#boba fett is only soft for the reader

[rexxdjarin]

Julieeee I have not known peace since our conversation about whispering dirty things in public to Boba and just how much he loves it when you praise him.

Sitting on the throne with him? Tell him how the throne looks like it was made for him and how you want to get on your knees and make him feel like the king he is with his cock down your throat and tears in your eyes.

On his rounds with him? Tell him how fucking dangerous and strong he looks and how his presence alone in all that big bad beskar makes you soak through your panties and wish he'd bend you over the nearest flat surface to take what's his for everyone to see.

And then when it's just the two of you wrapped up in your bed at night, you can tell him how good and beautiful he is, how he's just and fair and that's a kindness not afforded to most people. That no matter what his past is, he chose to be a better man and overcome odds that would have killed a lesser person. You can whisper how you like his brown eyes, his warm skin, and strong hands, or how the sound of his voice is the only music you want to hear for the rest of your life. You can tell him all of that because in the sacred space of your shared bed, he can finally bare not just his body, but his soul.

Anyways that was way longer than I intended but what can I say, I am in love with (a sl*t for) Boba Fett.

ZWEI BC IDJDJW I CANT BREATHE BECAUSE LISTEN

Boba spends every waking second of his day thinking the filthiest thoughts about you. And so if you start whispering the same things in his ear while he’s working he’s gonna go fucking NUTS.

The picture of you on your knees sucking him off while he lounges on the throne is enough to make him practically suffocate. He literally fantasizes about it while various citizens come in and talk to him throughout the day. And it’s so painfully difficult to listen to their needs when he has some of his own that he desperately wants addressed. That salacious dark deviously sexy look in your eyes with his cock in your mouth is imprinted in his brain.

On his rounds he thinks about how your hips sway when you walk and how your ass bounces perfectly whenever you step. And while he’s watching where he’s going and overlooking his city on his daily walk through the streets, he can’t help but picture you pressed against the walls of every building in every alleyway. How your backside swallows him inside of you with every thrust and how much you wouldn’t even care if every person walking by heard the sounds he drew out of you, wouldn’t even care if people watched what he did to you. You were fucking dirty when you needed his attention and any time any place would do to satisfy your lust for him.

And then at night when he finally has you in bed to himself he’s got you all wrapped up in him. Your legs wrapped around his waist, silk sheets positioned just so to highlight your every curve and goosebump raising on your skin. Every lewd thought he pictured in his mind during the day, every whispered desire you filled his ears with while he tried to pay attention…it all culminates in you underneath him and him dragging out every ounce of pleasure he can from you. In his bed, in his refresher, against the walls, bent over his balcony overlooking the sunset in the dune sea…..he will make you feel how much he needed you all day. How much he fucking loves ending his day fulfilling his ultimate duty…..to prove how much he loves and values having you all to himself. He can be soft and loving and vulnerable with you and it still results in the raw, passionate fucking he loves. You like all of him, not just the man in charge. You like the soul inside too and that means more to him than ruling any planet ever could.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Say Yes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, heavy suggestive themes, protective!Boba, Mandalorian!Boba, light angst, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 2.5k

A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart riduur – partner / spouse “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows

“Marry me, cyar’ika.”

You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”

The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.

You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.

Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.

It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.

“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”

“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.

“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.

“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”

Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.

Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.

“Yes,” you lie.

Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”

Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.

“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”

“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”

Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.

And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.

“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.

“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”

Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.

The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.

You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.

“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.

Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.

“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are. “We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.

“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”

Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”

Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.

Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.

“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.

The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.

“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.

The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.

You scoff at female but decide to let it go.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.

The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.

When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.

By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.

Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.

Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.

On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.

“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.

You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.

Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”

Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.

You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.

His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.

“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.

The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.

“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”

The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.

That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.

“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.

The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.

“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”

You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of what will change.”

Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”

“Yes, but—”

Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.

“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.

Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.

“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”

Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.

We are one together.

Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.

You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

We share all.

This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.

We will raise warriors.

Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.

“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”

Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.

Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.

His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.

Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.

There is peace for a while.

Harmony.

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @kayden666 @cherryofdeath @enfppixie @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @beebeechaos

[daimyosprincess]

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.

[janghoefett]

Boba Fett is in love with you (and you're in love with him).

Boba Fett x gn!reader, all fluff but my work is always 18+

----------

He’s known for some time now.

Really, it had been true since the moment he saw you, but it was only just recently that Boba Fett came to terms with the fact that he loves you.

Like most things, it was something the bounty hunter kept closely guarded, even from you. No one had to know - no one had to know how important you were to him, that he would move mountains and kill anyone to keep you safe, that you mattered more to him than anyone or anything in the galaxy.

"I love you," he thought every time you kissed his lips.

"I love you," he thought every night, just as soon as you fell asleep in his arms.

"I love you," sat at the tip of his tongue every time you so much as smiled at him or looked at him with soft eyes.

On some days he would feel as if there were clear skies and warm sun shining above him, no matter if he were in his ship, on an ice planet, or any other corner of the galaxy that was not as lovely as you. On other days, he would convince himself that he had stayed with you for far too long, and that it was best to part ways before either of you got hurt.

But he could never bring himself to leave your side. It was those equal parts delight and terror that told him he was in love with you.

Boba Fett had a complicated history with love. He had loved his father - he still loved his father, despite coming to terms with all the man's flaws - but Boba's father never exactly set the precedent for showing affection. Love wasn't something you shared aloud; love was a weakness, something you experienced privately - maybe something you'd be persuaded to show with your actions, but never with your words.

There had been others before you, of course. Loves that had ended in tremendous disaster, mostly. But Boba Fett was not one to regret; he had learned something from all of them. And because of them, he was better for you.

And you were better than all of them.

You...

You had made a lost man so sure of where he needed to go.

Boba had just come very close to telling you his feelings. He was due to be leaving for two rotations on a difficult hunt and was silently debating with himself if now was the time to get the weight off his chest. Yes, perhaps that's what he needed to find some relief, or perhaps he wanted to tell you in case this hunt would be his last - but still he caught himself before saying anything he couldn't take back.

"Be careful," Boba told you instead, as if you were the one about to be seeking out a dangerous criminal. "I'll come back to you."

I'll come back to you always seemed to be as close as he got. You knew it was his way of saying he would be thinking of you, that he was acknowledging whatever you had between you as something that was important to him.

And every time you wondered if whatever magic you were feeling in your chest was being felt in his.

It was a rough hunt for Boba. You weighed heavily on his mind, despite his best efforts to focus on the job at hand. Still, he was the best at what he does, of course, and he got the job done - Boba Fett always got the job done - but there was something about this hunt that felt like he wouldn't be able to last another with this feeling in his chest.

As soon as you throw your arms around him when he walks through your door, he catches you and holds you close, pulling your face in close to mold his lips to yours.

I love you.

"Boba," you smile softly, your hands grazing across his stubble.

And with a knowing, vulnerable look in each of your eyes, Boba cups your face between his hands and kisses you softly. His eyes lock onto yours again and the air between you grows thin with the tension of all that had remained unspoken between you.

"I love you."

It had come tumbling from his mouth this time. Unplanned. Unprompted. But the words were straight from his soul.

With your heart racing, you pull him back to your lips and he deepens it quickly, unknowing if you had returned his sentiments, but burning with a desperate need to make you feel his love.

And while his words had first left you stunned, Boba's kiss had made everything real, leaving you no doubt that your heart was safe to give over.

"I love you!" you whisper through the widest smile.

Perhaps a love as true as this could be home.

[dindjarindiaries]

Bloodlust (Part Nine)

summary: You and Din return to Boba Fett’s palace and to your normal lives, adjusting to the new but pleasant change this job has given you.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: mild smut, strong language, fluff, sexual references, food & depictions of eating

rating: M

word count: 4.485k

masterlist ⟹ part one

You look up from where you’ve been tying off your boot to watch as Din puts on his last piece of beskar—aside from his helmet. He’s testing all the pieces now, gently rotating his vambraces and easing each weapon into its appropriate place. The smile tugging at your lips is instinctive, especially after going so long without seeing him in his armor.

Sure, it’s covering up a tempting view, but if you’re being honest with yourself, it’s just as alluring on its own. For a moment, you study his shoulder pauldron and remember his wound underneath it, but the memory of you wrapping it just an hour or so ago brings a wave of relief. Hopefully, the weight of the metal isn’t too much on the blaster burn.

Din catches your eye from the hold, the corners of his mouth also tugging upward in a smile as he makes his way over to you. His gloved hand rises to your chin as you remain seated in your chair. His sparkling brown gaze reflects the blue lights of hyperspace as he searches your eyes.

You speak up before he has the chance to. “You were right.”

Din lifts an eyebrow. “That’s nothing new.” The amusement in his tone makes you huff as the furrow in his brow becomes more serious. “But what did I get right this time?”

Your hand covers his vambrace and runs along the metal. You remain cautious, so as to not accidentally activate any weapons, and let your fingertips trace and dips and curves in the hand-crafted metal. “You’re just as beautiful with your beskar on.”

Din’s gaze softens, his cheeks turning a light shade of red. “Beautiful?” You hum and nod. Din shrugs and looks away, his jaw circling in shyness. “I… don’t remember saying that.”

“It was something along those lines.” You’re the one who reaches for his face now, and you hold it as you urge him to look at you again. “I added my own twist to it.”

Din’s gloved hands gently hold your wrists. “Yeah?”

You slowly blink at him and nod. “Yeah.”

One of Din’s hands slides to the back of your neck, urging the two of you closer together until his mouth’s on yours. The kiss is slow and passionate, taking its time as if the ship won’t drop out of hyperspace at any moment. He tilts your head back more to deepen it, his mouth feeling every inch of your own like he’s savoring it. You’re just as eager and hungry for him, knowing that once your ship’s on dry land, Din’s helmet will keep you from seeking what you’ve been able to have freely this past week.

The two of you only pull apart when your lungs begin to burn for air. Din’s forehead rests against your own, his eyes still closed as he chuckles to himself. “I remember now.” His voice is rough from his lack of air, but his tone is soft. “I thought I’d be bolder in my armor.” Din opens his eyes and raises his brow. “Turns out it’s you who’s bolder with my armor on.”

You shrug and laugh. “We’ll see once that helmet goes on.”

“Right.” Din lifts his head from yours, though the movement is slow, as if he’s pushing against an invisible force to separate himself from you. He finds the helmet that sits in the hold and tightens his jaw. “I never thought I’d want to keep it off.”

You find his gloved hands and thread your fingers through his. “Well, a lot’s changed in the past week.”

Din’s gaze finds yours again. He tilts his head and gives it a shake. “No, nothing’s changed.” He steps close enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “The truth’s just finally come out.”

You beam and shake your head in shyness. Din walks back towards the hold and you stand from your chair to follow him. He takes his helmet between his hands and faces you. His brown eyes instantly give you a once-over, and you do the same to yourself. The corners of your mouth curl up in a devious smile. “Really?”

Din blinks a few times, snapping himself out of a daze. “What?”

You cross your arms and shift your weight to one hip. “After all those revealing outfits I had to wear this week, and it’s my tactical gear that does it for you?”

Din tucks his helmet under one arm and raises his free hand towards you. “Hey.” He gestures to himself. “Did you not just do the same to me?”

You fight the urge to smile. “That’s different.”

Din chuckles. “No, cyar’ika, it’s not.”

You relax again and blink at him sweetly, closing the distance between you and setting a hand on his cuirass. “Are you telling me ‘no,’ my love?”

Din takes a visible and audible deep breath, his jaw flexing in his private struggle. He lifts his helmet towards his head. “You’re lucky I’m more stubborn than you.” Din lowers the beskar over his head, concealing his face from view for the first time since your mission began a week ago.

Despite losing the view of his face, you can’t help beaming at the familiar look of his helmet. Din’s certainly a handsome man underneath the metal, but it was this look that you fell in love with long ago. Your hands hold his beskar face as you urge the metal to kiss your forehead.

Din’s hands hold your elbows. “I guess you’re okay with this view, too?” His modulated voice sends a sweet rush of nostalgia through you.

You nod. “More than okay.” You press a kiss to the T-shape of his visor. Din gives your elbows a gentle squeeze in silent response. “The voice is a plus.”

Din chuckles at that. His gloved fingers slide up your arms, beginning a gentle exploration over your shoulders and down your sides. “Is that what does it for you?”

You don’t break your gaze with his visor. “It always has.”

Din hums, the sound crackling through his modulator. “If your mouth wasn’t so tempting,” he lifts a hand to run his thumb over your lips, “I’d have a suggestion to make.”

Your brow lifts as a familiar knot ties low in your stomach. “I’m still listening.”

As if the galaxy’s plotted against you, the ship drops out of hyperspace. Din tilts his helmet and pats your cheek with his hand. “Another time.”

You exhale to push the frustration aside before you and Din head back to your seats in the cockpit. As Din lowers the ship towards what’s now Boba Fett’s palace, you can’t help smiling to yourself at the memory of your first descent a week ago. It feels like eons ago, but at the same time, it feels like no time’s passed at all. If only you had known then what you know now.

Once you fully land inside Boba’s hangar, Din powers down the ship and stands. He waits for you to do the same, his gloved hand finding your lower back the same way it has this entire week—as if Din doesn’t even have to think about making the motion. “Ready?”

You nod at him, beaming endlessly as he walks forward and takes both your packed bags in his arms. The two of you are instantly met by Boba and Fennec, similarly to your first arrival a few days ago, and your smile gets bigger.

Seeing them again lets the normalcy of your life before this job sets in. For as many good things as you got out of this job, you got just as many that were bad, and having a reminder of your normal life is nothing short of relieving. You and Din had certainly made the most of it, but now you can have all the good things you want: the familiar grittiness of your day-to-day life spent right by Din’s side.

“There they are.” Boba’s voice is a warm announcement as he opens his arms towards the two of you. “I was beginning to think you may never come back.”

You laugh at that, fighting any embarrassment the best you can. You’re suddenly jealous Din’s helmet hides his own for him. “I mean, the luxury of it all was nice,” you respond.

“Well, it sounds like you two fit right in.” Fennec smiles, a knowing expression painted on her face, as two of Boba’s staff—including the same Twi’lek woman who had helped you before—step forward to take the bags from Din.

“Thank you for your help.” Boba nods in respect. “What you’ve done for us is invaluable.”

“No need.” Din nods back. “As I said before, you helped us to get the kid back.” Din shifts his weight, and this time, it’s even harder to resist comforting him. “We’ll always be at your disposal.”

Boba offers one more nod to acknowledge his words. “I believe this calls for celebration, then.” He gestures with his arm behind him. “Follow me.”

Boba and Fennec lead the way up to the throne room. As you walk, you glance up at Din, your worry for him still instilled in you as you bring yourself close enough to his side to whisper to him. “Are you okay?”

Din turns his helmet to look at you. “Yeah.” His hand finds your lower back again, his helmet tilting at you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You give him a once-over, hesitant to make him more upset. “Grogu.”

Din’s armored chest stalls for a moment, but he taps your back in reassurance anyway. “We can talk about it later.” His thumb runs over your back, and despite the layers of your tactical gear, you can feel the motion as if it was right upon your skin. “But don’t be worried. I’m all right.”

You search his visor the best you can. “Promise?”

Din nods dutifully. “Promise.”

You nod, content to believe him for now as you face the way ahead again. Din’s hand falls from your back, and as reluctant as you are to no longer feel his touch, you know it’s the best thing to do in this situation. You’re not the least bit ashamed of your relationship with Din, but the last thing you need to do is flaunt it.

When you arrive at the throne room, there’s already a lavish table set up with a massive feast, certainly more than the four of you could ever dream of consuming in one sitting. You huff as you take your place next to Din at the table. “Looks like we’re not done with luxury just yet.”

