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maybege · 6 hours ago

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My reaction exactly! Thank you so much for reading and reblogging! 🫶

Hi! I’d like to request #399: I just wanna fuck away the pain

With Boba, hehe thanks!

Trial and Error - Part 2

Summary: Boba comes back to the office after a surveillance mission gone wrong only to be confronted by the last (or first) person he wants to see. (Part 2 of Trial and Error)

Pairing: private investigator!Boba Fett x fem!assistant!Reader

Wordcount: 4.6k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, inexperienced!Reader, daddy kink, age gap, older man/younger woman, boss/employee, thigh riding, slight dirty talk incl some degradation

Prompts: #127 “Are you trying to turn me on or are you really that oblivious?” + #399 “I just wanna fuck away the pain.” + #145 “Come here, you can sit on my lap till I'm done working.” (sent in by anonymous, @crystalessences and @kakashibabe02)

First of all, thank you for sending in these prompts! and sorry for taking over 3 years to get to them.

PI!Boba has me in a chokehold and so I have decided to actually venture into a mini series with this particular AU – and this is part 2! It’s going to be about 4/5-ish parts I think and I am very excited about this. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Please do let me know what you thought in a comment or a reblog, that is the best part of sharing 🥰

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

He smelled of smoke, cigarettes and burned tires. And he couldn’t care less.

Boba Fett had been in his profession too long to care about things like stained clothes, strange smells or a bloody nose. At the end of the day, he was just happy to unlock the door to his apartment and fall back into his chair, pour himself a scotch and enjoy the silence after a day of surveillance.

Though the side effect of this particular bloody nose was that he only made it to his office before he decided even his car could not take this many blood stains. They were too fucking hard to get out and the guys at the garage could only give him the friends & family discount so many times before they made a loss.

The streets were dark as he rummaged through is pants in search for his key and he could hear a few cars race past. Everything was thrumming in pain and his annoyance grew when he spotted another blood stain on his coat. This one was his favourite.

Still, there was no way he was too distracted by the blood that ran down his nose and chin not to notice that he only had to turn the key once before the door unlocked. A chill ran down his spine and he straightened up, completely on alert.

Had you not locked up after you left?

The curtains were drawn shut and there was no way he could get a good look inside before he was past the threshold. Reaching one hand to his gun, he slowly – quietly – pushed the door open.

Only to be faced with the sight worse than an intruder.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Oh, my stars,” you gasped, looking up from the monitor. The office was completely dark around you, only the computer screen lit up everything with a blue tint. His eyes fell to the desk lamp. You had mentioned a few days ago that it was broken. He stupidly hadn’t fixed it with the hope that you would simply only ever come to work when it was light out.

Yet here you were, in a room way too dark for you, looking at him with shock written all over your face as you took in his bloodied appearance. “Boba, are you okay?”

Pain and guilt mixed into something acidic in his chest and he slammed the door shut. The lock slipped under his bloody fingers and he growled, gripping it tighter so he could turn it. At least now, you wouldn’t be in danger of anyone deciding to just see whether you kept any cash in the office.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he grunted when he turned back to you, “It’s four in the morning, what are you doing here? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?”

“Considering this this the second time you remind me, yes, I am aware,” you snapped back, shifting in your seat, “And, uh, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

That stopped him dead in his tracks.

You wanted to make sure he was okay. You were … concerned for him, maybe.

He could not remember the last time somebody was concerned for his safety. Paz, maybe. He sometimes sent a text, checking up on his old army buddy. But it was usually followed by a request of the professional kind. Not that Boba didn’t do the same thing,

He wasn’t used to this. Especially not from his sweet secretary that he wanted to do some not-so-sweet things to that he spent many hours a day trying to forget about.

“Oh,” he said dumbly, deciding the best plan of action would be to just go into his office. He didn’t have the energy for this.

But of course, you followed him. You always followed. “Boba, what is going on?”

At this point, it should no longer come as a surprise to him that your presence alone drove him crazy. He was a grown man, he should be able to articulate his feelings. But as he sat down in his office chair all he could remember was the sight of you spread out for him, calling him Daddy as he ate you out. Your taste still lingered on his tongue if he thought about it.

That was weeks ago, though, and time changed things.

