along your bottom lip and making the rest of whatever you were going to say slip from your mind.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmurs smugly into your kiss, grinding his hips into yours.
You lean back farther this time, arching a brow at him. “Keep it up, professor, and your dinner’s going to be burnt.” After a moment, Boba sighs dramatically in defeat and releases you to peek at what you have on the stove. Pressing his drink into his hand, you shoo him away. “Ah ah ah! No taste tests! Go change and it’ll be ready by the time you come back.” Grumbling, he complies and you watch him disappear off to his bedroom.
Oh, just you wait until you hear the plans I have for you, Professor Fett.
After dinner, you’re curled into him on the couch with your shared nightcap in your hand. The sated, cozy atmosphere of the room combined with the low light of the lamps lends an intimate feeling to the space as you finish your dinner discussion.
“So there’s something you wanted to ask me about, pretty girl?” Boba asks, his fingers trailing up your arm leisurely.
You take a quick sip of the whiskey, not that you need it, and smile up at him. Finally, the time has come to reveal the desire that’s been consuming you all week. “Mmm, yes there is. It’s about what I want to do with you this weekend… something I read in the book Selena recommended to me.” Thrilling heat begins to creep up your neck at what you’re about to describe to him.
Taking a sip of the liquor from your cup, Boba sets it on the side table to give you his full attention. “I’m all ears, princess,” he purrs with eyes brimming with glimmering darkness, his other hand clamping down on your hip to pull you even closer into him. His posture remains attentive, however, waiting patiently for you to continue.
“Welllll,” you draw out, enjoying the last of the suspense, “in this book, the girl falls in love with a super good-looking guy who gets coffee at the same café as her, who, as it turns out, is also super rich.” Boba hums in amusement and you have to swallow back the urge to jump him right then and there, though just barely; as tempting as making out with him is, your next words are far more important. “This rich, handsome man ends up taking the heroine out to buy some very expensive jewelry so that he can fuck her in nothing but the diamonds he bought her.”
Glancing up, you see Boba has a devilish smile on his face. In the beginning of your relationship, you might have gotten a little shy at this point, a bit bashful about the nature of your desire for this god of a man.
Not now, however. With Boba’s reassuring hand and your agreed-upon rules at your back, you’ve sailed into uncharted seas, uncovering more than you ever thought possible along his shores: pleasures and comforts more satisfying and valuable than even the most lustrous of the ocean’s treasures. He is your north star, a guide who impels, rather than compels, as you discover your personal and shared splendors.
Boba’s large hands snake around your waist to pull you over the thick of his thighs, your knees hugging the outside of his hips. “And has all this given my little princess some ideas?” he prompts with a knowing smirk.
A breathy laugh slips past your lips as he grinds the growing bulge in his pants into your core: your professor can get harder quicker than the boys half his age you’d been with. Focus, you chide yourself, you haven’t even gotten to the good part. Anchoring yourself in the depths of his mahogany eyes, you bite your lip.
“Lots of ideas,” you confirm, tipping forward to place slow kisses up his jaw, “Ideas about how I want you to give me that full sugar baby experience… designer clothes, shoes, jewelry, everything.” Scalding heat flashes through your entire body as you relay your wicked request. When you reach his ear, you can feel the way his breath catches when you trace its shell with the tip of your warm tongue, his burning heat washing over you. “Then I want you to make me earn every single kriffing penny you spent, want you to make me prove that I’m Daddy’s girl inside and out.”
The unfiltered grit of Boba’s groan has you gushing like sin itself is stroking you between your thighs. “Oh babygirl, you want Daddy to spoil you then put you in your place? Give you everything your little heart desires then take it out of that sweet pussy? Fuck you like that’s all you’re good for?” he grunts, yanking your shirt to the side so he can suck a bruise into your exposed shoulder. His teeth graze over the damp skin under his lips, nipping at the tender flesh. “Fuck, you’re so filthy and perfect, just for me… mmph, just for me. Come here, sweetheart.”
Cupping your face with battle-worn hands, Boba crushes his mouth against yours, hot, hungry, and demanding. Your chest is already heaving with the weight of your arousal from the mere discussion of your fantasy as he steals the air from your lungs, his tongue greedily licking into the heat of your mouth. Licentious warmth pricks your cheeks and simmers in your belly to see he’s also turned on by your lewd wishes—it makes you want nothing more than to tear into him right here and now.
Boba’s hands are already rocking your hips over the straining fabric of his erection, sending all your blood and attention to the slick apex of your thighs; the sinful huffs of pleasure coming from him are eating through the last of your fluttering restraint. Fisting the collar of his t-shirt to gather your resolve, you pant out the last of your request into your kiss. “A-and I want you to-shit-to shove your money down my brand-new dress and panties and fuck me in it.”
A deep growl of pure desire claws its way up his throat, and straight to your pussy. “Kark, shit, w-we’ll talk about the rest of this later, filthy girl, I need you right fucking now.”
You’re in his bed with open arms and open legs before the minute is out.
Clipping the straps of the garter band to the rest of the gorgeous lingerie set, you smile at yourself in the mirror of the elegant dressing room. The entire day has been better than you ever could’ve imagined, and kriffing hell if you don’t look good in this scarlet lace. It’s been worth every minute you spent waiting… and Boba hasn’t even fucked you yet.
He’s taken your fantasy very seriously—wining and dining you at restaurants you didn’t even know existed between trips to stores you’d only ever heard of from fashion magazines—and, if the hard-on he’s rubbed against your ass at every opportunity is any indication, is enjoying everything just as much as you are. You couldn’t help but suck him off in the backseat of his Audi wearing your new emerald earrings and bracelet to show him just how grateful his little princess could be.