“It’s the least we can do to thank you.” Boba removes his helmet and smiles with appreciation. He hesitates as he looks at Din. “I know a feast may be a bit of an obstacle, but…”

��That’s all right.” You wire your jaw shut to keep it from dropping when Din lifts his helmet off his head. “One more meal won’t hurt.”

Boba and Fennec share a look, but you can only notice it out of your periphery. You can’t stop staring at Din, as if his face wasn’t just exposed to you a matter of minutes ago. He raises his brow with amusement at you.

Shit. If he’s doing this on purpose, he won’t hear the end of it later.

“In that case…” Boba takes a breath and nods towards the table. “Take your pickings, as much as you’d like.”

You manage to pry your gaze away from Din’s to face Boba with a small smile. “Thank you.” You focus on your food as you load up your plate. The heavy weight of Din’s bare gaze is like a thermal heat source, and every time he glances your way, you can feel the warmth of it on your skin.

It’s purposeful, then.

You only look up at him when you’re finishing a ronto kebab, pulling the perfectly roasted meat and flora from the stick with your teeth as your gaze never once strays from his. Din’s jaw visibly tightens as he finally looks away, but it’s not the heartiness of the meal that’s made Din’s face flush. You smile to yourself in victory—but it’s come at the cost of the knot in your stomach returning.

“So,” Fennec begins, using a tone that sends you into alert as you stop what you’re doing and look at her. “You two were truly the talk of the town during this retreat.” She kicks her legs up on the table and takes another bite of her bantha leg. “How’d you do it?”

You watch Din’s brow crease at her question. “What do you mean?”

“How should I put it?” Fennec shares a mischievous look with Boba and shrugs. “You were the ‘it’ couple.” You look down at your food and control your expression the  most you can. “All our sources confirmed this.”

Din answers without being fazed. “We were new faces.” He takes a sip of his drink and returns Fennec’s shrug. “That’s what happens in those circles. They always want to know more about the people they know the least.”

“That’s true.” Fennec smiles to herself. “We didn’t realize you two worked so well together.”

Working well together is a damn understatement, but you stop that line of thinking before it can bring on memories that are too dangerous to share in a place such as this. Din looks at you, and you nod at him before looking at Fennec. “Well, we’ve been partners for a long time now.”

“Ah, yes.” Boba’s the one who speaks up now, leaning back in his chair as he looks at Fennec. “I wonder how well we would’ve fared if it were us.”

Fennec tilts her head. “Not nearly as well as them.”

Din exhales gently. “Performances aside,” he cuts his gaze over to you, “let’s make sure the business side is all clear.”

“Certainly.” Boba crosses his arms and nods at Din. “Your intel has already proven to be very helpful. I hadn’t been aware the Hutt twins were… well, let’s just say displeased with my new position.”

“We’ve strengthened our fortifications,” Fennec adds. “Thanks to your warning, we’re now prepared for any kind of force they might try to send our way.”

Din nods at that. “Good. I’m glad we were of use to you.”

Boba and Fennec exchange a look before Boba speaks again. “We were, however, curious as to what your ‘unfinished business’ was.”

Din furrows his brow. “Pardon?”

Boba’s gaze slides over to you. “The last time we were in contact, you referenced some ‘unfinished business.’”

You scoff and take a long sip from your drink. “Let’s just say being the ‘it’ couple wasn’t ideal.”

“I see.” Boba’s brow lifts in genuine concern. “I do apologize for any hardships this job may have caused.”

Din shakes his head. “Don’t worry.” He steals one quick glance at you. “It all worked out.”

You have to sip your drink again to hide your smile. You don’t miss the smile Fennec earns as she, unsurprisingly, catches on to the unspoken message. “I’m sure it had its advantages. I mean, the Cantonican Sea is an infamous place of luxury.” She crosses her arms and smiles wider. “Did you enjoy swimming?”

You nearly spit out the drink you haven’t swallowed yet, but you maintain your composure just as you’d trained yourself to do all week. Even Din has to take a break to look at his plate as he shrugs. “We… weren’t focused on recreation, swimming included.”

“Understandable, and appreciated.” Fennec lifts her cup and toasts it in your direction. “I just heard some whispers about you two and water, so… I wasn’t sure.”

You and Din share a sly look. It takes everything in you not to burst out laughing. Once the memory of your kiss in the water washes over you, though, the last thing you feel is amusement. You cross your legs and take another sip of your drink. “Well,” you begin once you’ve swallowed your drink, “like he said, we weren’t really focused on recreation, but we did have to enter the water to keep up our act.”

“Yes, of course.” Boba answers this time, nodding to emphasize his understanding.

“And you’re right, Fennec.” You don’t look at Din, trying not to make it too obvious for them to figure out, but you do enjoy watching him shift in his chair as you go on. “The waters were simply luxurious.”

Fennec hides her smile with her cup. “I can imagine.”

“All in all, it really was a nice little vacation.” You gesture with your head over to Din. “And we got shit done.” You raise your drink. “Looks like it was a win for everyone.”

“Indeed,” Boba agrees as everyone lifts their drinks with you. The toast ends, and as soon as you and Din both clearly prepare to depart—with Din having slid his helmet on once again—the Twi’lek woman from before enters the throne room in a rush.

“Lord Fett,” she announces, cutting a nervous glance at you and Din, “something’s missing from each of the bags.”

You go stiff at Din’s side, your thumb circling the ring that’s still around your finger. Boba just looks at the two of you with a hardly concealed smile. “I know.” He lifts a reassuring hand in her direction. “That’s all right.”

The Twi’lek offers him a confused look, but she steps away anyway. You and Din glance at each other, and the smile that overtakes your lips cannot be stopped.

“Well,” Boba sighs, despite the smile on his own lips, “enjoy your nuptials.” He gestures with both hands to you and Din. “Consider those a gift for the occasion.”

Din just nods at his friend in gratitude, likely too embarrassed about being caught to say anything. You just chuckle and join him in wishing Boba and Fennec a proper farewell. Din sets his hand on your back as the two of you leave, and you can feel the warmth of their stares on your back.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, Din tilts his helmet. “Damn.” He looks over at you. “I really thought we were gonna get away with it.”

You finally release the laugh you’ve been holding, letting your head fall against his arm. Your hands meet and your fingers lace through his own. “I guess subtlety really isn’t our specialty.” You lift your entwined hands and kiss his gloved knuckles. “Even when we’re not acting.”

Din gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “We were never truly acting, cyar’ika.”

You beam at him, resting your head against his arm again. “You’re right.”

The rest of your walk back to the ship is spent in silence, though it’s contemplative. The space between you is as humid as the air before a storm, with something electric brewing there. You know it’ll overpower both of you as soon as you get the ship into the air.

These thoughts make it a blur as you board the ship and help Din to get it running. You have no idea what Din’s set as your next destination, and quite frankly, you don’t care. All you can think about is waiting until you’re safely in hyperspace to stand and make your way over to him, letting him swivel in his chair to face you before you hold the lip of his helmet in your hand.

“So,” you begin, your voice soft and sweet as you go on, “what the hell was that all about?”

Din’s gloved fingers drum along his armored thighs. “What do you mean?” Din’s modulated voice is just as soft, proving he does, in fact, know what the hell that was all about.

“It seemed like you got quite a rise back there out of me having to see your face.” You run your thumb over his visor and lift your brow. “Is that true?”

Din tilts his helmet, his hands rising to meet your waist. “Well, that depends on how it actually made you feel.”

“Yeah?” You make yourself comfortable, easing yourself upon him until his armor chest is against your own. “Should I show you, then?”

Din’s hands travel around you, securing themselves much closer to your back and thighs. “It might be easier than using your words.”

You wrap your arms around his neck. “I agree.”

With that, Din stands, easily taking you with him as you wrap your ankles around each other to help you stay around his waist. Neither he nor you are patient enough to wait until you’re further back in the hold, and Din sets your back against the first wall he can find, his body content to hold you in place. He frees a hand from you to grab his helmet, but you stop him, holding his wrist as you give his helmet a once-over.

“Wait.” Your voice is breathless in your desire as you bite back a smile. “Keep it on.”

Din tilts his helmet. “I’m not sure I can resist you, cyar’ika.”

“Let’s at least try.” You hold his helmet between your hands. “I fell in love with this face, too.” Your fingers trace down his beskar until you take a hold of his cowl, tugging it down enough for you to get access to the warmth of his neck. “Didn’t you have a suggestion about this, anyway?” Your breath fans over his skin. “Might as well try it out.”

Din exhales, a trembling breath that becomes a sigh once your lips latch onto his neck. “Damn, you’re convincing.”

You smile against his skin, continuing your sweet attack on him as he easily gets the two of you into place. For as new as some of this is, it’s already become easy for you to learn each other, with every movement being perfectly purposeful and breathtakingly gentle. You’re content to remain buried in the warmth of Din’s neck and to hear the pleasured breaths falling from underneath his helmet until he consumes every last sense and nerve ending in your body.

That’s all it takes to make you want to fall apart in the sweetest way. You stay buried where you are for now, but your lips part only to spell out your pleasure to Din in a way you could never comprehend—but that’s enough for him.

“Yeah, cyar’ika,” Din pants, the metal of his helmet resting upon your head as if he’s trying to bury himself in you, too. “I feel it, too.”

You strengthen your resolve and tighten your grasp around him, lifting your lips to his skin again as you kiss it the way you would his lips. Anything else you have to say, or at least would say if your body wasn’t already speaking for you, remains a hum against his hot skin.

“Atta’ girl,” Din rasps, if his voice can even be called that. It’s rough in the way you’ve only heard in moments like these, sweet yet forced through the tightness of his throat you can feel underneath your lips. “That’s…” he has to pause to speak to you the same way you’ve been speaking to him, “shit, that’s perfect.”

His words make you never want to stop, but your actions are fueling him in a way that makes your resolve crumble in the most pleasing way. The more it intensifies, the less you can keep yourself in place, and soon you break apart to lift your head and cry out for him. You at least manage to stay close for now, your forehead finding his helmet as you ground yourself to him.

As if he isn’t already grounding himself to you in the most beautiful and utterly perfect way.

But you need more. It’s hard to imagine how you can handle it, but you grasp onto whatever you can get. Your hands at the back of his neck find loose strands of hair that you take a hold of, tugging tight but only in a way you know he can handle. When Din finds your most perfect place, your head falls back to meet the metal behind you, your body trying to both stay as close as possible and also distance itself from what should be an unattainable pleasure.

That’s when Din breaks. “Fuck.” He lifts a hand from you to tear off his helmet in one smooth movement, the beskar hitting the floor and rolling away carelessly. His lips are on yours a moment later, each intelligible word and sound you have for one other being passed on from each touch of your tongue as you become one in the way the stars themselves surely intended.

It’s not long after that you at last fall apart, and Din soon does the very same. Each heavy breath you take against his lips is another sweet pleasure, your mind trying to fight through the haze of your love so you can focus on the golden flecks of light that enter Din’s gaze the more you return from your place in the stars. Your shared heaven, however, isn’t an easy place to escape, and so you wait with your forehead against his own for him to help you back to reality.

“So,” Din’s first word is a pure rasp, his voice now roughened from the way he’s sweetly abused it, “where do you want to get married?”

You can’t help laughing at that, shaking your head as you kiss him. “How about wherever the hell we land next?”

Din smiles and chuckles with you. “Sounds perfect.”

Your hands, which lost themselves in his hair the moment he tore his helmet from his head, continue to move through his brown waves in consideration. Din’s lips are already red and swollen from your sweet connection, his hair mussed from both your handiwork and his helmet. He’s flushed in the most perfect way, and you’re certain you don’t look much different.

And to think just a week ago, you weren’t sure if he’d even be able to pretend he thought of you as anything more than a business partner.

“So much for what happens on the job stays on the job, right?” You smile at him, recalling the words he’d said the moment you first flew into Canto Bight.

“Right.” Din returns your smile before his lips brush against yours. “Fuck that.”

With that, he captures your mouth with his again, an addictive yet beautiful display of affection that says more than those simple three words ever could—and promises so much more for the future you’ll finally have together.

masterlist ⟹ part one

[sleepingsun501]

Good Morning, Princess

Pairing: Boba Fett x F!reader

Summary: Boba helps satisfy your needs after you wake up hot and bothered in the middle of the night.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (Minors DNI)

Warnings: Soft!dom Boba, established relationship, female masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, praise, PiV sex (wrap it up), aftercare.

Word Count: 2k

Ao3 link

A/N: MINORS GET OUT OF HERE!! Hello all!! It’s been a while since I’ve churned out a fic, but I got inspired and couldn’t keep it in. It’s my first time writing for Boba, so I hope you all enjoy!! If this isn’t your cup of tea, however, just scroll on.

Good Morning, Princess

In the early hours of the morning, well before the suns rose above the sands, you found yourself squirming beneath the heavy blankets on your luxurious bed and trying to ignore the persistent ache between your legs.

It had hit you unexpectedly, waking you in the dead silence of the night and only grew worse as the hours passed, making you restless and uncomfortable. You had done your best to ignore it, but your body was beginning to overheat with need—the cool desert air wafting in from the Dune Sea doing very little to soothe you.

Boba lay oblivious beside you—one arm tucked behind his head, softly snoring, and looking more peaceful than you had seen him in weeks. The steady rise and fall of his muscular chest in the low light did not help to quell the need stirring in your core, but you would not wake him for this. The stress on the mighty Daimyo’s shoulders had been heavy lately, and although he was still incredibly capable, the sleepless nights of his bounty hunting days were over. You could not imagine how badly he needed to make up for all that lost sleep.

Not wanting to disturb him but unable to bear the urges any longer, you shimmied your way further to the edge of the sprawling bed, pausing briefly when Boba shifted from the absence of your warmth.

Silently, you slipped a hand beneath the seam of your soaked panties and covered your mouth with your other hand to stifle your pleasured gasp, trying to imagine your fingers as Boba’s drawing tight, fast circles on your swollen clit to relieve the pressure building within you.

For several minutes, it seemed to help, but it did not last. You closed your eyes to keep your concentration and tried to pretend the powerful man beside you was the one bringing you to the edge of bliss, but it was no use. Your fingers were too small, too soft to be his.

Feeling frustration take the place of your brief contentment, you whimpered needily into your hand. In your desperation, you drew your legs up and plunged your fingers as deeply as you could into your drenched walls, but you could not reach that sweet spot you craved.

“Mesh’la,” Boba’s deep voice rumbled languidly from across the large bed.

Startled, you squeaked in surprise and yanked your hand from your dripping folds, scrambling to hide yourself beneath the blankets before Boba quickly snatched them from your grasp, leaving you exposed in your skimpy nightgown. The embarrassment of having been caught flooded through you in waves, only fueling your arousal as Boba’s knowing gaze locked onto your own.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you… I just… I-I was…” your words sputtered out of your mouth like the mewlings of a tooka kitten that had found its voice for the first time as you reached for the stolen blankets.

You yelped again as Boba reached over, pulled you to his side of the bed in one quick, fluid motion, and settled over you. He braced his hands on either side of you and was still peering down at you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression, and you felt the flush rising in your cheeks.

“Y-you were sleeping… I’m sorry,” you apologized automatically.

“You know you could have woken me, princess,” he whispered, his eyes softening and tracing the curve of your cheek with the roughened pad of his thumb. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t.”

“But—” you started, but your excuse died on your tongue when you saw the desire burning in his deep brown eyes. A pang of guilt settled deep in your gut from the look, making your tightening core impossibly uncomfortable. “I just didn’t want to wake you. You looked so tired earlier and I could’ve taken care of myself,” you explained, breaking your eyes away from him in shame.