“What's going on is that fucking Mr Palmer caught me snooping,” he grunted, opening drawer after drawer in the search of that one first aid kit he had bought a few years ago. He should make a note to put some of his stuff here, “Then I come back to my office for some peace and quiet only to be assaulted by my assistant who cannot mind her own fucking business.”

“You don’t mean that.”

His hands closed around the old metal case just as he looked up, finding the hurt in your eyes and immediately having it reflected in his chest.

“I don’t,” his shoulders sagged, “Fuck, I am sorry, princess. That was uncalled for.”

You were quiet, “I accept your apology,” then, just as quiet, “You haven’t called me that in a long time.”

“What?” he asked, furrowing his brows in confusion, “Princess?”

“Yeah,” he could see you swallow, “The last time was …”

“I remember the last time.”

It had been that day. He had asked you whether you needed a ride home (you always took the train or the bus even though they weren’t the safest, especially late in the day). “Need a ride, princess?” he has asked, leaning against the door way with a smirk.

And you had flinched so hard, there was no way he could have missed it. And when you had turned around, there was a look on your face he could never forget, no matter how much Scotch he consumed. It was regret. Fear. Anxiety.

Like you were scared of him.

You had only shaken your head and he had accepted it with a nod. The knot that formed in his stomach had remained there ever since.

It was clear as day that you had regretted your encounter and so he did everything he could to be the most professionally distanced boss he could be. He rarely came into the office. He always announced himself when he came into a room you were in. He mostly communicated via email.

And he never, ever, called you a pet name again.

“Let me help.”

“No.”

“Please, you can barely see you’re so full of blood.”

You were not wrong and there were only so many times he could resist you asking for something. He nodded, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes for just a minute.

“Take all that off,” you instructed him from the corner in the room, “You look filthy and you still have your gym bag out front.”

He could hear you make your way to the other room and took a glimpse, just to make sure. Indeed, you were bending down at your waist, your perfect ass highlighted in the tight skirt, rummaging through the bag he had forgotten last time.

Doing as he was told, he shed his coat, vest and the dress shirt, throwing them on a pile by the desk. He could take them to the cleaners tomorrow.

You returned with his gym shirt, kitchen towels, and that special bottle of scotch tucked under your arm. He watched in silence as you set it down before grabbing a clean glass from the shelf and pouring him a finger-high shot.

“Just the one,” you told him and his mouth quirked up at you trying to be stern, “I’m going to get us a bowl of water and then we’re good to go.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The burn of alcohol was a familiar feeling and he closed his eyes. If it weren’t for the cuts and bruises, he’d long for a cigar just about now. And you in his lap.

Moist kitchen towels were the first thing that touched his skin. The water was cool and she shivered, his whole chest rippling and he could see the way your eyes drifted lower. But neither of you acknowledged it. Towel after towel was used to clean him up and by the fifth pass over his temple (this time with a dry one, dabbing up any moisture), he allowed himself to relax into your touch.

“So, Mr Parker, huh?”

“Mr Parker, indeed,” he confirmed, his eyes still closed, “He looks worse than me, though, don’t worry.”

The sting of the disinfectant made him hiss but he did not shy away from your gentle touch. Not when it brushed over the cut on his temple, not when it pressed to the wound on his crooked nose, and certainly not when you cupped his jaw as you carefully covered the bruise there. “I always worry,” you admitted quietly, “Mrs Parker warned you that he could be violent and you didn’t … why didn’t you take Paz?”

“Paz is busy,” he grunted, “Off on a witness protection assignment.”

“I see,” you replied and he could hear you opening the bandages, “Do you think the butterfly bandage would suffice for your temple? I – I don’t usually do … this.”

“Should be good enough,” he confirmed. He opened his eyes and allowed himself to take you in. For some reason, you had switched out your colourful wardrobe for something that – and he truly could not find a better comparison – looked like it came out of an erotic thriller production from the 90s. Your dresses had gotten tight, your necklines lower, your hemlines higher. You wore heels now, impractical things that made your ass stand out even more.

You looked hot, you always did, but there was something different about you. Like you had put on a costume.

He didn’t like it.

“If it opens back up again I’ll stitch it up at home.”

“At home?” you echoed, clearly displeased, “You should go to a doctor then, Boba. And have him take a look at your nose while you’re at it,” you handed him a cool kitchen towel, “Put this on it. Maybe it can help with the swelling?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he joked.