As promised, the two of you had negotiated the details of today’s fun after your tryst the night before: materially, you’d get whatever you wanted but you’d have to be on your absolute best sugar baby behavior, meaning no sass, no back talk, and using good manners all day. The professor has quite enjoyed the deal thus far, and hasn’t hesitated to remind you of it every time a brattish look colors your expression. You’d been good though… mostly.
“Careful, little one. I’d hate to have to take you back early and remind you of the rules before you got to pick out something to wear tonight.”
“What? All I said was that you’re an old-”
“I know my babygirl isn’t going to make the same mistake twice, is she?”
“Erm-I mean no, sir. Sorry, Daddy.”
For the actual sex itself, you’d gone over the terms, bondage, and acts you both were comfortable with since you wanted a more intense scene than your usual. You made sure to ask what aftercare Boba wanted for the same reason: you’d read about dom-drop and wanted to avoid it at all costs, especially since your boyfriend is being so solicitous of your fantasies. The overwhelming amount of unspoken love in his eyes after you asked him nearly brought tears to your own, even more so when all he requested is to hold you skin to skin in a warm bath—Boba Fett is truly a man like no other.
You give yourself one last once over in the floor length mirror before parting the dressing room curtains to step into the private viewing room. Boba’s eyes go wide when he looks up to see you standing there: you’re a vision of rosy temptation, ready, willing, and wrapped up in a bow just for him. His hand brushes over his crotch and you spin around so he can see just how much of your ass is not left to the imagination.
Peeking over your shoulder with big doe eyes, you flash him a dazzling smile. “I really like this set, I think it might just be the one.”
He wets his parted lips with a slow tongue, his eyes sable and voracious as they rake over you. “Oh really now, princess? How about you come over here and show Daddy just why you like it so much.”
Biting your lip, you bend slowly, pushing out your tits even more as you slip on the red bottoms he’d got you and saunter over to where he’s seated on the plush couch. With your hands on the curves of your hips, you lightly kick his feet wider apart so you can step between his open thighs. He allows it, amber flames dancing in his irises as he watches you preen under his gaze—there’s nothing like his little angel to bring his hellfire to the surface.
Hooking your thumbs under the bra’s dainty straps, you pull them out a bit and slowly slide your hands down as you keep eye contact with him. “See, sir,” you murmur with a silky voice, “I like the little bows… the ribbons…” When the backs of your thumbs slide over your nipples on their path downward, your eyes slide shut at the sensation. “Mmmph, I like the pretty lace, too.” You release your fingers and slide your palms slowly down your waist; when you feel the garter belt, your eyes flutter open.
Boba’s jaw is clenched and his eyes locked onto where the tips of your middle fingers have come to lazily trace the heart cut-outs just above your hip bones. The skin over his knuckles is stretched tight as he balls his hands into fists on his thighs, the buttons of his crisp shirt are straining from the depth of his breathing.
“I like these little hearts,” you continue, your tone dropping to sultry smoke as your fingers slip down to the panties, “and this cute bow…” Your dominant hand slithers farther between your legs to stroke over the thin material covering your folds while your other hand finds its way back up your torso to knead your breast. “O-oh, and I… I-I like how these panties feel over Daddy’s little pussy.” Your own breath shakes with your arousal and your head tips back, exposing the smooth length of your throat, liquid heat pumping under your pulse point.
A ragged curse slips from Boba’s lips and it makes your entire body tremble; you’re unraveling this masterpiece of a man thread by thread without so much as the whisper of a touch. The taste of power is thick on your tongue—he might be in charge, but he is still a man at a woman’s mercy.
Your fingers slide under the waistband to pull the lower garment up so that it sinks into your slit and your lips spill over the sides. “B-but most of all, sir,” you rasp, bobbing your head back forward to stare directly into his yearning soul, “I like how much it makes you want to fuck me.”
The earth stops spinning for a heartbeat as his pupils blow out to eclipse his umber eyes. “Put your fucking dress back on, princess,” Boba orders roughly, “because the second I’m finished paying, I’m leaving with you in that, covered up or not.”
You do as you’re told, making sure to toss a cheeky wink at the silently judgemental sales clerk on the way out, and another one to the amused woman behind the hotel desk as Boba guides you with a firm hand on your hip up to the penthouse suite he booked for the night. You can practically smell the ozone of the imminent storm that’s been building between the two of you since the night before—all that’s left is to pierce his dark cloud and be washed away down to your most primal being in the tempest of his desire.
No sooner is the room’s door shut then you throw yourself into the howling winds of lust that have been tearing through bones all day. There’s no time to admire how stunning the suite is, not when his hands and lips are on you with a bruising, burning passion that might as well be a force of nature. For a few minutes there’s only him and the sensations he elicits, a wild and unrestrained fervor that almost convinces you that you’ll get away with having him easy.
Of course, once the eye of the storm swirls around the pair of you, that flimsy hope is banished when Boba draws back from your kiss. “Hey, easy now, babygirl. I need you to listen so we can start.”
The way his glossy, kiss-swollen lips form around his words threatens to derail your focus completely, but you swallow down your fervor as best you can; you won’t get what you truly want if you don’t check in with him first. You squeeze your eyes shut in a hard blink. “I’m… I’m listening,” you rasp, your voice already ragged at the edges.
“Good girl,” he praises gently, brushing his lips on your forehead. “The role play we talked about last night still what you want to do? Any changes you want to make?” His right hand comes up to massage the tension in your neck.
Your heart is pumping hot and ready in your chest, it’s all you can do not to grind your thigh into his very obvious erection. You can’t look at him, not when he’s too tempting with his earth-warmed eyes and sun-colored features. Burying your face into his neck, you sound an affirmative from the safety of your favorite spot.