The thumb brushing your cheek grasped your chin and forced you to look back at him. “You don’t get to cum unless I say so,” he said quietly. His voice may have been soft, but the firm tone was irrefutable. “Unless I’ve suddenly started to talk in my sleep, I don’t recall saying so tonight.”

You shook your head in admission, biting your lip and shifting beneath him. His whole body was like a cage above you, and you wanted nothing more than to be ravaged by him—you wanted to feel his muscles flexing beneath the softness of his tummy crushing you to your shared bed, and the hardness of his cock stretching you open and driving deep within you until you forgot your name.

“Does my princess need to be taken care of?” Boba asked, taking the hand you had been pleasuring yourself with and suckling your fingers into his mouth. He cleaned your fingers thoroughly with his tongue, humming his approval when he tasted you, before hiking your nightgown up above your breasts and taking one into his mouth.

You gasped as your nipple pebbled beneath his tongue, and he spread your knees apart to grind his hips into yours. He was hard as a rock, feeling your intense heat through your soaking panties, and repeated his question impatiently against the shell of your ear. “I’m waiting for an answer, little one.”

“Yes. Fuck, yes, Boba. Just need you,” you sighed, pressing your hips up to meet his.

Returning to your breast, he gave your nipple a love bite, making you moan but doing nothing to assuage the ache now threatening to overwhelm your senses. “I think you should apologize first. Only good girls get to cum.”

You pouted at his teasing, but you also knew Boba would drag this out until the twin suns rose high in the sky if he wanted to as he began leaving delicate marks on your chest.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whimpered as he sucked a darker mark onto the tender skin of your opposite breast.

He chuckled darkly at your pathetic attempt. “Come now, my sweet girl, you can do better than that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you,” you breathed, your hands coming up to grasp his broad shoulders. “I want you, Boba. I want you to make me cum. I need you inside me… need to cum on your cock. Please, I’ll be good and tell you when I need you from now on, I promise.”

Seemingly satisfied with your plea, Boba pushed your dampened panties aside and slid a thick finger into your warmth. You cried out in relief as your body responded to the intrusion, your cunt tightening around the digit and rocking your hips to grind your clit against his palm.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now was it, princess?” he teased, the smirk on his face leaching into his voice. He curled his finger inside you, finding that sensitive spot with ease before adding a second.

“Ohh, Maker… Boba, please more. I need… just need more!” you begged as the hot, electric sparks of your arousal fired through your limbs. You grasped his shoulders so tightly that your nails left little half moons dimpled into his bronzed, scarred skin.

“Don’t worry, little one. I’ll give you what you want, but fingers first. Always have to make sure you’re ready to take me,” he practically growled.

You pouted again, but any brattiness behind it melted away with a needy whimper as he eased his underwear down and slipped one of your hands around his length before settling beside you and throwing your leg over his hip. “That’s right, baby girl, you can take it. I know you can.”

You grasped his thick, leaking cock greedily and stroked him as best you could in time with his movements. Just the way he twitched and throbbed in your grasp with a deep groan was already enough to push you to the edge.

Combined with his fingers making the most lewd sounds as they pumped in and out of your soaked cunt, the feeling of his sturdy body shielding you, and the encouragement dripping from his beautiful lips, it was all too much to hold back. You crashed over the edge with a desperate cry into his chest, burying yourself against him for both affection and security as you rode out your first high.

“There it is,” he murmured soothingly into your hair, continuing to stroke you as you clenched around him. “That’s my good girl. That feels better, doesn’t it?”

You could barely hear him as your heart thundered in your ears. The tension and heat in your tightly wired core finally releasing around his long fingers but only bringing you a fraction of the relief you craved.

Before you had stopped spasming, Boba rested you onto your back again as you twitched through the aftershocks and buried himself in your walls with slow, steady strokes. He graciously waited until he felt the stretch of your walls accommodate him comfortably, but all you could do was cling to his dense shoulders again as he began pounding into you, losing himself in your wet heat.

“You feel so good, baby. So fucking tight… always so perfect for me,” he praised, his tone borderline reverential. He ran a hand up your body over the silk of your nightgown that had fallen back into place, marveling at the softness of it over your searing hot skin and silently worshiping you with his touch.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you gasped out his name, feeling your entire body quake beneath him as he drove you into the mattress. Somewhere in the depths of your lust-addled brain, you were glad he had taken you apart with his fingers first. He had gotten you out of your head, and now you could fully surrender to his control, never having felt safer in any other man’s arms.

The length of his thick cock slipping through your slick cunt was addictive and each stroke pushed you both higher into ecstasy, a sensation which you wished would never end. Even through the fervor of his thrusts, Boba cupped the back of your head ever so gently and brought your lips to his in the tenderest of kisses.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his breath hot and sweet against your skin. “I love you, my perfect girl. Love you so much… gonna take care of you… never letting you go.”

“Boba…” you sighed, the devotion in his words melting your heart. You were about to echo the sentiment, but he stole your words from you with another breathless kiss as he reached between you and found your clit again.

You could feel yourself hurtling toward that blissful cliff again, bracing yourself for the plunge you knew he would take with you as he chased his release.

“Boba, I need—need to… please!” you cried, begging for permission.

“Together, baby. Cum with me.”

With a hiss and a shuddering, throaty groan, Boba tensed above you, pressing his forehead to yours. You could feel the heat deep within your walls as he painted your insides, and it triggered your second orgasm. Your cunt sucked him in deep as your legs trembled and locked in a vice grip around his waist, and Boba could not help but sigh your name sweetly at the sensation.

Though you both savored the peak as long as you could, you shivered at the loss of him as he eventually eased his softening cock from you. He quickly maneuvered you out of your sweaty nightgown and into the cradle of his arms as he reclined back and pulled the soft blankets up over your exposed form.

The faintest tinge of gold and pink was appearing beyond the horizon through the arches of the balcony, but Boba only had eyes for you. He toyed with the ends of your hair as he took you in, smiling down at you gently.

“I think we’re due for a bit of a lie-in today, don’t you think?” he asked.

You giggled and nodded in agreement, already settling into his chest and wanting to drift back to sleep in his strong arms. “Good morning, my love.”

He rested his head against the top of yours, breathing in your scent, and you felt him relax as well. “Good morning, princess.”

________

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[writerlyhabits]

Hello, may I request a one-shot of the Mandalorian x Reader who somehow gets frozen in Carbonite during a fight, then wakes up blind with the Carbonite sickness? I'm a sucker for that kind of hurt/comfort stuff :)

Listen, I lost my creative juices halfway through this, and didn’t get them back for quite a while… 😬 So I’m sorry that this has taken so long, or if it’s not really all that good, but I’m kind of happy to just throw it into the abyss and let you guys have it 😂😂

Thanks @deceiverofgodss for suffering through this with me, ily 💛

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: hurt/comfort 💛, carbonite sickness, temporary blindness, brief mention of canon-level violence, sweet loving soft amazing Din, the helmet comes off 👀, Grogu is heartbreakingly adorable, I think that’s it? 

At first, all you could feel was cold. Biting and endless, you couldn’t decipher any other feeling than the all-consuming cold seeping from your bones. 

Then there was a warmth… was it warm? It was certainly warmer than the hell you’d been in, that had to count for something. A firm grip held you close, cradling you into their chest as you laid sprawled against their lap on the ground. As the feeling in your body gradually came back – or maybe your brain was just starting to thaw out – you recognized the warmer surface that was pressed against you in so many places. 

Beskar. 

The next thing to hit you was the smell of leather and fire, a smell you were no stranger to. The smoke that rose off of weapons you handled in your day-to-day life, and the buttery smoothness of well-worn leather gloves that were smoothing over your cheeks, filling your nostrils with the familiar scent. Gloves you’d felt caress your skin countless times before. 

It started quiet, the muffled sounds of the world around you. A deep voice was speaking, accompanied by soft footsteps making quiet clangs against the metal flooring beneath you. How many people were here? Where were you? 

You felt your brows furrowing as you tried to focus on the sounds filtering through your ears, and you gave an experimental tilt of your head to see what kind of motion you could pull off. It was very slight, but it was movement. It was probably only noticeable to whoever was holding you if they were paying very close attention.

“Mesh’la? Can you hear me?” You made out, the voice above you laced with concern and panic. 

Din. 

You opened your eyes slowly to let whatever light beyond your eyelids filter in slowly, allowing your body to take the recovery process one step at a time. 

But the light never came. 

Maybe your eyes weren’t open?

“I told you she’d be alright, Djarin,” you heard in a thick accent from a few steps away. “She’s a fighter.” That gruff voice was Boba’s for sure, but you still had no way of confirming what you were hearing. Were your eyes just… adjusting? 

“Make yourself useful and figure out how to get more light in here, she can’t see anything,” Fennec’s unmistakeable lilt snarked, and with an amused grunt fading away with matching footsteps, you knew she’d thrown her jab at Boba. Yes, more light. That’s all you needed, everything was going to be alright. 

“Talk to me, how do you feel?” Din said above you, and you realized you hadn’t acknowledged him in your confusion. You made an effort to use your vocal cords, a few experimental groans coming out before you could manage any words. 

“I feel… tired.” You heard a quiet, shaky laugh come out from under Din’s helmet, and it didn’t take much longer before you felt the familiar Beskar of his helmet on your forehead. You steadily lifted one of your arms to reach for him, your body still coming back to temperature, and he met you halfway. If your eyes weren’t already closed, they were now as you savored the feeling of his hand in yours, how irrationally warm it made you feel to have Din wrapped so tightly around you. 

You heard Fett’s distant sound of triumph and a sputtering of electrical devices in the room around you. When Din slowly lifted his helmet, you attempted to open your eyes one more time. 

“There she is,” Fennec sighed, and your stomach flipped. “How’s the light, is that a little bit better?” She asked gently. 

You still couldn’t see anything. 

“Mesh’la… what’s wrong?” Din’s voice was quiet, smooth. Like he was trying to keep himself calm in order to comfort you. “Hey, look at me, I’m right here.” Your heart jumped to your throat, your head beginning to spin when you thought about how impossible such a simple task sounded when all you could see was black. 

“I… I can’t,” you whispered, unable to stop the quiver as you finished speaking, the panic starting to set in. You didn’t know where you were trying to go but your body went into overdrive, legs scrambling for some kind of leverage to sit yourself up. Before you could go far, Din’s hand squeezed yours a little tighter, the arm wrapped around you firm as he pulled you into a sitting position while keeping you curled up against his chest. 

“You can’t what?” Din’s voice was too calm, it was unsettling. Usually knowing that he was able to keep his calm in a less-than-ideal situation would be comforting to you, encouraging you to do so yourself and realize that you were okay. But it had never been this bad before. He wasn’t going through what you were. It was easy for him to find his calm, he could still see. 

“The bounty… what happened? What did he do to me?” You settled for, working yourself up as your brain reeled for an answer, an explanation, any morsel of a solution. 

“Easy princess,” Boba said from across the room. “Take it one step at a time, comin’ outta Carbonite isn’t as easy as taking a clam from a Gungan.” 

Carbonite… you could vaguely piece together a memory of fighting. Some slimy bounty you and Din had picked up as a side job on your way to Tatooine to visit with your friends in Mos Espa. What was supposed to be a standard grab-and-go mission had turned complicated fast. 

“You held your own,” Din’s voice said above you, no doubt watching you try to remember. “He caught us by surprise and managed to kick you back into a carbonite freezer. There was no way you could’ve seen him coming.” 

As he said it, the memories came back to you. Stalking around a dark warehouse beside your Mandalorian, lights scanning for any sign of movement. You’d heard a clang come from beside you, and before you could alert your partner that you were going to check it out, you’d been knocked against a metal container. You were able to process hissing sounds as your head stopped spinning, and as you shouted back out to Din, you watched him tearing to get to you before everything went cold. 

“How… how long was I in there?” you tried quietly. 

“A few hours at the most,” Fennec answered. “Mando reached out to us pretty quickly, and as Daimyo of Mos Espa, getting clearance wasn’t an issue. When we got there, Djarin was rooted to the spot next to you with a dead Trandoshan not too far off.” 

“We thought it’d be best if we defrosted you here at the palace,” Boba chimed in. “Give you time to acclimate without rushing you outta there.” Then there was a familiar gurgle, small noises that went directly to your heart. “And give the little one a chance to run around.” 

“But he’s been too worried about you to go anywhere,” Din reasoned softly. It was hard to tell if your eyes were still open, but you could feel the tears coming nonetheless at the thought of Grogu waiting patiently beside you. 

“Can I..” You wanted to ask if you could see him, but that seemed like a redundant question. “Where is he?” You heard the hesitant thump of Boba’s boots against the metal floor as he approached you. 

“Hold out your hands, mesh’la,” Din urged, releasing your hand while keeping you close. You did as he said, and before you could ask why, you felt a familiar weight being set in your arms. 

There were little hands on your cheeks and Grogu’s familiar gurgle of attempted words that were usually matched with his little toothy grin… What little restraint you had was shattered, and you felt the tears welling up in your eyes, and start to roll down your cheeks where they collided with your foundling’s fingers. Din pulled you closer as you cried, and you curled into him with Grogu in tow. 

“Why can’t I see, Din?” you whispered, and you heard how broken your voice sounded. It at least matched the way you felt; broken. 

“Carbonite takes its toll,” Boba started, and you felt Din’s body make a small, quick movement. You could only guess that he’d snapped his head up at the daimyo’s dramatic choice of words. “I just mean that there are usually side effects… but I’ve seen people come outta carbonite after weeks and turn out just fine.” 

“So… how long will it take me to get my vision back?” you choked, trying to put a stop to the stream of emotions that continued falling as you listened around you. Din’s leather-clad hands rubbing soothing patterns into your back was definitely helping on that front. “If I get it back.” 

“Don’t say that,” your Mandalorian’s firm voice countered. “You weren’t in there long. Your body will recover.” 

“He’s right,” Fennec piped up. Not being able to see where your party stood in the room was proving to be a strange sensation, figuring out where the speaker was in the room proving to be its own mental sport. “Unfortunately, there’s no way to tell when it will wear off. Carbonite affects everyone differently, so we could be waiting a few hours, a few days, a few weeks... It depends on how your body reacts.” 

There was a heavy silence in the room as Fennec’s words settled, forcing you to come to terms with the reality of the situation, and how little you could plan around it. 

Din, surprisingly, was the first to break the silence. 

“I’ll be here by your side each step of the way,” he started, his serious tone reassuring, backing up the weight of his promise.

Unsurprisingly, Din kept his word. 

In the days that followed, Din was with you every moment possible. He was there to help you up in the mornings, tender touches and slow movements in the private quarters your clan of three took up in the palace. His hands rarely left you as he helped you maneuver around the space, and had endless amounts of patience as you worked together to get through the day. 

Grogu definitely took a little bit to adjust. He was used to you picking him up and smothering him in affection too many times throughout the day to count. Now you often felt him at your feet, making soft sounds as he asked for you to lift him up. But when he started to understand that you couldn’t see him, his response broke your heart. 

Each morning Din would put Grogu in your arms, and without fail, those little hands would find your cheeks right before you would feel a strange sensation course through your body… He was trying to use his powers to heal you, much like you had seen him do with Din in the past. You wouldn’t let him do it for so long that he would tire himself out, but the two of you entertained his efforts – at the very least to make him feel better, but also to see if it would even work. 

In staying by your side, Din took to showering with you, too. Trying to convince him you could handle it was followed immediately by fumbling with the soaps until they clattered to the floor, and Din was knocking on the fresher door in moments. It was kind of amusing, at first, when he would step in behind you and you could hear the clang of the water against his helmet. 