This was not the first (or second) time he had a bruised nose. But he was not about to tell you that when it kept you touching him like this.

Your hands paused and his smile fell as the anger at himself hit him like a freight truck. He had gone too far again. He had crossed a line (again) and made you feel uncomfortable. For fuck’s sake why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut for once?

“I liked it better when you called me princess,” you whispered, before placing the bandage on the cut, your fingers lingering to make sure it remained in place, “Why … why did you stop?”

That had him look up again. Something akin to hope fluttered in his chest and he tried to keep it down.

“You really don’t know?” he looked at you in confusion, meeting your own puzzled gaze as you stared at each other and the realization sunk in that maybe … maybe this silence had been for nothing. Maybe you didn’t want him to keep his distance.

“I just … I am sorry,” you blurted out, your words blurring together as you rushed out what must have been your secret thoughts for the past few weeks, “I know I shouldn’t have looked it up. This … this is a professional establishment and no matter what happened between us, or what I want to happen between us, it doesn’t excuse that I acted completely unprofessional. I was just so confused because it never happened to me before and it was just one time, I promise, I would never – I mean, I did – but I will never behave like that again. I promise. Just – don’t fire me please? I love this job and I love y- working with you and writing and this is the first time in ages I feel like I have found my place in the world and –“

“Princess,” he gripped your chin between his fingers, searching your eyes for any kind of explanation, “I couldn’t be more confused if I wanted to be. What the hell are you talking about?”

“About … well, the thing I was looking at,” you muttered, looking just as confused as him, “The, uh, the thing you caught me looking at a few weeks ago? When you offered me the ride home?”

Forgotten were the bruises on his face, the pounding in his head or his split knuckles. All he could think about in this glass-shattering moment was that you weren’t scared of him. You didn’t –

“I thought you regretted it,” he explained, plain and simple, “I never saw the thing you think I saw. I just saw you being scared of me and I – I didn’t want to cross anymore lines if it made you feel unsafe.”

Now it was your turn to look completely dumbstruck. “What?”

You fell back, half sitting half leaning against the edge of his desk as you looked at him. “You thought,” you swallowed thickly, your voice sounding faint, “You thought I didn’t want you.”

“That’s right, princess,” he couldn’t hold back the pet name anymore and when you didn’t flinch, his heart felt a little bit lighter. “I thought you regretted being with me.”

“But I – oh no!” you exclaimed, looking absolutely horrified and if he weren’t so relieved, he would have laughed at your comical expression. “And I thought. I thought maybe you were tired of me or – or wanted me to be a bit more … you know. Sexy?”

Boba leaned back, his hand reaching out to brush your knee, finally acknowledging what he had tried to ignore for so long. "Is that why you are trying to turn me on every time I’m in here or are you really that oblivious?"

Your fidgeting fingers froze in front of you as you stared at him. This night kept having surprise after surprise ins tore for you. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” he tilted his head, eyeing you up and down, “Greeting me every morning with your tights skirts and your tits swinging in my face and pushing your ass against me like it doesn’t get me hard.”

You paused, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks. “I – I didn’t think you noticed. You never did anything about it.”

He let out a raspy laugh, wincing when it pulled on the cut on his jaw, “If I ever not notice, consider me dead.”

“Can you say again that you are not mad at me?” you asked, too scared to look at him, “Please?”

His big hand closed over yours and you watched as he gently coaxed it open before he could entwine his fingers with yours. “I am not mad at you,” he repeated softly, “I never was. I was just … I was an old man who didn't want to make you uncomfortable after that whole thing with Dreks. You looked so scared when I offered you a ride, I thought …” he paused, his brows furrowing, “I thought you regretted it. And I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation.”

The relief you felt was instant and you squeezed his hand, your heart clenching at the sight of his split knuckles. You didn’t like knowing that he was hurting. But it also made him look dangerous, like he could no longer hide his true strength behind charming smiles and stern frowns.

And you so loved both of them.

There was no hiding the smile when he pulled you into his lap until you were settled sideways against him. With your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your middle, you felt the stress and tension from the past few weeks slowly melting away from you.

“I thought I was too weird for you,” you confessed your nose brushing against his, “With the whole… thing.”