A cimmerian chuckle rumbles in his warm chest. “You’re so ready, aren’t you, pretty baby? I know, I know. Tell me about the stoplight system we talked about yesterday and I’ll make all your dirty little dreams come true.”
“Green means good, yellow means slow down and check in, red means stop like our safeword and three taps,” you rattle off without hesitation, curling your fingers into his shirt over and over again as electric anticipation crackles through your nerves. You’re embarrassingly wet and Boba hasn’t even done anything yet… Maker help you when he does.
He presses a kiss into your hair, guiding your head up to look into your eyes. “That’s my smart girl,” he beams, the edges of his eyes crinkling, “Now remember, we’re checking in again before the actual sex since this is our first time doing a scene like this.” Accepting your nod of understanding, he asks if you’re ready to start.
“Fucking stars above, yes, I’m ready!”
[start of consensual non-consent]
It’s like a whole new man materializes before your very eyes, one with lurid intentions and inescapable demands as the gentle hand on the back of your neck comes to settle possessively around your throat. “Well then, princess, it looks like you have some debts to settle with me,” he informs you, his canines flashing in a wolfish smile.
Your game has only just begun and the thrill of your vulnerability has your pulse jumping under his thick fingers. You blink at him with wide, innocent eyes, playing along. “But Daddy, what debts? I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Boba tuts, the sound lush with false sympathy, his eyebrow arching up in a cruel look. “You think all those pretty things I got you just come for free, little one? That there would be nothing taken in return?” His words are followed by a greedy handful of your ass that crushes you against his chest and makes his belt buckle dig uncomfortably into your soft stomach.
“W-what do you mean?” you whimper, squirming and ensnaring yourself further into his trap, “I-I thought you bought me all those things because you l-love me.” Offering up a flowery smile, you paw at his chest in an effort to ward off his perverse intentions, your heart hammers out danger against your ribs. It pushes you towards fight or flight, but your self-preservation is no match for your fatal attraction.
“Love?” he scoffs viciously, icing out your budding attempt to sway him, “Who said anything about love, sweetheart? Is that what you think this is, is that what you’ve been filling your pretty head with?” His fingers twitch around your throat and your lip starts to tremble pitifully. “Aww, poor baby,” he mocks with a sardonic smile, his hand releasing its grip on your neck so his thumb can roll down your quivering lip. “You gonna cry about it?”
Maybe it’s your latent instincts actually kicking in, or maybe you’re just that much of a brat, but either way you’re not going to let this man get away with everything, especially in that tone of voice. Jutting your head forward, you bite down on this thumb and shove your hands between your bodies to push away from him. You manage to turn and take a harried step towards the other side of the room before you’re roughly snatched back by the hair. Yelping at the sudden sharp pain in your scalp, your hands flying up in an attempt to free yourself.
“Oh no you don’t,” Boba hisses, ignoring your pained protests as he pulls your back against his body, locking his arm around your waist.
You struggle and kick at his shins, doing your best to escape the much stronger man. As sweat beads along your brow and your muscles begin to burn with exertion, you realize far too late that he’s just letting you tire yourself out. “Let… me… go!” you demand with the last of your strength, slamming the ball of your foot down onto his shoe.
Boba sucks in a sharp breath and you know you’re fucking in for it now just from that sound alone, your thighs pressing together against throb between them. “You done now? Made your point?” he asks with a dangerous amount of calm, his voice as still as the sea before a storm. “Because the harder you fight, the rougher I’ll have to be, sweetheart.”
That should not be as hot as it fucking is. His threat has the twin flames of arousal and fear burning you alive from the inside out, your opposing desires for mercy and ruin warring within your chest. “No, wait! I’m sorry," you plead, "Please don’t hurt me, I-I promise I’ll be good!” You sniffle and do your best to well some tears in your eyes, wanting to make your performance as good as your boyfriend’s. “I’ll do anything you want, just… please!”
Boba bites down into the soft flesh of your shoulder and you have to stifle a moan. His hand in your hair loosens fractionally, allowing you enough movement to give him access to your neck, which he greedily claims with harsh kisses. “Anything you say? But princess,” he taunts, his breath hot on your damp skin, “you were already going to give me whatever I want… you know why?”
Heart in your throat, you choke on your own lust-fueled words so that all you can do is shake your head in the negative. His absolute dominance and your prurient desire are melting away the last of your reason and restraint, especially when his lips find that sensitive spot just below your ear. Alternating between sucking his mark into your skin and muttering into your ear, he continues in a coarse, strident tone. “Because I own you. From the top of your pretty head down to all ten of your princess toes, you’re mine. You’re Daddy’s girl and you’re going to do just as he says… isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
As sinfully delightful as all this feels, Boba is way too smug for your liking. The wheels turning in your head are spinning furiously to come up with another escape plan to further provoke him and draw out your game. Grinding your ass back against his crotch, you sigh and go loose like you’ve given up, even letting a few small moans slip past your lips for good measure. Boba takes the bait—and truthfully, you think about taking it too—releasing your hair and hips so he can grope your tits.
Now!
Forcing all the air from your lungs, you slide down out of his grasp, stumbling a bit in your high heels but making out of his reach all the same. Boba growls and you can feel the flurry of air as he makes to grab you again, but you duck and manage to dodge him. Heart pounding in your ears, you make a run for the next room, hitting the lights so they go dark. Panting, you lean against the wall next to the door to suck in a lungful of air only to have it knocked right back out of you a second later when you’re slung over his strong shoulder.
You howl in dismay at being caught so soon, kicking and pounding on Boba’s back as he hauls you over to the king-size bed. He asks for your color and you answer “green,” to which he squeezes your hip affectionately before falling back into character. “You sneaky little brat, you really thought you could get away from me?” he laughs cruelly, slapping your ass with a stinging palm. He reaches the bed in a few strides and tosses you onto the mattress like you weigh nothing.