Amidst the confusion and the disorientation of your lack of sight, the silver lining had been the day Din fully realized how much he could get away with when you couldn’t see him. Your entire relationship you kept your eyes shut tight – or left the room altogether – when Din removed his helmet, honoring his creed. But now he could go without it whenever he so chose… as long as it was in the confines of your room. 

Waking up to his soft kisses had been a warm welcome, one that was met with his enthusiastic affection scattered across your face. “We should do this more often,” he sighed, making you laugh against him as he kissed your cheek, the scratch of his facial fair tickling your skin. 

You grew accustomed to roaming your hands around his body so you could navigate to his soft curls, combing through his hair and massaging his scalp with your nails. You mapped the planes of his face with your lips, traced his pouted ones with your fingertips… and by the Maker, you were basking in the sound of his voice without the vocoder filtering it through his helmet. You could hear his smile when he spoke, could hear even the smallest huff of amusement his helmet usually kept from being audible, and his comforting tone wrapped you in a warmth you wanted to stay in forever. 

…

“Mesh’la,” you heard as you slowly came into consciousness. You gave Din a sleepy smile as he peppered kisses over your cheeks, the scratch of his mustache tickling your skin. “Someone’s here to see you early this morning,” he whispered, and you felt his side of the bed shift as he sat up. You kept your eyes closed through the whole process, like you did every morning, wanting to soak up the softness of your little family for just a little bit longer before facing the disappointment of not being able to see anything. 

In the last week, there was… some improvement. You knew you should be grateful for any steps forward your condition was taking, even if they were slim, but after the first few days, it just became exhausting. You could make out the vague shapes of the figures around you, and you could tell the difference between light and dark, but that was about it. Din had been ecstatic when you reached out for him that first morning, his excitement growing each time you turned towards him as he leaned in to give you a kiss. 

You just wanted to see again. 

When Din’s weight returned to the bed – your eyes still closed – he brought with him a familiar bundle that was set directly on your stomach. Grogu didn’t wait for your hands to find him before he was crawling clumsily up your body, and you shared in Din's laughter as you each gave him a hand to help him to his destination. 

“Well good morning to you too, little one,” you smiled, pleasantly surprised by your foundling’s newfound eagerness to get started with the day. “You must be hungry if you’re wanting to get this over with so quickly.” There was only a babble in response as he situated himself on your chest, and you could just imagine him reaching his little hands out to make it to your cheeks without losing his balance.

Din grunted as he shifted, this time getting up off of the bed, no doubt to go tend to make Grogu something to eat before it got past the point of no return. And yet, when his little hands finally reached you, there was no urgency. With your eyes still closed, you focused closely on the feeling that began spreading through your body, breathing deeply when the familiar feeling of weightlessness his powers brought you relaxed your muscles. 

The soft clanking of dishes from the living area of your room in the palace brought you back to the present, which meant that it was time to start moving through your day, and giving Grogu a chance to rest after using his powers once again. You opened your eyes as you sat up, hoisting Grogu up with you and returning the little smile that spread across his cheeks…

His smile. You could see it. 

You could see.

“Hi baby,” you whispered, your throat suddenly feeling very constricted as you took in the sight of your foundling. His big, dark eyes bore into you as his ears perked up at the attention he hadn’t seen from you in so long. He gurgled happily as he used his grip on your cheeks to encourage you to lean forward, pressing his little forehead against yours. 

You heard Din’s broken voice say your name, speaking softly as if he was scared to break whatever trance he was in. Without thinking, you lifted your head from Grogu’s and turned to look in his direction, and for a moment you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. 

Din stood frozen in place when he met your gaze, his warm brown eyes speaking a thousand words that would never pass his lips. His dark curls that you had felt so many times sat in a mess atop his head, matching the scruff and facial hair that decorated his golden skin. The prominent nose you had felt was more handsome than you could have ever imagined, the pouty pink lips you had traced time and time again as inviting as ever. 

You had imagined this moment a thousand times, thought of every possible situation or turn of events that might ever lead to seeing your Mandalorian without his helmet. Your worst fear was that it would be an accident – like it was now – and that his expression turning into disappointment, anger, or something worse that would mean he wanted nothing more to do with you. 

But the face looking back at you had nothing but anticipation and adoration written across his striking features. 

“Mesh’la…” you whispered, trying the Mando’a endearment on your tongue. The corners of his lips began to turn up in a tentative smile, and the sight you had just gotten back started to blur with the water flooding your eyes. “Beautiful… Din, you’re beautiful,” you sobbed. The last thing you saw was Din rushing to your side, quick to wrap his arms around you and kiss the top of your head as you closed your eyes once more, letting the happy tears flow freely across your cheeks. 

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

[maybege]

Fuck me up, Florida!

Summary: Boba fucks you to sleep.

Pairing: ex-footballer!Boba Fett x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1.3k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: Modern AU, older man/younger woman, age gap, dom!Boba, sub!Reader, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, mentions of consensual somnophilia, unprotected sex, dirty talk, little bit of humiliation

This is a slightly extended and edited version of the blurb that I had previously only posted on tumblr. It is set in the same universe as (American) footballer!Paz and Boba is basically a retired football player who now acts as head coach for Paz’s team. Technically, I have some more ideas for this but for now, I just want to enjoy the absolute filth this character brings out in me. Happy weekend!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“Daddy, I can’t take it anymore,” you whined, your legs wriggling as you tried to escape his grasp. But the sensation did not let up. You had lost count of how many times you had come. You had lost count of how many times he had come. Then again, you had no idea what time it was. It had been dark when you had slipped into his room and it was dark outside still.

It was also winter and the days were short so who was to say, really. 

“What was that?” Boba asked, his thumb continuing to brush over your clit again and again.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. You must have looked like a mess.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked you, his hand on the back of your neck. His eyes looked at you, dark and intense, and you were thankful for the dim light of the lamp on the bedside table. Because his eyes were what had drawn you in the first time and they were what tethered you to reality now.

You nodded, another gasp escaping you as one finger pushed inside your pussy. The way was eased by the several loads of come he had left there during the night.

“Can you repeat it for me, princess?” he asked gently, his forehead resting against yours, “Can you say our safe word?”

“Football,” you whispered your voice from when you had screamed your orgasms into the pillow.

His movements slowed. “Do you want me to stop? Do you want to use the safe word?”

You remained silent, looking up at the older man above you. You were both sweaty, bodies running hot from the way you had spent the last few hours.

He raised a brow expectantly, shifting and you could feel his cock stirring against your hip. You whimpered, your pussy clenching at the prospect of feeling him inside you again.

“You asked me to push you to your limits, little one,” he reminded you, his fingers dipping inside your folds, “You asked a man old enough to be your father to fuck you so hard you can finally sleep. You can use your safe word anytime you want. But Daddy is not stopping until he hears you say it.”

And with that, he climbed on top of you again.

“Daddy, please,” you whimpered, unsure you what it was that you needed.

“What is it, little one?” he teased you, planting a hot kiss on your neck as his fingers pinched your nipple. Your back arched off the bed and into his touch.

“’m tired,” you finally brought out, your words slurring, “I am tired, Boba.”

His dark chuckle sent shivers down your spine. His weight left you and for a moment, you were scared that that was it. That he would leave you alone. “Turn around then,” he instructed you, his hand landing a slap on your ass you followed his order.

You squeaked, turning you laid down on your belly. “Get nice and comfortable,” he rumbled, helping you fold your arms and cuddle a cold pillow to your face, “You comfortable, princess?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, your hand reaching behind you to try and touch him, “Daddy, please, I need …”

“I know what you need,” he reassured you. You felt the bed dip behind you and soon, his warm hands spread your legs apart. Your eyes slipped shut, relishing in his soft touches and the knowledge of what was to follow.

The tip of him swiped through your folds and you clenched. “C’mon, princess,” he coaxed you, one big hand squeezing your hip, “Relax. You know you want another load.”

The truth in his words made your cheeks heat up and you spread your legs further. Boba Fett was a large man and even though this was not the first time he had fucked you, your lungs still lost all breath when he pushed inside you.

“Fuck, you’re tight, princess,” he groaned, slowly continuing his advance. You could feel the come and the thought made you clench. You never thought you liked being messy. Turns out you loved being filthy.

At least for him.

It took only a moment until he was fully seated inside you and the feeling of completeness that filled you made you smile. “Look at you,” he whispered, leaning forward until his chest was plastered against your back, “Pretty princess really cannot get enough. No, she always wants another load in her pretty little pussy, hm?”

“Daddy,” you whined, resting your face on your cheek so he could kiss the one that was facing him, “I want your come. I was a good girl.”

A large hand landed next to your face and your eyes drifted over the swirling tattoos on his arm. Maybe one day you would ask him about them instead of staring at them and salivating when you watched him train.

“You are the best girl,” he agreed, “Best little slut that ever took my cock. You can fall asleep too, little one, that is why we’re doing this, isn’t it?” he mocked you, “Needed a big cock to fuck you to sleep.”

He continued moving, slow and steady, the movement making your clit throb.

“Yes,” you sighed, your words jumble in your mouth as you drifted off, “That is exactly what I needed.”

*

“What’s happening?“

You did not quite know what had awakened you because when you peeled your eyes open, the light on the nightstand was off. When had that happened? And why could you still make out the distinctly male figure of Boba in the room?

It took you a few too many seconds to realise that the sun had risen.

Boba was standing next to the bed. He didn’t look anything like last night. For one, he was dressed. Partially, at least. You blinked, your head feeling like melted icecream on the hot summer asphalt. He was pants but no shirt and you snuck your hand out of the warm cocoon of the blanket to reach out and touch him.

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning over you. His hand on your cheek was pure bliss and you forced your eyes to remain open even though it was so hard and you just wanted to sleep.

His mouth planted a soft kiss on your lips and you smiled, distantly noticing that he smelled fresh and showered. Was he leaving?

“Got a meeting this morning,” he whispered the answer to your mental questions, “Pre-training session, too.”

You hummed, frowning as you tried to get your brain to work. It had been so long since you had gotten a proper night of sleep, that you genuinely felt like you could use another 12-13 hours just to feel human again.

But maybe that was not what he wanted?

“Should I – “ you swallowed, “Do, uh, do you want me to leave?”

Boba’s answer was immediate.

“Hell no,” he murmured by your ear before pressing a kiss to your jaw. You loved him for keeping his voice low, his touches soft and if you had felt any braver, you would have asked him to stay.

“You finally got your sleep, princess, I'm not about to rob you of your well-deserved rest.”

“Well deserved, hm?” you smiled with your eyes closed, the

“Well-deserved indeed,” he chuckled, “My good girl deserves her rest.”

My good girl. That title should not make you feel as warm as it did, right?

You smiled, already drifting off again so you only faintly heard the door closing behind him before sleep took over again.

But the next time you woke up, several hours later judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it was to the sight of a hotel staff member arranging the biggest breakfast collection on the balcony.

Your phone lit up.

Bon appétit, princess.

[vodika-vibes]

Okay for the 650 follower event. I'm thinking something spicy~

Maybe Alpha or Boba in a Western AU ( Bonus points, though not required, if you can work in careful princess if you use Boba 🙈)

Fancy

Summary: Jabba, an absolute slug of a man, has been ruling the small town that you call home for your entire life. When you hear about the new bounty hunter in his employ, you fear the worst. Though, as it happens, Boba Fett isn’t half the monster that you feared.

Pairing: Boba Fett x F!Reader

AU Prompt: Western AU

Word Count: 2444

Warnings: Reader runs a brothel, smut

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Alright, I wasn't able to add the actual smut part without it throwing off the flow of the story, but it goes right up to the smut part and then stops. I hope you like it. Also, when I wrote it I was picturing ROTJ Boba.

“Madame,” You lift your gaze from your ledger at the soft voice of one of your girls, “I...have you heard?”

“I hear a lot of things,” You reply, scanning the girl for any visible injuries, before dropping your gaze back to your ledger, a frown pulling your lips down. Once Jabba takes his cut, you’re going be barely make any profit this week.

“Honorable Jabba has hired a new bounty hunter.” You lift your gaze again. You hadn’t heard that. “Do you...will he be...do you think he’ll be like the other ones?”

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, “But so long as you’re nice to the gentleman-”

“They’ll be nice to me, yes Madame, I know.” The girl, because that is what she is, only recently nineteen, smooths her long skirts and straightens her corset, “We will be opening soon?”

“We will. All of you have been reserved for the evening. With familiar names,” You reassure, and you’re relieved to see some of the tension drain from her shoulders. “Off you trot,” You don’t turn your gaze back to the ledger until you hear the soft click of her bedroom door shutting behind her.

And then you drop your gaze back to the numbers in your book.

Maybe, with some careful editing, you can make Jabba believe that you made less money then you actually did. And then you’ll be able to afford the food that your girls need to survive.

It’s not as if the slug himself checks your numbers.

And his accountant has always had a soft spot for you, and your home.

You are the sole owner and proprietor of the Desert Rose, the only brothel in the town of Old Ashton. You used to be a regular employee, yourself, until some clever gambling and even more clever money hiding allowed you to buy the previous owner out.

So now you protect the girls to the best of your ability.

Unfortunately, the best of your ability isn’t good enough.

You close your ledger with a snap and slid it into the locked drawer in your desk, and stand. You smooth your dark green skirt and make sure your corset is laced properly, and then you head to the front of the house.

You may not entertain the gentlemen anymore, but that doesn’t mean that you can neglect your appearance.

The men are already lined up at the door, joking and laughing with each other. And, as you open the door, they settle themselves into a more respectful manner. They know that you will toss them out if they become a problem.

You have before, after all.

“Gentlemen,” You greet with a dainty smile, “Welcome to the Desert Rose. The girls have been eagerly awaiting you.”

It’s all a show. An act.

Honestly, you should have gone into show business with how skillful your acting skills have become over the years.

While you’re not sure if the gentlemen believe your words, they at least pretend that they do. Which is good enough.

You allow the men into your home and take the payments in advance, before you send them off to the girl of the night. And then your home is silent, save for the sound of music playing from the old jukebox in the corner.

Shelling out credits to make all of the rooms sound proof was the cleverest thing you’ve ever done. Right up there with the panic button you had installed in each girls room.

You’re about to change the song playing, when the bell over the door chimes as the door opens.

“Terribly sorry,” You say absently, without turning away from the jukebox, “But all of the girls have been spoken for this evening.”

“A rather small brothel you’re running,” The voice is deep and unfamiliar to you, and is surprising enough to you that you turn your attention away from the machine in front of you to regard the man.

He’s tall and broad chested, he takes up a lot of space in your foyer, though it almost seems like he takes up more space than he physically should. He seems to be allergic to color, you note with some distant amusement, everything from his boots to his hat are the darkest black. The only color coming from the dark green shirt he’s wearing.

“Old Ashton is a small place,” You reply as you walk around him and settle behind your desk, and you favor him with a small smile, “Welcome to the Desert Rose.”

He stalks towards the desk, there’s no other word for how he moves, “Boba Fett.”

“Ah. Jabba’s newest muscle.”

“So the rumors have already started.”

“As I said, small town.” You open your scheduling book, “If you’re looking to spend time with a girl, I’m afraid you’ll have to make a reservation. All of my girls are booked for the night.”

“Including you.”

You tilt your head to look at him, “I no longer entertain gentlemen callers, Mister Fett.”

His dark eyes scan you as best as they can with you seated behind the desk, and you’re fairly certain that he’s looking down your top. “Never?” He questions.

“Never.” You confirm.

“Hm.” He finally tears his gaze away from your tits and flashes a small, cocky, smile, “I bet I can change your mind.” He nods at you once, and then turns and leaves as suddenly as he arrived.

The front door closes with a quiet click, and you release a quiet breath. Cockiness isn’t attractive, you’ve never thought that.