His eyebrow rose, “What thing? What were you looking at that had you all scared, hm?”

“Not scared,” you corrected him, squirming in his lap, “It was – well, it was about this thing we talked about. The thing we did.”

“What thing?” he asked you and you knew he must take joy in torturing you so. Your suspicion was confirmedd when he chuckled against your ear, softly kissing your neck.

“C’mon, princess. Use your words and tell daddy what you were thinking about,” you gasped as he playfully bit at your collarbone, “Was it when I had you on your knees? All content to just rest against my leg and suck my cock? Or was it when I was between your legs? Making you tremble just with my tongue on that little pussy of yours, hm?”

“Boba,” you gasped, opening your legs for him when his hand started to brush up and down your thigh.

“Tell me,” he repeated calmly, his lips still against your skin, “Tell me what you want and I'll tell you what I want. That sounds like a fair deal, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, biting your lip when his hand crept higher and higher until his fingers could brush over the wet patch on your panties. “’m not gonna finger you with my bruised-up hands,” he muttered, “But stars do I want to.”

“It was about the daddy thing,” you blurted out just as his fingers pressed on your clit over the cotton, “It was – oh! – I just googled it, I didn’t, didn’t know if it was normal and I thought maybe the internet would know.” Your head fell against his strong shoulder when his fingers circled your clit again, “I just wanted to be sure you didn’t think I was weird.”

Boba’s ministrations did not pause but there was a gentleness to his touch now as he gripped your hip and circled your clit over and over again until you were bucking your hips.

“I would never think you weird, little one,” he assured you, his mouth brushing over your neck. “Was it a surprise? Yes. But one that I could not stop thinking about ever since I heard you use that word. You, princess, are a dream come true and every time I get to touch you and show you all new kinds of pleasures? That is what I live for.”

Your heart was racing so fast, it was in serious competition with your anxious thoughts. You did not like this sensation, caught between your own anxiety and physical discomfort caused by it and the pleasure Boba was stroking out of you. It was like you were torn in two, your head and body fighting against each other.

“Take a deep breath for me, princess,” Boba’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, “And just let yourself feel. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to feel pleasure and I want to give you pleasure. There is nothing weird about what you want or don’t want, okay?”

You gave a shallow nod, forcing your anxieties away. Tomorrow would give you enough time to spiral all over again.

"Now you want to know what I want to do?” he nipped at your jaw just as the pressure on your clit went away and you raised your hips in an attempt to chase his touch, “I just wanna fuck away the pain. I want nothing more than to bury my thick cock in your tight little pussy until all I can think about is how pretty you look with my come running down your thighs. Forget about the nose, forget about that cut on my brow, or how my jaw is going to lock up tonight. All I want,” his hand returned to your core, his palm pressing flat against the wet fabric, “is to feel you wrap around me.”

His words were like magic in your ears and you moaned, arching into his touch. “Daddy, please,” you begged, “Please, I need …”

Before you could blink, he had you turned around, one large hand gripping your leg and guiding it between his, making you straddle his thigh.

“Fuck,” he grunted in your ear, “I can already feel you soaking my pants, little one. Someone’s needy, hm?”

“Just for you,” you confirmed, throwing all caution in the wind when you kissed him. You would love to say that his encouraging words already had an effect on you and allowed you to be brave and go after the things you wanted. The truth was you were so horny you felt like if you didn’t touch him, you would die.

And kissing was a great way to touch him. Your fingers were gentle on his skin, barely touching him for fear of causing him any more pain. But Boba did not share that same fear. One hand was tight on your hip, guiding you on his flexing thigh, while the other cupped your jaw. His mouth opened against yours, swallowing your gasps and moans as his tongue brushed yours.

Shivers ran down your spine and you were so thankful for the stretchy fabric of your dress riding up until it was gathered around your hips. It allowed you to fully settle on him, the pressure on your pussy the exact friction you needed, and you didn’t think there was any way you could feel better than you did.

And then he moved you.

It was just a bounce of his leg, at first, that had your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping them so tightly your knuckles strained. But that clearly did not deter him. If anything, your shuddering breaths seemed to turn him on.

Both his hands were on your hips then, moving you again and again until your body picked up the rhythm on your own. “Boba,” you gasped, tilting your body just so that your clit was pressed against the hard planes of his leg.