It makes you gush, your pleasure in your core already beginning to tighten as your ass cheek prickles and burns. Head spinning and vision blurred at your sudden change in position, you scramble up the sheets to put distance between the two of you in a final desperate attempt to elude the man you so desperately want to catch you.
“You got a tight little cunt and a warm little mouth that will pay off your debt nicely. There’s no point in fighting it, sweetheart,” he continues to taunt, his fingers unbuttoning his shirt with practiced ease, “Might as well enjoy it, because you’re not getting out of it.” He discards his shirt, his tattoos gleaming in the sunlight peeking in through the windows; he’s as handsome and dark as a panther about to pounce on its prey.
In all your haste, you’ve tangled yourself in the bedclothes well within his reach, and the wet heat slicking the inside of your thighs and underwear is bleeding the fight from you. That’s not going to stop me from giving this old man a run for his money… literally, you smile to yourself. You have one more trick up your sleeve but you don’t have much time with the way Boba is prowling toward you with the ease of someone at the top of the food chain.
“W-what are you going to do to me?” you whimper, doing your best to distract him from the fact you’re untangling your foot.
He gives you a chilling smile. “Oh, little princess,” he husks with a tantalizing, twisted heat, “I think you know exactly what I’m going to do to you.”
He leans down to grab you, but you pull your knee up to catch him in the center of his chest with your designer heel. Boba’s expression flashes with wicked desire at the challenge, a hungry smirk turning up his lips. “Fast little thing, aren’t you?” he grunts in pleased surprise, locking his grip around your ankle, “Won’t save you though. I like my girls with some fight in ‘em.” His brown eyes are blown so wide with lust that they’re an abyss of black—maybe even a shade darker. In a flash, he snatches up your other ankle and yanks you back down the mattress, riding your dress up and rubbing your skin hot from the friction.
“No, no, no! Please, no!” you cry out, kicking your legs uselessly as his eyes zero in on the damp fabric nestled at your apex. No matter how much you pretend you don’t want this, you can’t hide your traitorous arousal.
Ignoring your pleas, Boba forces his way between your thighs, shoving his crotch against yours and making you gasp a moan. “Stop fighting,” he warns, crowding into your prone space, “I know you want this, dirty girl, you’re fucking soaked. Quit with the dramatics and Daddy will give you everything you want, just like he did earlier when he bought you all those nice things.” His hips grind into your center enticingly, accenting his offer.
You whimper and give a final kick before falling still, your only movement the heaving of your chest. Your blood is hot and torrid in your veins and sweat slicks your skin; you couldn't escape him even if you really wanted to and it burns you up. Knotting your fingers into the bedspread, you dig in your nails to keep from reaching for him—you’re enjoying your game far too much to give in and let it end now.
“Promising to spoil you makes you give it up quick, huh?” he smirks, kissing up to your ear, his right hand releasing your ankle to skate up to your damp panties. “Yeah, I know this is what you want. You want Daddy fuck you senseless in all the pretty things he bought for you, don’t you? To be his sweet little baby he uses however he wants? You can admit it, princess, you don’t have to pretend for my benefit.”
“Fuck you!” you spit back, knowing it would seal your fate. “I’m not some whore you can buy off and screw!”
[end of consensual non-consent]
Boba has the gall to laugh directly in your face. “That’s not what your panties are telling me. In fact,” he pauses to fish something out his pants pocket, “They’re telling me that if I make a little deposit… you’ll let me do whatever I want to you without a single complaint.” Before you can even ask, he pops the rubber band off a half-inch thick stack of hundred dollar bills with one hand. Your eyes widen and you clench around nothing, stunned into silence.
He smirks, his shoulders set and his eyes glinting dark with desire. “Oh, is a few thousand dollars all it took to make you learn some manners?” he mocks. “Of course it is, my filthy girl, you’re spoiled rotten and all mine. Daddy knows how to get you to behave, doesn’t he?” You open and shut your mouth several times but you can’t get your tongue to form any words in your hazy, aroused shock. “Well now, if you’re not going to answer my questions, I might as well put something in that pretty mouth.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he reaches back into his pocket and stuffs his wallet in your open mouth.
All you can do is moan, your eyes rolling back inside your skull as carnal desire overtakes you. Your teeth sink into the buttery-soft material, the tang of leather flooding your taste buds as you writhe on the mattress seeking any sort of friction to quell the overwhelming need in your core.
Boba groans your name, long and deep, the rumble accompanied by the sound of a belt dropping to the floor. Your eyes flutter open to see him stroking his leaking cock with his free hand, his own eyes heavy with desire. “Look at you… so needy and pretty like this. I can’t wait to feel that perfect pussy strangling me.” He gives himself a few more tugs before releasing himself to ease his wallet from your lips, placing it and the money on the nightstand.
A whine sounds in your throat and he shushes you gently, coming back around to massage your thighs. “We have to check in, remember? How’re you feeling, babygirl?”
Jagged shards of lust lodge themselves into your sweat-slicked skin, sharp and urgent, and every beat of your racing heart continues to pump unrelenting need into veins. “Everything is good, green, just keep going, please!” you beg, your mind spiraling closer to frantic desperation as the coil in your belly begins to unwind.
“Shh, shh,” he eases, stroking your hair back from your damp forehead. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, princess, but this isn’t optional. Do you need help calming down?” he asks in his even, guiding voice. Squeezing your eyes shut as hard as you can, you nod. “Okay, sweet girl, keep your eyes closed. I’m going to move and I want you to sit up. You want a pillow to hold?”