But you like to think that you’re pretty good at reading men, and that didn’t read like cockiness to you. No, it reads as confidence. And that makes him incredibly attractive.

You tap your pen against your lower lip, and sigh, “Shame that he works for Jabba, though.” You murmur to the empty foyer, before you go back to work. Your business isn’t going to run itself, after all.

The next time you see Boba Fett, you’re doing your shopping for the week. Not shopping for the girls, but for yourself.

You’re window shopping, to be more specific. Eyeing a lovely green skirt that would pair amazingly with the dark brown corset that has been sitting in the back of your closet...and naturally a new dress would require new boots-

You almost manage to talk yourself into buying the skirt, when you hear heavy footsteps stop next to you.

“It’s a lovely color.” A deep voice, familiar in it’s unfamiliarity, jolts you out of your thoughts. “You’d look very good in it.”

Boba Fett stands less than a foot away from you, his head tilted down as though his words are for your ears and your ears alone.

“I look good in everything,” You reply lightly.

“I imagine you look good out of everything too,” He counters with a sly smirk.

“That’s for me to know and you to wonder about.”

“Oh, I did wonder. Repeatedly.” There’s no shame in his voice, and you’re grateful that your thick makeup is hiding the blush you can feel burning your face.

Hurriedly, you change the subject before he notices your embarrassment, “I’m surprised that Jabba let you off his leash long enough to come to the market.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am.” He drawls.

“And what job would that be?” You shoot back, “Terrorizing innocent shopkeepers.”

Boba’s dark eyes pin you in place, and you refuse to back down out of sheer stubbornness, “Careful,” He murmurs, “Your sharp tongue is going to get you in trouble.”

“From you?”

He leans back, and somehow still takes up more space than a man his size should, “No. I don’t raise my hand against women. But Jabba is much less kind than I.”

“And yet you work for him anyway.”

“Credits are credits, darlin.” Boba scans your body with a casual ease that should have infuriated you, but for some reason, didn’t. “And you clearly agree, seeing as you run a whore house.”

“It’s a brothel, not a whore house.”

“A brothel is a whore house. You’re just arguing semantics now.”

You prop your hand on your hip, “I’m leaving now.”

“What about your skirt?”

“With the tithes that Jabba demands, I can’t afford it anyway.” You admit with a scowl.

Boba gazes at you thoughtfully, and then he nods and turns his gaze back tot he clothing in the window.

Assuming that he had nothing more to say to you, you cast one last longing glance at the skirt, before you turn and walk away. It’s probably a good thing that he showed up when he did, there’s no way you would have been able to afford the skirt and food for the week.

Later, as you’re putting the groceries away in your private studio, you admit to yourself that even without the skirt, you barely had enough money to get all of the food that you needed for the week.

As you open the Desert Rose for the evening, you come to the realization that you’re going to have to put yourself back on the roster to be able to keep food on your table, and to keep your girls fed.

Once more, several hours after the last man arrived for his appointment with one of your girls, the door opens and Boba walks into the foyer.

“Seems to me that you have rotten luck, Mister Fett.” You drawl without looking up from your ledger, as if staring at the numbers will make your reality less horrifying. “All of the girls have been spoken for.”

“There’s only one girl I want to take me to her bed,” Boba replies as he sets a box on the counter and pushes it in your direction, “For you.”

“What is it?” You ask, ignoring his first comment with ease.

“Open it and you’ll see.”

You squint at him suspiciously, and then nod slowly. You tug on the ribbon that’s holding the box closed, and move the lid and the tissue paper to the side, and then you stop as you see what’s in the box.

It’s the skirt.

More than the skirt, actually. It’s a whole outfit. Skirt and top and stockings and boots-

“What-?”

“A gift, for you. You deserve nice things.”

“How much did this cost?”

“Not so much to break the bank.” Boba replies with a wave of his hand, “The seamstress knew what size you wear, so everything should fit.”

You stare at the present for a moment, and then you groan and drop your head, “Whyyy? You work for Jabba! Why are you so nice?”

Boba watches you seriously for a moment, “Is that the only thing stopping you?”

“I...what?”

“Me working for Jabba, is that the only thing stopping you from taking me to bed?”

“...It isn’t helping, no.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He doesn’t answer and instead leaves the building, leaving you staring after him, absolutely bewildered, and with a brand new outfit sitting in your hands.

In truth, you don’t expect to see Boba again that night, so when he returns to the Desert Rose less than an hour later, something cold and grim in his gaze, you’re genuinely surprised.

“Welcome back?” You offer hesitantly, not sure what to make of his grim, yes strangely satisfied, expression.

“Jabba’s dead.”

His words are so startling that you almost drop the glass that you’re holding. “What?”

“Jabba’s dead. Wasn’t even hard, thought he’d have more guards.”

“You killed-!” Your voice is pitched higher than it should be and you could and lower your voice, “You killed Jabba? Why?”

“Because it’s what I was hired to do.” Boba says with a single arched brow, “And because I’m not blind, I can see what he was doing to the village. And then he insulted your honor.”

His words roll around your mind for a moment, “You killed Jabba, in part, because he insulted me?”

“Is that such a surprise?”

You walk over to him and reach out to lightly touch his cheek, “You’re not...hurt?”

“He didn’t touch me.” Boba confirms.

For a moment you stare at him, trying to determine if he’s lying to you, and as soon as you realize that he’s speaking the truth, you drop your hand from his cheek and hook a finger in his belt loop, “Come with me.”

There’s a glimmer of triumph on his handsome face, “Yes ma’am.”

Your personal apartment is pretty small, but it’s big enough for what you have planned, and for what he has planned for that matter.

Boba’s on you the moment he kicks the door shut, his hands heavy as the drag over the thick material of your clothes. He tugs at laces and pulls at buttons, until your dress falls to your feet.

“Beautiful,” He growls as one of his hands slides down your back to tightly grip your ass, his fingers digging into you and causing you to lift to your toes with a pleased gasp.

“Thank you,” You murmur, before you pull him down to press your lips against his.

Boba takes control almost immediately, and you happily let him.

He lifts you into his arms and walks you over to your bed, where he drops you in the middle of the mattress, “I’m going to ruin other men for you, princess.” He warns, as he starts to strip his clothes off and tosses them to the side.

You scramble to your knees, eager to watch him strip for you, and he shoots you an amused look.

“Someone’s eager.” Boba teases, not unkindly, “I’m going to use my mouth on your cute pussy, and then open you up with my fingers.” He explains, his gaze locked on your face, a smirk crossing his face when you lick your lips, “And then I’m going to lay back and let you ride me.”

“Let?”

“Let.” Boba confirms, “Because I’m going to be in complete control the whole time.”

You shiver in delight and crawl to the edge of the bed, your gaze dropping to his cock. “Can I-?” You ask as you reach out to touch him.

Boba catches your wrists and smirks at you, “You want to taste me, princess?”

“Yes, please.”

“Later. Lay back.” He presses a hand against your shoulder and pushes you back to the bed, before he kneels between your thighs, taking care to toss your legs over his broad shoulders.

You can feel his breath fanning against your pussy, and you squirm to try and push yourself closer to him, but his strong hands stop you from moving.

“Careful Princess,” His dark eyes glimmer with amusement, “We don’t want this to end too quickly, do we?”

[flightlessangelwings]

FlightlessAngelWings Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Here is all 31 of my kinktober fics for 2023! I’m so thrilled to participate for the 3rd year in a row and I’m excited to share all these with y’all!! As always, and since they all obviously are smutty, my blog and all my fics are 18+ only so minors please do not interact! Prompt list is made by me this year and can be found here!

All extra warnings, word counts, and what type of reader used are listed on each individual fic.

Please follow @flightlessangelwings-updates and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!

Banner made by me, dividers made by @saradika

Also on ao3!

❤️ = personal favorite

Overstimulation- Pero Tovar

Knife play- Axe Woves ❤️

Exhibitionism- Bishop Losa

Sex pollen- Nikolai Lantsov ❤️

Table sex- Sith!Obi Wan Kenobi

Bondage- Boba Fett

Slow and soft- Cal Kestis

Cockwarming- Marcus Moreno

Pegging- Steven Grant

Stripping- Cassian Andor

Blindfold- Marc Spector

Formal wear- Duke Atreides

Anonymous sex- Ezra ❤️

Tit play- Frank Castle ❤️

Against a wall- Bucky Barnes

Lap dance- Santiago Garcia ❤️

Praise kink- Loki

Dacryphilia- Comandante Veracruz

Somnophilia- Javi Gutiérrez

Sex toys- Fennec Shand

Piercings- Angel Reyes

Voice kink- Din Djarin

CNC- Will Miller

Lingerie- Joel Miller ❤️

Mirror sex- Tasm!Peter Parker ❤️

Face sitting- Frankie Morales/Benny Miller ❤️

Food play- Marcus Pike

Blowjob- Poe Dameron

Fingering- Tommy Miller ❤️

Cunnilingus- Thirteenth Doctor

FREE SPACE- Free use orgy with the Narcos boys (Javier, Carrillo and Steve)

[moodymisty]

Sound Asleep

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3]

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

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

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

Word count: 1220

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need something, princess?”

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

“Come here, little one.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[merlincmgirl]

Armour Kink - Boba Fett x FReader - NSFW

Bonus!

Summary: While admiring the way Boba holds court as Daimyo on Tatooine, you can't help but fixate on how good Boba looks in his armour. Boba notices.

Characters: Boba, Fennec

Pairing: Boba Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 8,394

Warnings: PinV sex, fingering, teasing, armour kink, thigh riding, armour riding, spanking a little?, throne sex, possessive Boba, bratting, King Boba! dirty talk, soft!dom Boba

Authour's Note: I love Boba, and I want to be on that throne with him.

Watching Boba hold court was always something you enjoyed. Not only because some of the people who came to speak with the Daimyo were interesting characters but because you were able to stare at Boba for as long as you’re liked and nobody would question it. Boba commanded attention when he sat on the throne. All eyes were drawn to him, people hung onto his every word, and nobody wanted to get on the bad side of him.

Boba radiated power.

From across the room, you couldn’t help but chuckle at a bounty hunter fawning over the Great Boba Fett. It would seem that it was wearing a bit thin as Fennec was reaching for her rifle. Draining your spotchka, you thanked the bartender before sitting at the back of the room, directly across from the throne. It was the prime spot for you to watch Boba and for him to watch you.

“Get on with it!” Boba snapped, the room quieting down at his tone. There was a nervous shift in the atmosphere but you couldn’t help but grin up at the green helmet. Boba was particularly impatient today it seemed.

It might have had something to do with the way you had teased him that morning. You had waited until the very last moment before he left to strike. Seeing him without his helmet on, that beautiful, stern and regal face combined with the bulky, Mandalorian armour had you wet between your legs. Instead of dealing with that, you had slipped from the cool sheets that covered you and stalked over to him.

Wrapping your arms around his back, you had pressed your naked body against his, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. As Boba had brought you round to his front, pressing a delightful kiss to your lips and promising he would see you later on today, you couldn’t help but misbehave. So you had deepened the kiss, pressing your breasts against the cool metal of beskar and rolled your hips up into his. The rough material of his flight suit had you letting out a groan into his mouth, hips seeking friction against your clit once more.

As he had groaned deeply into your kiss, hands dragging down your ribs, your stomach and your hips, scooping around your thighs, ready to carry you back to bed; you pulled away with a teasing smirk and wishing him a good day before heading into the refresher.

Part of you expected him to join you, to say kriff to his schedule and fuck you to oblivion in the refresher. But as you washed the suds out of your hair, you knew better than that. Boba was a man that prided himself on the control that he had over himself and others. So what better way to show you that than by walking away and carrying on with the rest of his day.

It had been frustrating, letting the heat of arousal that had been starting to build into a fire in your belly douse down into a gentle simmer. There was still plenty of time to get what you wanted.

A loud thud had you flinching, brought back to the present as 2 glasses of spotchka was suddenly in front of you. Looking up to your left, you realised Fennec was looking down at you with a suspicious look.

“What?” you asked your friend, wondering why she was looking at you like that. “What’s that look for?”

Fennec shook her head, collapsing into the seat next to you. “What did you do?” she finally asked, pouring both of you a drink.

Chuckling at her and putting on your best innocent expression, you sent her a grin. “What makes you think I’ve done anything?” you wondered, mischievous glint still in your eye.

“Boba has been in a mood all day. That normally happens when you’re playing with your food” the assassin remarked, making you laugh at that. Well, she certainly wasn’t wrong.

“Oh really? Can’t he just be in a mood? I am entirely innocent” you said, smirking around the glass of spotchka.

Fennec hummed, not believing a word that you said, and looked like she was going to call you out on your bullshit. “Nothing innocent about the way you’ve been looking at him all day” she retorted, before draining her glass and standing up. “Duty calls, Princess. If you could hurry this show along, I’d be grateful” she stated, glancing between you and Boba before going back up to her place by his throne, one hand always resting on her rifle.

Stifling your giggles at the way Fennec had caught onto your game, you turned back to the middle of the room where Boba was holding court. The way that he was spread out across the wide throne had your eyes focused on his crotch. The casual way he kept his body relaxed, yet ready to spring up at a moment’s notice to fight and attack. It had you feeling very grateful for the spotchka you were nursing. Your throat was feeling very dry all of a sudden.

The bounty hunter was asking permission to hunt for a quarry on Tatooine, not a necessary requirement, but it was done to show respect to Boba. The name of the most feared and brutal bounty hunter in the galaxy still carried a lot of weight and respect, and many up and coming bounty hunter would fawn all over him to try and get either favour or advice from him.

It seemed Boba was getting bored of this one and quickly agreed, sending him on his way with a warning not to cause trouble for the residents that were under his protection. You had to duck your head, hiding the smile that split across your face at that. Boba had such a kind and caring heart, he had really took the people of Mos Espa and those further a field under his wing.

As the court waited for the next visitor to come walking through the doors, Boba’s helmet twisted, searching for you, stopping and tilting when he saw you sitting on the bench near the front of him. Normally you kept yourself away from the court, or at least towards the back where you could spy and listen to the whispers of those around you without much noticed being taken. It was a useful thing too, you had heard a lot of loose lips whispering about information that you had then forwarded onto Boba. It also allowed you to keep out of the public eye, not drawing too much attention to yourself. If something was to happen and you were taken hostage, you knew how to defend yourself, but Boba would be infuriated at anyone hurting his riddur.

Boba must have been checking in on you because he gave a small insusceptible nod to you before focusing on the Trandoshan bounty hunter that was walking down to meet with him.

Relaxing back into the seat, you shifted slightly to widen your legs, knowing that he was getting a glimpse of your pants. His head snapped in your direction for only a moment before his attention seemed to shift to the bounty hunter as he stepped out in front of him. You couldn’t help but drag your gaze up from the armour coving his shins, to the knee pads that could shoot rocket darts out of. Working your way up his thick, powerful thighs that, though baggy, was clear to see through his black flight suit underneath. You could just imagine how he would feel pressed against you, letting you ride his strong, thick muscles until you came just from that.

Feeling a bit breathless, you raised your eyes further up, biting your lip as you stared at Boba’s crotch. There was a slight bulge, not because he was hard, but he was just so damn big. You had spent many of a time just sitting in his lap, feeling that press against you as he touched you, whispering filth into your ears. Stars! You wished you could feel him now. Just imagining him pulling you back against his chest, spreading your legs over the arms of the throne and exposing you to the room. The way his fingers would feel rubbing your clit and buried inside of you.

Cursing, you clenched your legs together, trying to relieve some of the pressure that was building in between there. You looked up further, catching your eyes on his thick belt that held a number of different things. One time it had held a remote to some vibrating pants that you had worn, and all through the day he would tease you with them, activating them when you weren’t expecting it, or when you were talking to someone he didn’t particularly liked.