“Good girl,” he praised you, his eyes dark and heavy, “Fucking gorgeous the way you move for me.”

His words weren’t that dirty, you knew that. But they still made your cheeks flush and your teeth dig into your bottom lip. You had never felt so seen and so watched and so desired at the same time. You didn’t know what you wanted to focus on most, on touching him, on him touching you or the way he watched you like you were the only thing in the world.

“Don’t stop moving,” he commanded, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, “I’m not going to fuck you today. Not like this, princess. But you know I am going to take good care of you anyway, don’t you?”

The disappointment his words caused in you, surprised you. You hadn’t expected to really want to sleep with him – or anyone, really – which meant that said disappointment was also mixed with a little bit of relief. Like his works confirmed that there really were no expectations. That you could enjoy the moment just as it was.

“Yeah?” he teased you, nipping at your earlobe as his hips moved, and you swallowed when you felt the heat of his erection against your thigh.

“Yeah,” you nodded breathlessly, kissing him again, “I know.”

“Good,” he rumbled, pushing you harder against him and it was exactly what you needed, the pleasure climbing higher and higher, “I want you to ride my thigh until you come. I want to have a wet patch on my pants from where you came so hard you drenched those pretty panties of yours.”

“Boba,” you gasped, your hips twitching as you felt yourself get so close you could cry from frustration.

“That’s not what you call me now, is it?” he chuckled, his teeth brushing over your lobe, “You know what to call me.”

“Daddy.”

“There we go,” his fingers squeezed your hips even harder, “Come for me, darlin’. Pretend you’re riding my cock, being all stretched out, hm? Let go. I got you.”

The pleasure came in waves and you found that you could prolong them if you just kept as close to him as possible, Boba’s big hands pushing you down against his thigh so that each twitch of your hips caused you to whimper against his chest.

One thing you had not anticipated when you started this journey was that the pleasure-part of the orgasm was great, sure. It made you feel all fuzzy and your entire body felt alive. But the even better part was the calm that washed over you afterwards.

You felt light and sleepy, your head finally quiet for the first time in way too many days. You were perfectly content as you let yourself rest against his chest. Warm arms wrapped around you and you turned your head to him, your nose brushing against his neck, breathing in his scent.

He was so warm.

Sleep had taken almost completely over by the time your eyes shot wide open. Boba’s hand moved up and down your back, not pausing his movements even when you sat up.

“I, uh, should I take care of you?” you asked, glancing down to where he was still hard in his pants, his fly half undone and his undershirt ridden up to reveal a hairy trail disappearing into his briefs.

“No need,” his voice snapped you out of it “This was about you.”

“It should’ve been about you,” you pouted, raising your hand to trail your fingers over one of his cuts, “I really was worried, you know?”

“I didn’t,” he replied, catching your hand in his and resting it against his chest, “But I do now.”

There were more things to talk about, you knew that. But now was not the time. Now, you just wanted to stay here wrapped up with him while the world was asleep and no one and nothing could disturb you. And it seemed that Boba was content with it as well.

His finger tipped your chin up, slowly guiding you to him until he kissed you. The kiss was slow and unhurried but still sent pleasant shivers down your spine whenever he sucked on your bottom lip.

“I want you to teach me,” you asked against his lips, feeling exceptionally brave, “I don’t want to waste time trying to impress someone like Dreks. I want to try things with someone I trust. I want you to be my first. Can you do that? Can you teach me?”

The grin on his face was positively blinding and you squeaked when he squeezed your ass. “Yes, I’ll teach you anything you want to learn, princess.”

You had not expected him to say no. But him answering yes still came as a positive surprise that had your heart skipping a beat. There were a lot of things that could go wrong, you knew, and a whole other array of anxieties that could keep you awake at night.

But none of it mattered now when you could fall asleep in your boss’s arms. All that was a problem for tomorrow.

Speaking of …

“It’s almost morning,” you murmured, chancing a look outside where you could see the sky already turning lighter, “Do you want me to get us a coffee?”

“It is morning,” Boba said against your temple, not letting go of you, “But all I want you to do is catch up on some sleep, hm? Come here,” he pulled you closer and you could hear some papers rustling behind you, “you can sit on my lap till I'm done working.”

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