Nodding again, you roll up to a sitting position, the empty loss of his touch soon soothed by the pillow he places in your arms. Boba praises you gently and guides you through a couple deep breaths and soon the overbearing buzz of desire wanes enough for your muscles to relax. After a few more exhales, you’re able to come back into yourself and you open your eyes, blinking against the sunset filtering in from the tall windows. Boba is standing in front of you, his drawn look of concentration melting into a smile.
“Better now?” he questions. You hum an affirmative in response and reach out a hand. He takes it, stepping closer so he can brush a kiss over your knuckles. “Ready to talk, sweet girl?” Taking a deep breath in and out, feeling your racing pulse slowing; when you’re sure you can focus, you confirm you’re ready.
Boba sits on the edge of the bed, holding open an arm in invitation knowing that you need the added comfort of his touch during breaks. He waits until you’ve made yourself comfortable in his lap before continuing. “I know how bad you wanted to keep going, princess, so thank you for listening and being honest when I asked if you needed help.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Emotionally intense scenes like this one can be much different in real life than in our heads… sometimes it can catch up with you all at once and become overwhelming in a bad way. I want to give my little princess everything she wants, but I can’t do that unless I know everything’s alright up here,” he says, kissing the side of your head.
“I understand, Boba, that’s why we have our rules and discussions to keep us safe.”
A warm smile spreads across his handsome face. “That’s exactly right, my smart girl. Now that things are calmer, how’re you feeling about everything? Anything that made you uncomfortable or want to change before we continue?”
Wrapping your arms around his torso, you hug him as tight as you can; Boba is everything to you and you want him to feel it in the strength of your arms and the beat of your heart. “I like it, like really, really like it. You’re amazing, all big and bad and mean… you’re so goddamn hot it drives me crazy. Makes me want to rip off all your clothes and ride your co-”
Boba clears his throat, eyeing you sternly to remind you to stay on track and you snap your jaw shut with a sheepish grin. Rolling your gaze up to the high ceiling, you watch the patterns of the sun’s final light while you ponder his question. You certainly would never dream of acting out this kind of thing with anyone else, that’s for sure; not only because Boba is the only man you trust with such a fantasy, but also because it was precisely that, a fantasy, make believe. It ran so counter to who Boba is and how he treats you—that’s what made it so damn sexy.
After a few moments of quiet consideration, shake your head. “There’s nothing I didn’t like or want to change. What about you, what did you like?” you ask, turning the question around and snuggling up against his warm chest.
He hums in dark delight, pulling you in tighter to his body. “When you kicked your leg up and got me in the chest, kark, sweetheart,” he puffs out his cheeks, “I almost lost my cool. Wasn’t kidding when I said I like a little fight in my women.” He pinches your ass playfully and you giggle, wriggling away from his fingers.
Sensing things are turning back towards continuing the fun, you twist around to straddle him, though keeping your hips still against his. “Well that’s no secret, professor,” you tease, linking your wrists behind his neck. “Don’t think you’d be with me if you didn’t.”
Running his hands up your sides, Boba’s fingers wrap around the swell of your ribs. “Mmm, I suppose that’s true,” he chuckles with a wry grin. When you ask him about any dislikes, he shakes his head, but there’s a caveat in his deep set eyes. “I’m enjoying it all and I definitely want to do it again, but…” He trails off, his brow furrowing in that pensive look he got when he’s trying to string together words to describe his feelings. You know it’s still a new practice for him, so you wait patiently, tracing little shapes on the nape of his neck. “But, not every time,” he concludes after a few moments.
Setting your forehead against his, you mumble in agreement, “But not every time.” You have a feeling you know why, not that you wanted it every time either, but that is a discussion for another day. For now, you would tuck it away in your heart. “Boba?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Thank you,” you smile, big and genuine, hoping he can feel all the emotion and gratitude behind your words, “For everything, for all of this. You’re amazing.” Pulling back, you capture his face between your hands so you can place a languid kiss on his beautiful lips. “I love you.”
The way he always seems so surprised and hungry to hear those words is as endearing as it is heartbreaking; he should’ve heard that sentiment more often in his life.
“I… you,” he stammers, his usual stability thrown off.
“Shh shh,” it’s your turn to soothe, giving him another kiss, “I know.” You both hold the golden glow of affection between your bodies, warm and safe, for a few peaceful minutes, silently basking in its rays. When Boba begins to shallowly roll his hips against yours, a grin lights across your face. “If you’re ready, Daddy, I think there’s something your babygirl needs finished.”
“Oh, yes I think there is,” he agrees, nipping at the plush of your bottom lip with a devious grin. Sliding his hands under your thighs, he hoists you up with him as he stands to walk the pair of you to the long side of the bed. “Why don’t we get rid of this,” he suggests, tilting his chin down at your dress, “so Daddy can get a good look at his sugar baby all dressed up.”
He lets you down on your feet and you happily oblige his request, sliding the dress off your curves and tossing it in the direction of his clothes. The heat of his gaze as it rakes down your body is enough to brand your skin and reignite the coals flickering in your core. Brushing your hands over your tits and waist, you admire how the red lingerie flatters your form—as well as the effect it has on Boba.
“Well,” you drawl slow and saccharine, batting your lashes, “if I’m not getting out of this terrible debt, I suppose I might as well enjoy it like you said.” As you echo his previous words, you sink back onto the bed behind you, spreading your legs wide. As one hand traces over your nipple peeking through the lace, your other one follows Boba’s hungry eyes down to the wetness staining your panties.
Your fingers dip under the damp fabric and swipe through the copious amount of slick coating your folds before coming up to breach the seam of your lips. “You make me so fucking wet, Daddy…” you moan, hollowing your cheeks, you softly moan as you suck the tang from your digit. Trailing your spit-cleaned fingers down your chin back towards your cunt, you simper up at him. “Wanna taste?”