Up to his chest plates which protected his broad, strong chest. In the middle was a kar'ta, an Iron Heart, that was very important to Boba. Across his right cuirass was the Journeyman Protector symbol, a part of his history that Boba was proud of. It was the symbol of his grandfather Jaster Mereel, who had found and took in Jango Fett. Boba wore it proudly in honour of both his lineage and all the memories that his father had shared about Mereel.

Along his thick shoulders, Boba wore the sigil of Mandalore – a Mythosaur skull on the burnt orange of his left pauldron. It was a reminder of his culture, of his upbringing within the Mandalorian ways. No matter what he told others, he was the son of Jango Fett, once Mand’alor to the True Mandalorians. His father had taught him the language, the customs of his people, had shown him how to fight in a way only Mandalorians could. He was every bit as Mandalorian as the many scattered around the galaxy, and he was proud of it. You couldn’t help but smile, warmth filling you at how proud Boba was of his heritage and the way he displayed it in his sigils.

And then you dragged your gaze up to his helmet, and the black visor that you always seemed to get lost in. Although it never gave away any of Boba’s emotions, it was always so expressive to you. The slight tilt of the helmet, or the way it angled when Boba was displeased, it all helped you know exactly what Boba was feeling. He would deny it of course, because how could Beskar be so expressive? But you knew what to look out for, you had been with Boba for so long you could read the little changes in his body language, even if his face was hidden behind his helmet.

Although you knew what he was feeling, to others, the helmet was intimidating, never giving a hint as to what Boba was thinking or feeling. It made him extremely hard to negotiate with, which was why Boba wore it. He liked having people on the back foot, never knowing what to say or do and waiting for his lead. It was extremely clever of him and a power move that had worked on you a number of times.

A small gasp escaped you and you flushed even more when you looked back down to meet the black visor that was currently staring at you. Startled, you blinked in surprise before sending him a wicked grin, widening your legs just slightly so he could get a glimpse of what you were wearing underneath your dress. Boba seemed to stiffen on the throne and you couldn't help the swell of pride that swelled up in your chest. Little old you could distract the might Daimyo of Mos Espa while surrounded by bounty hunters, politicians and courtesans.

Grinning, you watched as Boba’s gloved hands tightened into fists, before they relaxed back to rest on the arms of the throne. Travelling up his arms, you admired the bulky, red-brown of his vambraces. They made him appear even bigger than he was, and they kept him connected to Slave 1, along with all his weapons and jet pack launcher that was by his feet. Not that he needed to appear bigger, Boba was just as powerful in his arms and hands as he was everywhere else. The hands that had killed too many people to count and could do unspeakable things to his enemies – were the ones that pressed sweet affections into your skin, the arms that you sought out after a terrible day or a nightmare. Where others had met their demise at Boba’s hands, you had always found love and protection in them.

“That is enough for today. Leave” Boba declared, everything instantly stilling and quieting in the room. Realising you had lost yourself in thoughts about Boba and his armour once more, you looked around the room, seeing everyone surprised at the announcement but beginning to move. The way he could just command a room like that, it made you cunt throb at the need to have him.

It seemed that Boba was impatient this evening, as his eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed up. “Get out!” Boba ordered, voice clear and frightful as it rung around the chamber. His helmet turned to you, and it froze you in your seat as the room burst into life.

As the people and aliens around you packed up their stuff and went home, you kept your eyes trained on Boba. His dark visor was staring into your own eyes, and you didn’t need the helmet off to know his eyes would be full of hunger and lust, just promising what he would do to you as soon as you were alone.

Once there was silence in the chamber, everyone gone and leaving the two of you alone. Fennec had been the last one to leave, levelling the both of you with a withering look before heading up the stairs and slamming the doors closed. It did nothing but make you feel even more excited to finally have Boba to yourself.

“Been staring at me all day, Princess. See something you like?” he remarked, running his gaze up and down your body as you strolled up to the throne.

“I did. A lot actually” you replied, stopping just in front of the stone steps.

Boba hummed, taking his helmet off and placing it to the side to rest on the wide arm rests before turning back to meet you with a heavy look. You were right, he looked ravenous for you, but still so damn in control of everything.

Not deigning your response with a reply, he held up his hands, crooking his fingers to you to get you closer to him.

And like a moth to a flame, you did. You climbed up the stairs, keeping your eyes on his own until your knees bumped against his. Being in Boba’s gaze was enough to make you feel a tingle run down your spine, wondering what exactly he was thinking to do to you. “I’m feeling tired suddenly, shall we take this upstairs?” you suggested, biting your lip enticingly.

Boba let out a low chuckle, his smile lighting up his face and making him look younger. “Oh, I don’t think so Princess. Take a seat” he instructed, patting his knee.

Heat flickered in your stomach at his words and the casual way he knew you would follow his orders. Leaning back into the throne, he watched as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Instead of pressing your hips against his, Boba pushed you back until you were perched on his knees, hands coming to squeeze and knead at your hips.

Frowning at him, you sent him a confused look, wanting to be closer to him, expecting him to want you to ride him. “I want you to sit right there, little one, and tell me what exactly got you so flushed in my court” Boba said, voice low as his eyes traced the way you swallowed hard, all the way down your neck and to the nice way your chest was displayed teasingly into your dress. It was a dress that Boba had brought you, in his own colours so that everyone knew you belonged to him.

Remembering all those thoughts that had been plaguing you while you had been watching him, you couldn’t help but flush at having to try and put those thoughts into words now. “I… er… I liked seeing you” you breathed, as one of his gloved hands trailed from your hip and squeezed your thigh. Right where it met your groin. It had you very distracted, and wondering if he could feel the heat from your core radiating through his pant leg.

“Go on, you can do better than that, Princess” he murmured, encouraging you on and you knew you had no choice but to listen to him.

“Sitting on your throne… commanding er… ruling Mos Espa. Oh, Boba!” you gasped, thoughts stuttering to a halt at the way he inched you forward on his leg just a little bit. It sent delicious friction up your cunt, as his thumb ran circles into your thighs, massaging the muscle there. Sliding your eyes closed, you began rocking your hips in time to the brushes up and down of his thumb.

However, Boba didn’t want that, giving your thigh a little pinch to bring your attention back to him. “That wasn’t all, was it, Princess?” he teased, leaning in closer to you. As you went to meet his lips with your own, he pulled back, chuckling at the frustrated grumble you let out at that. “Something else was making you spread your legs for me in the middle of all these people” he grinned, pushing your bunched up dress even further up your thighs until they rested on your hips, revealing the white panties that were soaked in your arousal.

Blinking, you couldn’t help but try and press forward, into the hands that was beginning their soothing strokes up and down your legs and hips. He’d run his hands over the swell of your hips, trace them down across your thigh and finishing at your inner thigh before staring again.

“I asked you a question, little one. I expect an answer” he warned, nails digging into the soft flesh that was trapped underneath his hands.

“You looked so good in your armour, Boba. Like a King… so powerful. And the way they all fear and respect you at the same time… It made me so wet for you” you tried to explain, moaning when Boba brushed his fingers slightly against your clothed clit. It had you bucking up into his hands before he swiftly pulled them away.

“You like me wearing my armour, Princess?” he asked, gripping your chin and pulling your face to meet his, eyes locking with your own. You could do nothing but nod, trapped in his heavy stare. “Like the way it feels against you?” he murmured, eyes darkening as you bit bottom lip.

“Yes” you whispered, because you damn well loved how he looked in his armour and the way it felt pressed against you. The hardness and unforgiving nature of it digging into your soft curves.

Boba grinned, reaching for the dress bunched at your waist and dragging it up and off you, throwing it to the side of his throne for it to be taken care of by one of the cleaning droids. He couldn’t help but admire your bare chest, taking in the soft mounds of your breasts and the way your nipples stiffened at being exposed to the cool air of his court.

Wanting nothing more than to squirm on his thigh, you rested your hands on his chest, trying to lean forward for a kiss instead. But he kept you pinned in place, a hand steady and firm on your chest as he pushed you back to sitting up for him. Sighing, you nodded in acceptance, you would stay where you were, for now. It wasn’t like it was a terrible position to be in, but you wanted to feel more of him. To feel his luscious lips against your own, peeling them open and devouring you in a kiss.

However, you were distracted as Boba raised his hands in between you, before his white teeth bit into the leather of his glove, easing it off his hands. Your breath stuck in your throat at the way his teeth had wrapped around the material, careful not to bite his own finger. You could just imagine that mouth doing the same to your nipple, the way he would drag his teeth over the bud and pull on it slightly, just to hear the moans that would slip from your mouth. He did the same to the other hand before he collected them both, tucking them into the side of his belt.

Mouth suddenly very dry, you took in a steadying breath as his warm, bronzed, calloused hands ran up and down your sides, squeezing slightly at your ribs before sliding down in a soothing pressure.

“Do you know, Princess, Mandalorian armour is very special. This belonged to my father, it has my genetic chain code inside it so everyone knows it belongs to me” he stated, shifting his legs slightly and causing you to grip onto his forearms to keep yourself steady. You did know that, why was he telling you again.

“Children used to put their painted handprints on to bring luck and to carry them with their parents. I think I want your cum dripping off it instead” Boba announced, placing his helmet on his thigh, the black visor seeming to stare at you.

“Boba, you can’t say stuff like that” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut. It felt like your heart had dropped into your cunt in surprise. He couldn’t be serious, could he? The thought had slick leaking from your entrance and you would have pressed your legs together if they wasn’t spread over his thick lap.

“Why not? I want you to ride my helmet, Princess. Leave your mark for everyone to see” he smirked, pressing his knee further up into you and causing you to whine at the way it pressed against your sensitive area.

No doubt you wouldn’t be leaving here until his helmet was covered in your juices. A badge of honour for your Daimyo. The thought of him heading out to Mos Espa, to walk among his people with your juices soaked into the beskar had you dripping even more. Oh god, when he went to the rebuilt Sanctuary then his helmet would be washed and cleaned. They would know exactly what any marks covering his helmet was.

Breath stuttering in your chest and your face burning, you looked into the dark eyes of your riddur. His scarred, yet smooth bronzed skin had a slight pink tinge to it as well, obviously you wasn’t the only one unaffected by this.

Knocking the view viewfinder down so that you could be more comfortable and so it wouldn’t break, you pushed yourself up onto your knees. You wanted to do this, couldn’t wait to see him walking around Mos Espa, knowing that his helmet was your juices dripping down it.

However, Boba stopped you, squeezing your thigh to keep you still before hooking his fingers into the waistline of your underwear. “You won’t be needing these, Princess” he stated.

It was the only warning you had, as Boba ripped them from you, throwing them to the side in a tattered pile that landed on your dress. The move had you dripping but you couldn’t help the squawk of indignation at him just ruining your pants, you only had so many. “Boba! I liked those!” you protested, but he just sent you a pleased grin.

“I’ll buy you a hundred more, Princess” he assured, leaning forward to brush his lips against yours.

Resting your hands on his shoulders, feeling the cool beskar beneath your hands, you chased after his lips, determined to get a real kiss off him. Feeling the chuckle rumble against your lips from him, he slipped a hand into your hair, fisting it tightly so he could lick against the seam of your mouth, dipping inside when you gasped at his probing tongue.

Boba kissed you like he was planning to devour you. Like you were the last bit of water on all of Tatooine and he had to have you. He pressed his tongue against yours, teasing and exciting you as he swallowed your moans. The hand in your hair not letting you escape until you whined, and he finally let you go to take in deep panting breaths of air.

“Go on, Princess, ride my helmet” he ordered, helping to position you so that you were over his helmet.

Sinking down had you gasping, fingers clenching on his shoulders for support as the cool, smooth texture touched your sensitive, soaked folds. Closing your eyes at the sensation, you couldn’t help but pull away slightly so as to not become overwhelmed so quickly. The wide dome of his helmet pressed against you, forcing your legs wide around it as you began to rock against it.

Panting, you began at your own rhythm, rocking and grinding down against the helmet, cursing every time it rubbed just right against your clit. You could feel your slick and heat transferring to the metal, the slick helping to guide your way around the green bucket.

Warm hands came up to cup your breasts, and you peeled your eyes open to look down at Boba. He was watching you, eyes fixed on your face as you took your pleasure from his helmet. Your breasts was bouncing in his face, and he squeezed them roughly, sending heat shooting down into your already throbbing core.

“Boba! Oh, please touch me” you begged, pushing your chest into his hands and keeping up the rocking of your hips. It felt wonderful to have his hands on you, feel the way they set fire to you with every brush and stroke against you.

“Look at you, ad’ika. Enjoy riding my helmet so much” he groaned, thumbs brushing over your pebbled nipples, touch just on the right side of rough. “Should see how much is dripping from you, I won’t be able to see out of my visor” he teased, glancing down at the way your slick was sliding down his helmet.

You whined at his words, at the way he was pinching and pulling at your sore buds while you rode his helmet. It was becoming too much, your first release was starting to build as you quickened your pace against his helmet.

“That’s it, Princess. I know you’re close” he moaned, hand sliding around your back to bring you closer to his mouth. He took a bud into the warm, wet heat of his mouth, laving attention on the stiffened peak until it had you bucking your hips forward, chasing your pleasure. “Gonna cum just from riding my helmet? Dirty girl!” he growled, teeth grazing over your nipple and tugging at it sharply.

Combined with his words, the way he was pinching and biting and pulling at your sore nipples, and the way his helmet felt so good between your legs – spreading you wide and gliding just right under your throbbing clit, it had you falling over the edge. Your cries echoed around the stone chamber, not that you cared. The whole of Tatooine could hear just how hard Boba could make you cum, and he didn’t even need to fuck you with his cock to do it.

“That’s it, good girl, Princess. You did so well” Boba praised, helping you to raise off his helmet and sit on his lap once more. You shuddered into his chest, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm and Boba wrapped an arm around your waist. Bringing you closer to him and pressing a reassuring kiss on your head, he picked up his helmet and placed it onto the arm rest. “Open your eyes, Princess. See what you’ve done to my armour” Boba instructed, hand gliding soothingly up and down your back.

Blinking at him, you turned to face the helmet and couldn’t help the way your cunt clenched around nothing at the sight. All along the green helmet there was streaks of your cum, your slick had run over his visor and you could see more arousal dripping down the sides of it. It had you both embarrassed and proud at having marked his armour like that. Everyone would know that he was yours, and you were his.

“Bit late to get embarrassed now, little one. You did so well” Boba chuckled warmly, affection clear in his tone and the way he squeezed you into his chest. “Are you okay for more?” he asked, nuzzling your nose with his.

“Always ready for more with you” you smiled, leaning up to press a loving kiss to his lips. He returned it, letting you direct the kiss for a moment before he turned it into a more passionate kiss, drawing out little moans of pleasure and want. You sighed against his lips, pushing yourself up to straddle him properly, sitting down onto the hard bulge in his flight suit.

Boba hissed out at the contact, hands squeezing your sides at the way you felt against him. Even through his under-suit he could feel just how hot you were, could feel your slick leaking into the material. Tilting his head, he pulled away with a small gasp, although it was lost in your noise of complaint.

“Don’t be greedy, Princess” he chided, running his hand up your thighs and positioning you a bit better for him. He lifted you up slightly, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, dropping kisses along his jaw and neck while his fingers found your dripping folds.

“Kriff, Princess, is this all for me? I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re so wet” Boba cursed, gathering your release and arousal on his fingers before circling your clit with them.

“Hmm! Boba, just for you. Only you can make me feel like this” you sighed, burying your face into his neck.