Boba groans, his slitted gaze trained on your mouth as he smears pearled precum over his stiff length. “Oh, sweetheart, there’s a lot of things I want from you.” He enters your space, taking your jaw into his large hand. “Like this hot little mouth, for starters.”
Humming and blinking big blowjob eyes at your boyfriend, you grin and stick your tongue all the way out, tilting your head back for full effect. The air whooshes from Boba’s lungs in a debauched sound and the muscle in his neck twinges as his jaw clenches. “Such a sweet little angel when she wants to be…” he murmurs under his breath, almost to himself, collecting a leaking drop on his thumb to deposit on your waiting tongue.
The salty taste of him has the coil of your release forming in your belly once again, salacious and hot. You lean forward to lap up more of his delicious taste, alternating between kitten licks and suckling at his tip while Boba continues to pump his shaft. Being the greedy little thing that you are you soon become unsatisfied with what small bit he’s allowing you—so you ask for more.
“Please, I want more,” you whine with a pout, “I want all of it.”
“Careful what you wish for, princess.”
You were, in fact, not careful for what you wished for and quickly became quite the little mess. Ravaged and ruined, and spoiled by the enjoyment of his cock down your throat as he clasped a diamond necklace around your neck. Your knees are now raw, hair wild, and your makeup is running down your cheeks. You’re a complete wreck.
You fucking love it.
Boba is standing over your kneeled form, gloriously naked and slowly stroking his dick that’s lubricated by a generous coating of your saliva. The dark look in his brown eyes and viperous grin send a shiver of arousal down your spine. “This is all you’re fucking good for isn’t it, sweetheart, spending my money and sucking my cock? Kriff, I think you like being a little slut as long as it gets you what you want.”
You blink up at Boba’s broad frame through clumped lashes. “Well, what can I say? We are living in a material world and I am a material girl,” you grin with puckish charm. You shimmy your shoulders just enough so that your tits jiggle and the light catches the trails of spit that have begun to dry on your neck and chest. You’d long given up your innocent act for your usual bratty self.
Boba huffs in amusement, rolling his eyes. “Do the jokes cost me extra?”
“Seeing how your dick’s not in me,” you reply blithely, “they absolutely do.”
You don’t even have time to pout before he snatches your face up in a tight grip, his thumb and fingers digging deep into your cheeks. “You really are a greedy little thing,” he chuckles, turning your head from side to side to appreciate the way the jeweled necklace sitting on your chest glitters in the low light. Hot arousal streaks through you, leaving shimmering trails of lust in your veins.
You try to shake off his hand but he only pushes his fingers in father. “There’s only one thing to do with greedy brats… you know what that is, sweetheart?” he asks with poisonous condescension. You glower up at him, unable to speak through his grip. “It’s to fuck it right out of them. You want more? I’ll give you more. I’ll give it to you until you’re begging and crying for me to stop, and then you know what?” Boba crouches down, resting his warm cheek against your burning one to hiss into your ear. “I’ll stuff those pretty panties in your mouth and keep going.”
The strangled groan that sounds in your throat is unlike anything you’ve ever made as you push out your chest to get closer to him. You’d give anything for him to fulfill that threat of promise because when he gets like this, it means you’re getting the fucking of a lifetime. Watching Boba as he fucks you is a treat in of itself, but witnessing that galaxy-stopping moment where he slips into that all-powerful, unshakable dom state? A truly indescribable delicacy.
Boba releases your jaw, yanking you up by your shoulders and roughly shoving you back on the bed. “You really are a dirty little whore,” he sneers, his lips quirking to a self-satisfied smirk, “begging for me fuck you to tears while you taste yourself. You’re lucky I’m in such a generous mood, princess, because you are absolutely ruined for anyone else.”
And the Maker knows it's true. “Daddy,” you whine, opening your legs wide in invitation, “please, I want you inside me so bad, please fuck me!” Boba likes to hear you beg and you’re all too happy to do it when it gets you what you so desperately want.
He looms over to you, his shoulders set and his eyes glinting dark with desire. “You finally learned some manners, have you? Figured out good little girls get more of Daddy’s money than bad ones?” He’s toying with you now. You both know what you really want: to have him filling you up over and over on a pile of the money he has stacked neatly on the nightstand where he left it.
Truthfully, you’d do anything he asked at this point anyway—all this sugar daddy play has you step away from selling your soul just for a single stroke of his thick, perfect cock. You suppose it wouldn’t kill you to stroke his ego a little more if it speeds the process along. “Oh yes, sir, I’ve got it all figured out,” you answer agreeably, a picture of sweet submission, “I’ll be so, so good if you fuck me, I promise.”
“I bet you will, sweetheart,” he chuckles with a glint of mischief, “now that Daddy’s got you so well trained.” He’s testing you, seeing if you can keep up your obedient act, his dark eyes sparkling in challenge. When you swallow back your snarky response for a genteel smile, he relents. “Go put the heels back on and crawl back to me,” he commands, scooping up the stack of bills.
Scalding heat flashes through your body to settle between your thighs at his order, mixing with the excitement of finally having him inside your aching cunt. You jump up and eagerly hurry around the other side of the bed where you’d shed your shoes earlier. After slipping them back on your feet, you settle onto all fours and make your way across the expanse of the large bed, keeping your lust-dark eyes fixed on his own.
The luxe bedding pools coolly between your fingers, the raw skin of your knees skimming pleasantly over the material; when you reach him, he caresses your face in a moment of tender affection. Before you can lean too far into his warmth, however, it’s over: he yanks down your bra and stuffs wads of bills into it. Wasting no time, he spins you around to continue slipping money under the edges of your lingerie, layering in a few bright slaps to your ass as he covers you in his paper wealth.
Your ears and cheeks are aflame by just how fucking dirty he’s treating you: like you’re a set of holes to be bought. It sets off a goddamn waterfall between your legs and you know he can see the slick starting to spill down your thigh—Boba Fett has corrupted you totally and completely, and kark if you couldn’t be more grateful for it.
“Look at you,” he goads, shoving a hand between your shoulder blades to force your front down and ass up, “such a greedy little whore, fucking dripping from just a bit of Daddy’s money.” He’s begging to be tested, pushing and prodding you for a reaction. Boba likes your submission, yes, but he wants to earn it, wrestle it out of you. He craves a challenge and you’re his favorite one, his perfect, bratty little match.
He slaps the blunt head of his cock against your ass and notches himself at your entrance. Just as he’s about to push in to feel that first bit of your sinful heat, you bow up your back so he slips out. “Ah ah ah,” you crane over your shoulder, smirking up at his genuine look of surprise, “I might be a whore but I’m not a cheap one. Don’t think that just because you can lay down some good dick that I’m going to give you a discount on this million dollar pussy. Finish paying up, old man.”
Boba grins like the devil, barking a sharp laugh. “Fuck, you’re so in for it, little girl. You and that kriffing attitude.”
You wink, jiggling your ass just out of his dick’s reach. “Aww, I know you like it when I misbehave, that’s why I do it just for you, Daddy,” you tease in a sing-song voice.
“I know it’s just for me, naughty princess, ‘cause no one else is ever gonna treat you this good or fuck you like I can.” Boba starts thumbing bills off his stack so they flutter and twirl like autumn leaves, landing around you. “So tell me when I get to enough, sweetheart.”
Biting down hard on your lip, you let the hundreds fall for a couple seconds until you can’t stand to be empty of him any longer. “That’s a start, but don’t get stingy on me.”
“Behave and take my cock like a good little princess and I won’t,” he retorts smugly. Tugging your hips back flush against the furnace of his skin, he smooths a roughened hand up your spine to massage your neck. Then, more gently, he requests, “Tell me what you do to make things stop, babygirl.”
“Kamino or three taps anywhere,” you answer dutifully, doing your best not to wriggle and grind against him while he checks in, your desire to have him inside you just barely kept in check.
Pleased, Boba hums and places a quick kiss to your shoulder blade. “Good girl. Because I’m not stopping for anything else, not when… fuck, when I can smell how much you want it.” Grinding against your thigh, he fills his hands with the globes of your ass. “Now, let Daddy see his pussy.”
How can you deny him when his voice is pure honey, sinful and spiced with everything you could possibly dream of? Sliding forward and widening your knees, you put yourself on full display for him, arching your back in a seductive curve. You’re rewarded with a deep, throaty groan from your professor and two quick slaps across both your cheeks that quickly dissolve into tingling pleasure.
Pulling your ruined panties to the side, Boba groans again. “You’re so beautiful, so perfect…” he traces your curves reverently, bending to lavish pious kisses your dimples of Venus. “Fuck, I’m gonna tear this little pussy up... I'm gonna do it just how you like it,” he promises, his deep voice scraped with desire.
Your response is snatched from your throat when he enters your dripping heat a second later. Gasping and cursing at the sheer girth of him splitting you open with each rut of his hips, you bury your face into the duvet, your eyes rolling back into your head. The sinful stretch burns you from the inside out in the most gut-clenching, obscenely delicious way that all you can do is moan into the mattress. By the faint sounds making it through the thick haze of pleasure fogging your brain, it sounds like Boba is fairing about the same as you are.
“Fucking kark,” he pants through gritted teeth, “Always s-so tight and wet.” He snaps his hips in the final way, making you both exclaim in pleasure; it feels like he’s throbbing in your damn throat. “Ready, pretty baby?”
Turning your head so he can hear you, your response comes out as a desperate warble. “More, please, more, you feel so fucking good!”
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart, Daddy’s gonna spoil his little princess, gonna fuck her full of his cum just how she likes.” His free hand grips your opposite hip so he can pull you back into the roll of his thrusts. “‘Cause that’s what you really want, isn’t it? To be so full of me that you can’t take a single step without remembering who owns this pussy, who takes care of you and makes you feel this fucking good?”
You’re already losing your mind, all the build up of your fantasy and your extreme angle making it so his tip is kissing that perfect spot deep inside you already. Throwing a hand behind you, you curl your fingers into the bouncing flesh of your ass to spread yourself farther, desperate for more of him deeper, faster, harder. You feel the feather-light touch of more money brushing your skin as it rains down on your back, making the well of desire inside you roil and churn as you bear down on him. “W-wanna see, wanna see… please,” you beg, unable to form any more of the necessary words, your brain melting from the blood boiling in your veins.
“Does my little girl want to watch Daddy’s money while he fucks her? Hmm? Tell me.”
Part of you wants to continue bratting, summon the last of your strength from some hidden cavern within you to bite back at him, come up with some scalding quip to throw in his face. A larger part of you, however, wants to delight in everything his dominance has to offer, revel in the way Boba can fuck and make love at the same time. “Yes, sir, please, sir!”
You’re on your back, legs over his shoulders, with his dick sinking back into you before you even fully register him pulling out. He gives your clit a few sharp smacks with the remainder of the cash in his hand before he starts flicking it out over you again, making you cry out in ecstasy. “Aw, you like this, sweet girl? You like how I treat my pretty princess?”
You’re already on pleasure’s cusp, waiting to ascend into its unholy heavens when he leans forward to hear your answer, hitting your g-spot perfectly and making your insides bloom with the heat of release. “Oooohh fuck yes, r-right there!” you cry, throwing your head back into the downy mattress, “Please don’t stop, t-this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me!”