“That’s right, Princess. Only I can make you feel like this, can make you cum just on their helmet” he teased, delighting in the way you groaned, trying to bury your way into his skin to hide. “I’m teasing, little one, you know how much I enjoyed that” he soothed, rocking his hips up into yours and letting you feel his erection pressed into your inner thigh.

“Please Boba, want you inside of me” you grumbled, becoming impatient yourself at the way he was just sliding his fingers around your entrance, never pushing in, but setting a dull ache in your core. He never built your pleasure, just kept it simmering on a low heat.

“Not yet, little one, have to prepare you first. Always think you can take me but you clench so hard around my cock, even after I’ve stretched you open for me” he smirked, and you didn’t even have to look at his face to know that there would be a smug expression spread across it.

Rolling your eyes, you tried to buck against his hand, get him moving things along as heat licked at your core. “Boba, I want you now!” you ordered, digging your nails into the nape of his neck.

He hissed, one hand coming to land around your throat, although he never squeezed, just kept it there as a warning. While his other hand delivered a sharp swat on your inner thigh.

Yelping at the sharp sting that left, you couldn’t help but buck into him even more, a breathless gasp leaving your lips as you felt yourself clench around nothing. Stars! You wanted him to do that again, as you leaned into the hand that was resting at the base of your throat.

“Don’t be a brat, little one!” he growled, hard eyes boring into your own and keeping you pinned under his gaze. “I won’t hurt you. So I’m going to open you up on my fingers and you’re going to thank me for it. When I think you’ve had enough, then I’m going to fuck your pretty little cunt until you can’t say anything but my name. But only when I decide, do you understand, little one?” he warned, voice rumbling out of him in a low and dark tone that had your thighs quivering at it.

“Yes, sir” you breathed, mouth falling open slightly at the way he tightened his grip around the side of your neck briefly before letting go once more.

“You’ve remembered some manners, Princess. Now, be a good girl and let me feel you clenching around my fingers” he ordered, sliding his hand between your legs once more.

He ran his fingers over your engorged clit one, two, three more times before he dipped between your folds and circled your entrance before he was pushing one of his thick fingers inside of you. He pulled out so only his finger up until his first knuckle was inside of you, before running around the rim of your hole, testing just how tight you were inside of your clenching hole.

“Boba!” you whined, burying your face into his shoulders at the way he was exploring you. Even though he knew your body like the back of his hand, he couldn’t help but want to tease out the delightful sounds of pleasure that you let out.

Noticing the way you were relaxing around his probing finger, he pushed it even further inside of you, crooking them, just like he did when he was calling for you up to his throne. Guiding you back a little so he could see the slacked mouth expression on your face as he pushed in a second finger, stretching you open even more for him. He groaned as the pressure in his flight suit became more pronounced with the way you just seemed to melt around his fingers. Sighing, he pressed his lips against your collarbone, sucking and licking marks into your skin so that others would know just exactly who you belonged to.

At a particularly sharp graze of his teeth against your collarbone, you let out a loud cry, rocking your hips and grinding down onto his hand. Normally Boba stretched you with three fingers, insisting that was the minimum he would use to make sure you were stretched and ready for him. He was always a large man, and that translated to other areas of his anatomy. You just knew that you were going to feel him for days after this.

Sucking the skin into his mouth, laving it with his tongue in apology, he pulled back, pleased to see the already darkening patch of skin at the base of your throat. He felt the way your walls tightened around his fingers, drawing and pulling him in every time he pulled them out. Like your desperate little hole couldn’t be without his fingers filling it up. “You take my fingers so well, don’t you, mesh’la?” he hummed, pleased and smug at being the one to make you like this.

Tilting your head down, you watched as his fingers disappeared inside of you, bending them just right so that they brushed against the spongy patch inside of you. When Boba entered a third finger into you, you couldn’t help the loud cry you let out, hearing it echo around the deserted room as Boba continued to stroke and rub at the delicious spot that had you shuddering.

Of course, Boba noticed and couldn’t help but say something, loving to tease you when you were like this. So desperate and needy in his lap, at his mercy as your cries of pleasure rung out in the room because of him. “Look at you, I’ve only just started using my fingers and you’re already shaking for me” he chuckled darkly, thumb coming to rub circles against your clit.

“OHHH! Boba! There! Please, right there” you yelped, feeling the way his thick, delicious fingers were pressed inside of you, while his thumb was massaging and rubbing at your bundle of nerves.

“I know, little one. I’ll get you there. Go on, ride my fingers” he shushed, cooing at you as he felt the way your walls tightened and relaxed around him.

Your thighs were burning at this point, and you couldn’t help the small whine that fell from your lips as you raised your hips up off him before sinking down onto his fingers. You ground against them, bucking and rolling your hips as he kept stimulating your clit, rubbing small circles on it and making the coil inside of you tighten.

“Boba please, I- I can’t” you pleaded, shuddering against him as you bucked your hips.

“Sshh, Princess. You just lie there, I’ll take care of you” he soothed, licking a stripe up the side of your neck before nibbling at the hinge of your jaw and pulling a moan from you. He pulled you down to rest against his chest while he pumped his fingers out of you faster and faster, building up your release until you had no choice but to fall over the edge, calling out his name as you shivered against his heaving chest.

“That’s it Princess, good girl. You look so beautiful cumming around my fingers, I know you’re going to be radiant when you cum around my cock” Boba said quietly, withdrawing his fingers from you and pulling them into his mouth. He let out a loud groan at the taste, watching as your eyes widened and your mouth fell open at the sight of him sucking your release from his fingers.

“Fuck Boba! You… you’re going to kill me” you chuckled breathlessly, licking your lips as you watched him.

He let out a huff of amusement before he was pushing you up back onto your feet in front of him. Your knees wobbled but you locked them, managing to keep yourself straight with the help of his strong, steady hands on your hips.

“Don’t die on me just yet, little one. I’m going to fuck you now. Do you still want that?” he checked in, pushing himself up to stand as well. Pulling you into him, he supported your weight with his body, making sure you were alright to continue.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his armour felt pressed against your sweaty, panting body, still shaking slightly from the aftershocks of your powerful orgasms. “I still want that, Boba, but I think my legs will give out before you get the chance” you grinned, leaning in to kiss him sweetly.

“That’s alright little one, all I want you to do is lie right here, I’ll take care of the rest” he assured, leading you over to the side of his throne. He grabbed one of the pillows and throws someone had left as tribute and placed them so you could lie comfortably.

As you bent over the wide arm rests, you couldn’t help but sigh, glad of Boba’s attention to your comfort levels. The pillows and throws helped soften the rough edges so they weren’t digging into your skin. Resting your head against the seat, you let yourself relax, waiting for Boba.

You weren’t waiting long, as you felt his dexterous fingers run up and down your slit, collecting the arousal dripping from you. Boba nudged your legs wider, planting himself firmly between your spread legs. “Kriff, you’re so beautiful, Princess. Wish you could see how you look from here” Boba praised, running his fingers gently over your aching clit.

You jolted, a surprised giggle escaping you as well. “I think you appreciate the sight more than I ever will, Boba” you told him, wiggling your hips at him.

You heard an answering snort of amusement before hands were gripping your cheeks and spreading you wide open for his gaze. Moaning, you buried your face into your arms, muffling your sounds.

A sharp crack had you jumping, and you instantly reached back to clutch at your cheek where Boba had spanked you. “Ah! I want to hear you, Princess. Don’t you dare muffle any of your moans” he rebuked, stroking the sting away with his palm running over the reddened cheek.

Nodding, you lifted your head a little and let our a shaky breath, trying to push back into him. “Sorry, just really need you inside of me. Taking me, claiming me, making everyone know who I belong to” you groaned, knowing your words would entice him to fuck you and not draw this out.

“Fuck! Princess! Everyone is going to hear you screaming my name” he promised, gripping the base of his thick, heavy cock in his hand and rubbing it over your slit. He circled the tip around your clit before sliding once more between your glistening folds.

“Boba please! Fuck me!” you begged, eyes squeezed shut at the zap of pleasure that shot from your cunt all the way up your spine, leaving you breathless and feeling like you were on fire.

Chuckling darkly, Boba notched the head of his cock at your entrance, barely pressing in enough to stretch your opening around the dome shaped head of his cock. “You asked for it, little one” he smirked, before pushing inside of you with a steady thrust, unrelenting of his pace as he continued to stretch your quivering walls around him.

Panting, you moans and cries coming out broken from your mouth as your legs shook, glad of the way the throne was holding you up. It felt like he was splitting you in two, even with the way he stretched you around 3 of his fingers. The heavy, feeling of his cock made you feel stuffed full, like there was no other space inside of you for him to press into. Your hands clutched and scraped on the hard stone of the throne, desperate to clutch onto something.

Boba must have realised that, because he grasped your hands in his, flattening them so you couldn’t hurt yourself against the stone. He reached back and pressed his gloves into your hands instead.

Instantly you began squeezing and tugging on them, as you adjusted to his size, trying to gain a steady breath at the way he just filled you up so perfectly. It felt like he was carving a place inside of you for himself, never wanting to let you go as his hands squeezed your hips, stopping you from pressing back into him.

“There we go, Princess, all inside of you now” Boba purred, brushing a warm, calloused hand down your spine and delighting in the way you relaxed further around his cock. “Is this what you needed when you were being a brat this morning? Knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be back in this greedy cunt again” Boba growled, pulling back out of you before slamming inside of you with one powerful thrust.

“AAH! BOBA!” you screamed, as he forced you further across his throne. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” you whined, as he began to set a fast pace, fucking into you quickly and drawing out slowly that allowed you to feel the heavy weight drag across that sweet spot inside of you.

“That’s it, little one. I’ve got you, just going to lie there and take what I give you, won’t you? Be my good girl” Boba said, voice light and soothing but the words had you sinking into him, whining softly as you nodded. He couldn’t help the groan that he let out at the feel of you just accepting everything he gave you. He rewards you with leaning forward, the heavy weight of his chest plate pinning you further into the throne as he lay nips and kisses along the back of your neck and shoulders.

The feel of him pressing you down, his hips fit snugly against yours had your breaths stuttering in your chest. He felt so big, encompassing you and keeping you still for him. It felt so good to feel that cool Beskar against your heated, sweat-slicked skin. The way his vambraces dug into you slightly as he held your sides.

“Boba please!” you whined, turning your head so that you could briefly catch his lips in a kiss. It was a messy kiss, over just as quick as it had begun but it had pleasure curling in your core. “Fuck! Need more, please!” you begged, hand reaching around to wrap around his neck and keep him close to you.

Boba’s deep groan filled your ear and you couldn’t help but clench around him at such an erotic sound. You had done this to him, fired him up enough that he had dismissed his court and was fucking you over his throne.

“Such a greedy thing” he admonished, grunting as he slamming his cock inside of you once more. “I am fucking you” he reminded, pulling your hips back against his own. But still he pulled himself away from you and rested a hand on the nape of your neck, keeping your face twisted to the side, while the other squeezed your hip tight enough to leave bruises. “But if you want more, Princess… Well, you know I can never say no to you” he chuckled, pounding into you now as he kept your hips up, driving his cock into your fluttering walls.

The squelching noise as he fucked you deep hit your ears, you could hear just how wet you were, how every thrust made that sound. Your slick was wetting the inside of your thighs and his crotch, but he didn’t care, driving down into you over and over until all you could think of was Boba and so good! You clung onto the other arm rest, trying to keep yourself steady as you let out sobs of pleasure. Tears were beginning to sting your eyes as he reached around you to rub at your clit.

“BOBA!” you yelped, letting out a guttural moan at the way he was filling you, driving your release closer and closer with every press against your cervix.

“Kriff! You feel so good, Princess. So tight around my fat cock” he hissed, driving into you harder and winding his hand into your hair. Tugging slightly, but making sure you didn’t move too much from the position he put you in.

You moaned, feeling the way you were exposed for him, the way his fingers rubbed at your clit and his cock spearing into you. It was becoming too much, and you could feel the way your walls were clutching onto his thick cock.

“Can feel you shaking around me, little one. Are you going to cum for me? Let me fill your sweet hole up with my cum?” he growled, rolling his hips inside of you and moaning at the way you clung to him so tightly he could barely move. “Fuck Princess! Feels like you’re swallowing me up” he groaned, nudging your legs a little wider so he could hit that spot deeper.

“Oh!” you gasped, arching up into him as much as possible while he kept you pinned down. The coil in your stomach was tightening, and you felt so close to the edge. All you needed was a little more, you didn’t know what but Boba did. “Yes! Yes! Please, Boba, please!” you chanted, lost in the pleasure that he was stoking inside of you.

“Cum for me Princess” he ordered, pinching your clit and sending you crashing over the edge.

You cried out his name, hearing it echo around you as you shook, vision going white as your released washed over you. Everything became too much and not enough as you felt Boba slam his cock deep inside of you a couple more times before he was shooting his hot release into your fluttering channel. His snarl of your name filling the chambers as well.

Carefully he pulled away from your sensitive clit, pulling himself away from you and rubbing up and down your body, soothing the tremors that still ran through you. He pressed kisses along your shoulders, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. How you were such a good girl for him, how he can’t get enough of you, that you are everything he was searching for. He pressed love into you, making sure you calmed down with the help of his steady hands and soothing voice.

When both of your breaths returned to normal, Boba pulled out and helped you to stand up.

Grimacing, you clenched your thighs, hoping to stop the mess that was already leaking down your thighs. He reached for some water and a cloth behind his throne and you shot him a surprised look.

“Do you just keep cleaning supplies behind your throne for this occasion?” you demanded, hissing slightly at the cool temperature as he wiped you clean.

Boba gave you an unimpressed look before turning back to cleaning you up. “I know just how much you like to see me sitting on the throne, little one. You’re not as subtle as you think” he stated, eyes crinkling in the corners in amusement.

Even though he had been balls deep inside of you only a few minutes ago, you couldn’t help but flush at his words. He would be using that knowledge to tease you no doubt. Burying your face into his chest, you heard him chuckle and the gentle kiss press against your head.

“Come on, Princess, lets go back to our rooms. I’ll run you a nice bath and we can have a soak” Boba offered, running his palms up and down your arms.

“That’ll be nice. Can you pass me my dress then? I don’t feel like giving your staff a show” you hummed, pulling back to press a kiss to his chin.

“I think they already heard it” he smirked, reaching for your dress to hand it over to you, and picking up his helmet at the same time. Your eyes widened at the way your arousal was streaked down it. “Hmm, I’m never cleaning this again” he remarked, winking at you playfully.

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

Resolution — Frankie "Catfish" Morales x reader

inspired by the song Resolution by Matt Corby. tell me what you think and requests and suggestions are appreciated.

word count: under 1K

Frankie Morales doesn’t buy into New Year’s resolutions.

They strike him as futile, and frankly, he doesn’t bother with them. And while the world outside is turning into a chaos of flimsy promises, doomed to be broken before the month’s end, January 1st finds Frankie where most days do—in the corner of his favourite coffee haunt, nursing a black brew that mirrors his mood. 

And as always, he sits alone and still. Observing. Reflecting, sometimes maybe. Bust mostly, just being.

But then, the routine shatters. Subtly, beautifully. In the flicker of change that slips through the staff-only door wearing an apron that’s tied haphazardly around the waist.

Small in stature but immense in spirit, the newcomer draws Frankie’s attention, compelling him to steal a glance. And then another, and one more. And when your eyes eventually catch (though yours shy away while his linger) Frankie finds a small but genuine ray of light breaking through the gloom of his sky.

Your first exchanges are brief. You stutter greetings and he meets them with his quiet acknowledgments as you take his orders. Your hands, unsteady and unpracticed, flutter in a dance of clumsiness—a stark contrast to the precision and discipline that govern Frankie’s world.