“Not yet it’s not,” Boba chuffs between grunts, reaching over to the bedside table. Before you can utter the first sound of protest or question, Boba slings the rest of the bills onto your heaving chest and stuffs his wallet back into your open mouth. Your pleasure snaps so tight at the familiar taste of the leather that you scream around the makeshift gag. He immediately starts rubbing wet, slippery circles on your clit. “That’s it, this is what’s gonna make you come, isn’t it, pretty baby?”
Time slows down, or maybe even stops, stretching out into oblivion on either side of you, divided by this infernal ecstasy Boba is pounding into soul. Tears of pleasure spill out of the corners of your eyes and you can’t seem to catch your breath before his thrusts force it from your lungs again; all you can do is moan some semblance of a response around his wallet and take him deeper into your waiting walls.
That’s when it happens, that subtle shift that brings Boba into that raw, glorious version of himself where he is the master of your twin universes, all-powerful and all-mighty. It’s in the set of his jaw, the snap of hips, and the inky depths of his eyes that it happens, where your energies fall into flawless, seraphic balance. You become two halves of the same whole as he gives and you take, as he pushes and you pull in unspoken harmony. You’ve never had a religious experience, but at the risk of blasphemy, you think this is what one must feel like.
Where else would the divine exist except at the meeting of two souls?
You’re blubbering what you can of his name over and over as your one and only prayer, knowing that your devotion would reap all that it sowed. It’s so much, it’s all so terribly, perfectly much: the pressed open stretch of your ankles over his shoulders, the impossible fullness of his cock inside you, the force of his powerful hips—you need something to hold you against his unrelenting tide. Releasing the sheets, you throw your right hand over your head, curling and uncurling it to tell Boba you wanted his hand in yours.
“I got you, cyare, I got you,” he assures between ragged pants, leaning down to redistribute his weight to interlace his fingers with yours. He shoves his other hand under your hips to adjust your angle and you arch up with a cry when he hits that spot dead on. You know he can feel it too, his eyes screwing shut against the overwhelming pleasure. “Fuck, baby, you feel s-so good, you’re taking me so well. I-I know you’re close, beautiful. Spoil Daddy and come for me… strangle my cock w-with that perfect cunt. Come on, sweetheart, l-let go and let me feel you.”
You’d do anything for him, anything: fight off his many demons, kiss away all his pain, and protect his heart until your dying breath. Coming on his perfect dick when he sucked your nipple between his teeth was the least you could do, right after being his little angel who took every last drop of his cum when he pumped it into you a few bruising thrusts later. Rutting and cursing, Boba rides out both your orgasms, prolonging your combined pleasure until his muscled arms begin to shake with the effort of holding both you and him up.
Blissed out and impossibly, wonderfully content, you enjoy watching how Boba’s dark eyebrows knit together and how his pretty lips form around his little pants as he comes down from his high. When his eyes finally flutter open again, they’re the luscious color of exotic wood polished and shining in the tropical sun—he’s so beautiful all you can do is stare and appreciate the wonder that is Professor Boba Fett.
Gazing lovingly down at you, Boba smiles softly and removes his wallet from your mouth so he can sprinkle sparkling kisses all over your face. “My beautiful, perfect girl,” he coos between the brushes of his lips on your skin, “my sweet, precious babygirl.” Without pulling out, he rolls the two of you over so you’re resting on his chest, your arms wrapped around his neck and your head tucked under his chin.
You slowly come back to your senses together, wrapped in one another’s warmth, easy and unhurried. Saving your post-scene debrief for your bath later, you lazily trace over the ink decorating Boba’s chest, over the slopes and planes of his pectorals and ribs, while he massages your back and shoulders. Much to your dismay, he has to slide out of you so you can sit up and drink some water; he just feels so good, so right inside your velvet walls that you never want him to leave you empty.
Setting down your water bottle after draining its cool contents, you pick up one of the hundreds scattered around the bed, now curious in your orgasmic glow. Holding it up to the light, you curse and sit up when you see the watermark through it. “Kriffing kark! Are all these real?!” you exclaim, shocked at your discovery. You hadn’t dwelled on the details during your romp in the sheets, but now that you're more clear headed, it dawns on you just how much money is in your presence.
Boba watches with open amusement as you repeat your test a few more times to find that the other hundreds in your reach are indeed genuine. “Why wouldn’t they be?” he questions with an impish smile, “I only get the best for my babygirl.” He’s smirking, doing his best to stifle a laugh at your obvious amazement.
Smug, wonderful, sexy bastard, you grumble to yourself, shoving at his shoulder. “Quit laughing at me and get in the bathroom, old man,” you order with mock annoyance, “I’m sucking your dick as soon as you can get it up again, and maybe even before then if you’re lucky.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, still chuckling as he swings his legs off the bed. “Order us some room service and I’ll be all ready for you to choke on.” He winks and you roll your eyes as you head towards the room phone. “Oh, and say whatever you want, princess,” he throws over his shoulder, “but no one's ever made you wetter or come harder than this old man.”
Damn if it’s not true, you think with a shrug and a smile—not that you’re going to tell him that, not yet anyways. Looking over the menu placed next to the handset, a warm feeling of contentment washes over you pleasantly, like sunny waves lapping at your mind’s shore. Fucked, filled, and happy with the man of your dreams, you can’t imagine it gets better than this.
MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS
cyare - beloved, love
<Part V
#i have no shame#i want to be this mans mf princess#zwei writes#fanfic#ex libris fic#boba fett#boba fett x reader#boba fett x f!reader#boba fett x fem!reader#boba fett x you#boba fett fanfic#boba fett smut#boba fett fanfiction#professor!boba fett#professor boba fett#professor au#star wars fanfiction
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