And each time, two hearts quicken and skip over their beats, though carefully concealed—camouflaged within Etta James’ soft crooning in the background, the hiss of the coffee machine, or the gentle hum of conversations happening around you.

So, the days blend into weeks and weeks into months, the first trees blossom and so do your interactions. You’re still dropping cups and mixing up orders, but you also learn how to brew a pretty damn fine espresso. Frankie, for his part, ventures from the solitude of his corner to the vibrant life at the counter, his time now measured by crossword puzzles and quick, stolen glances in your direction.

One day, as you lean across the counter, curiosity piqued by the crossword puzzle Frankie ponders over, you venture, “Need a hand with that?”

A pause, a heartbeat swallowed by time, then his eyes lift from the tangled web of words, meeting yours with a smile.

“Bounty hunter in the Star Wars universe. Eight letters?”

Your response is a momentary pause. Another smile, and then, two words "Boba Fett," as you look towards the door, ready to greet a new customer.

When the streets grow covered with fallen leaves, and the calendar crosses the summer away, it’s no longer just pleasantries and botched acrosses and downs, but coffee refills and slices of leftover pie after hours. It’s giggles, and it's jitters, and shivers. It’s confessions, dreams and pasts. Frankie learns about you through spilled coffee and burnt toast, and you manage to peel back the layers of his tough exterior, discovering a kindred spirit whose scars resonate as deeply as your own.

As the year cycles back to its frost-kissed start, the evening of December 31st finds Frankie where most days used to do—in the corner of his favourite coffee haunt. 

And as always, he sits alone and still. Observing. Reflecting, maybe. Bust mostly, just being. And now, waiting.

Waiting for you to burst from the staff-only door, but only this time, there's no apron cinched around your waist—instead, a worn-out winter coat envelops you, as warm as the smile you wear while you step outside.

Snow blankets the ground, a chill sweeps through the air. People walk by with a festive spring in their step. Fireworks bloom in the distance, their colours reflected in the laughter that fills the night. 

"Never been one for New Year's resolutions," Frankie muses next to you as he looks up at the sky. "Always seemed like a fool's errand."

"And yet, here you are, sounding like someone who’s made one for the new year," you tease, catching the subtle shift in his demeanor.

A smile, slight but sincere, graces his lips. "Yeah, maybe this year is different," he admits, his gaze drifting from the stars to lock with yours, a silent acknowledgment of the shift within him.

"And what's this resolution?"

His hand, though unsteady, reaches out to gently caress your cheek. "Here's a hint: Makes a damn fine espresso. Three letters?"

“Let me guess,” you smile, “it’s you.”

"Yeah," he breathes out, his words barely a whisper as his lips find yours, sealing a moment. A year. A beginning. "It's you."

—

tag: @pedroschka

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Promises and Pastry

Rating: T / SFW (whaaaaat?!)

Pairing: Jango Fett x Baker Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.3k

Summary: On your way to work, you stumble upon an adorable two-year-old Boba Fett, who wandered away from the bounty hunter Jango entrusted with his care. Wholesome, tooth-rotting fluff ensues. Feat. Jango Fett being a sexy single dad.

A/N: I wrote this for Father's Day. This is the last AO3 work that I needed to migrate to Tumblr, so DJ's Great Fic Migration is now complete 🖤

Warnings: fluff; canon-typical violence

Suggested listening:

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Boba Fett sits in a rundown cantina, waiting for his contact to show. The place is an absolute dive, but not even close to the worst he’s seen. The jukebox is playing an old, old song—some sentimental Arcadian jazz ditty about a lost love. The music is incongruous with the dingy setting, but something about the melody tugs at his subconsciousness. It makes him think of warm, soft arms; a gentle voice; the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked bread. Is it a memory or a dream? He can’t tell.

He finishes his drink and pushes the intrusive thoughts away, then orders another round as he waits for his new employer.

The air is crisp in the predawn hours, and only the dim glow of street lamps illuminates your path as you walk to work. Your mind is caught up with the tasks ahead of you: baking the para rolls, ryshcates, and buttersweet puffs that you assembled the previous day; mixing up tomorrow’s batches of dough; topping up the caf supplies before your barista arrives—and all of this needs to happen before you even open the shop for the day. The bakery has always been your dream, and it’s worth the early mornings to finally have a place of your own.

You are almost to the shop when you hear a strange sound. A small, distressing whimper that echoes clearly through the early-morning silence. You scan the area. Bar’leth is a Core World: a safer planet than some, but your bakery is located near one of the seedier areas. It’s an unfortunate tradeoff for the low cost of rent. You don’t see any obvious threats, but you clutch your satchel a little closer to your body, just in case. The cry comes again, and you increase your pace, eyes darting up and down the street. And then you see the source.

A tiny, weeping child huddles on the walkway. He can’t be more than two or three years old. 

“Oh, my stars,” you whisper as you hurry over to him. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

He looks up at you, wet tears clinging to his eyelashes. An adorable mop of dark curls tumbles around his face, and his tragic, golden eyes break your heart. He holds his hands up to you, and without a second thought, you scoop him up.

“Where are your parents, darling?” you ask, looking around the deserted street.

He wails something incoherent and buries his face in your shoulder. There is no sign of another living being anywhere. You rub his back consolingly and whisper gentle reassurances. Your heart has already made the decision before your mind can catch up: you can’t leave him out here. Settling him more securely in your arms, you hurry the last couple of blocks to your bakery and let yourself inside, locking the door behind you.

You flip on the lights in the kitchen, and the child ceases his wailing and takes a few shuddering gulps. You check him for injuries and find none; it seems he was merely, understandably, frightened. He peers around the bakery curiously.

“Are you thirsty?” you ask.

He nods, so you pour him a glass of water. He gulps it down while you turn on the oven, watching you with fascinated, intelligent eyes. He sloshes a bit of water on you, and you wonder how you are going to manage your workload with one hand occupied holding him. Just then, he spots a tray of day-old pastries.

“I’m hungry,” he says.

You’re relieved that he speaks Basic. Hopefully that means he can tell you where to find his parents. Your commercial kitchen is not exactly a welcoming environment for a toddler, but you set him down on a footstool and bring him a scone—the plainest one you can find, without too much sugar. Force knows the last thing you need is a toddler on a sugar high bouncing around your kitchen while you try to work.

You introduce yourself and ask, “What’s your name?”

“Boba,” he replies around a mouthful of scone. He has crumbs all over his face already; it’s impressive how quickly he made the mess.

“Boba, do you know where your parents are?”

“Dada went to work.”

“Where does your dad work?” you ask as you tie on your apron.

He shakes his head, and tears well in his eyes again. You feel something tug in your chest, and you blink back tears of your own. You’ve always been a sympathetic cryer, but your heart would have to be made of stone to not be moved by Boba’s woeful expression.

“It’s all right,” you soothe him, crouching down to brush those long curls out of his eyes. “You can stay here with me. We’ll find your dad, I promise.”

He nods with a sniffle, and then dives forward into your arms. You squeeze him tightly to you, then settle him onto your hip and get to work. Luckily, the trays are small enough that you can manage them with only one hand, but eventually, you need both hands to work. You start to shift Boba, and you realize he’s fallen asleep against you. It is far from ideal, so you retrieve a large cushion from the front of the house and set it up out of the way in the kitchen. You lay the boy gently down and get to work, amazed that he can sleep through your racket, but then again, it’s only four o’clock in the morning.

He sleeps for hours, and once you’ve finished prepping the next day’s goods, you change out of your utilitarian apron into the pretty, frilly one you wear when you’re running the register. You hear the back door open, and you turn to see your barista, Siero, staring at the sleeping child.

“What. is. that?” she asks.

“And good morning to you, too,” you say.

“Did you steal that child?” she asks suspiciously.

You roll your eyes. “No, I didn’t steal him. He was wandering alone outside the bakery. I brought him inside so he’d be safe until I can find his parents.”

“Have you checked the Holonet to see if anyone has reported him missing?” Siero asks, ever practical.

“Not yet,” you admit. “I’ve been busy getting ready to open.”

Siero pulls out her datapad and runs a quick search. “Nothing so far,” she says with a frown. “I hope you don’t expect me to watch him.”

“Of course not,” you say. “I’ll take care of him. Maybe his parents will come in. If they don’t, I’ll get in touch with the Children’s Wellness Department after we close up for the day.”

Siero shrugs and pulls on her apron. “Well, I always said you could run this place blindfolded with your hands tied. Looks like I’m about to find out.”

Boba continues to sleep as the first wave of customers makes its way through the shop. Fortunately, there’s a lull by the time he wakes up, and you’re able to take a break and sit with him at one of the tables as he eats a pedunkee mufkin and drinks a cup of hot chocolate that Siero makes for him. After that, you work the register with one hand while you carry him on your opposite hip. 

He’s a sweet boy, polite and well-mannered, and your customers are enchanted with him. They are not the only ones; you can feel yourself growing attached, even as you remind yourself how utterly foolish it is to do so. He starts to echo you every time you thank a customer for their business.

“Thank you, come back soon,” he calls, beaming a delighted grin when you laugh.

All too soon, it’s time to close up for the day. Siero heads home, and you flip the Open sign over to Closed as you begin cleaning the bakery. You turn on your favorite old-timey Arcadian jazz music and set Boba down as you sweep the floors, wipe down the tables, and clear out the display case. He follows behind you, eager to help, and you end up swooping him up and dancing with him to the music as he shrieks and giggles with joy. 

Ten hours earlier

Jango Fett limps onto the Slave I, lugging a gory bag containing the severed head of his bounty. It had been a brutal hunt—far more difficult than he’d anticipated. He should never have brought Boba with him this time. But by the time he had tracked his target to Bar’leth, it was too late to return the boy to the safety of Kamino. Instead, he’d entrusted him to the care of his not-quite-friend, sometimes-hunting-partner, Mado Kena. The Rodian had not exactly been delighted to be stuck with babysitting duty, and Jango wasn’t thrilled at the idea of leaving Boba in his care, either, but he hadn’t had much choice.

He’d tracked the bounty for hours and finally cornered him in a gambling den. It hadn’t gone well. The man fought back viciously, and Jango took a blaster bolt to his leg. Ultimately, he had killed the bastard. The bounty is lower for his corpse, but still worth enough to cover expenses. 

He can’t wait to get off this rock. He hisses with pain as he climbs the ramp to his ship and tosses the bag into the conservator.

“Mado, I’m back,” he calls. 

There is no response. The kriffer is probably holed up in his bunk. Jango pounds on the door.

“Mado, wake up, it’s time to go.”

There is no sound from the Rodian. With an exasperated sigh, Jango hits the control panel, and the door slides open. The bunk is empty. Jango stares at it for a moment, then whirls to check his own bunk. It is also empty. Cursing, he runs through the ship, checking every cubby and nook large enough to hold a toddler.

“Boba! Boba, where are you?” he calls, his voice ragged and urgent.

He comms Mado, but there is no response. Gritting his teeth, he calibrates his vambrace to track the comlink. Mado hasn’t gone far, and Jango immediately sets out to find him. His leg screams with agony, but there is no time to stop and apply bacta. He pushes through the pain, and soon tracks Mado to a squalid cantina. The hunter is passed out on one of the tables, and there is no sign of Boba.

Jango seizes Mado by his shirt and drags him to his feet. The hunter startles awake and thrashes in Jango’s grasp. The acrid scent of cheap whiskey oozes from his green skin.

“Where is my son?” Jango growls.

“Wha—what?” Mado stutters, blinking his star-flecked eyes with confusion.

“Where is Boba?” Jango’s voice is hoarse with rage and fear.

“He was just here,” Mado says as he claws at Jango’s fists to try to break his grip. “I got thirsty, so I came over for a drink. I brought him with me, I swear!”

Jango shoves the hunter back down into his seat and whirls to face the bartender. “Have you seen a little boy? He’s only two. Dark hair, brown skin.”

The bartender shrugs. “Sorry, bud, that Rodian was here when I started my shift. Didn’t see a kid with him.”

“Karabast,” Jango spits, rounding on Mado. “If any harm has come to him, there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide.”

The Rodian cowers, and Jango strides out of the cantina, tracking the most important target of his life.

Not many things frighten Jango Fett, but as he chases through the night, his heart pounds, his stomach churns, his gloves grow damp with sweat. The darkness gives way to dawn, and then to the harsh light of morning, and still he hunts. He searches endlessly, desperately, sweeping the seedy district and working his methodical way outward into the fringes of respectable neighborhoods. There is no sign of his son, and panic claws at his throat. 

By the time the sun is high overhead, Jango is near despair. He stops to rest his throbbing leg, leaning against a building as he gasps with pain. A flash of movement in his peripheral vision catches his attention, and he turns. Across the street is a quaint little shop with a cheerful sign that reads BAKERY, and through the large windows, he sees a woman twirling with a young child. Jango stiffens.

Boba.

He launches away from the wall and storms across the street, slamming the bakery door open with a shout. “Boba!”

You scream and cower away, shielding the boy with your body. Jango stalks toward you, a huge and intimidating figure in Mandalorian armor.

“Please don’t hurt us!” you cry. “I haven’t cleared the till yet. You can take all the credits, just please, please don’t hurt him.”

Jango skids to a halt. “Hurt him?”

“He’s just a child,” you beg. “Please.”

Jango raises his hands slowly, telegraphing that he’s not a threat. Currently. He breaks the seal on his helmet and removes it, setting it on the table next to him.

“My name is Jango Fett. Boba is my son,” he says.

Your terrified gaze darts to his face. Your hand is cupping Boba’s head protectively, but the boy twists in your arms when he hears his father’s voice.

“Dada!” Boba shrieks, pushing away from you.

You set the boy down with obvious reluctance, and he runs to Jango, who scoops him up into a tight embrace. He clutches Boba to his chest as he examines him for injuries.

“How did he come to be wandering the streets alone in the middle of the night?” you ask, more than a hint of judgment in your tone.

“My friend was supposed to be watching him while I was at work,” Jango replied. “Former friend, I reckon. I’ve been searching for him for hours.”

Boba is babbling happily. You can only understand about half of what he says, but Jango listens gravely to the boy.

“Is that so?” he asks. He shifts his attention to you, and you swallow nervously under the intensity of his scrutiny. “He says you gave him hot chocolate.”

You feel a hot flush wash over you at the disapproval you infer from his words. “Well, it was either that or caf, and I didn’t want to see what would happen if we gave a toddler a double shot of espresso.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” he says, and his voice is filled with so much relief that you soften instantly. 

“I’m glad you found him. He’s a sweet boy.” After a moment’s hesitation, you speak again. “Would you like something to eat? I’ve just closed up for the day, but we have a few things left.”

Jango looks surprised at your offer, but he accepts gladly. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

You pull together an assortment of savory and sweet pastries: a vagnerian canapé, a water-chicken meat pie, a tal-toori, and dameapple turnover. Then you brew a large cup of caf and set it all on the table for him. He has collapsed into one of your big, comfortable armchairs, and Boba is resting against his armored chest. Without his helmet, you can see that he is remarkably handsome, and you smile at the way he rests his cheek on his son’s riotous curls. He looks exhausted; deep circles carved under his eyes—eyes that are exactly the same beautiful, rich brown as Boba’s—and there is a shadow of stubble on his jaw. The Arcadian jazz continues to play, and you pick up your broom to continue cleaning as Jango eats. Boba calls out your name and reaches for you.

“No, Boba,” Jango chides. “Leave the pretty lady alone. She has work to do.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, holding out your arms to Boba. 

Jango shrugs and hands his son back to you so he can attack his plate in earnest. You dance as you work, much to Boba’s delight. Jango watches you, admiring the way your body sways to the music. He isn’t blind; he can see that you are a beautiful woman, and he takes a moment to appreciate the way a few strands of hair have worked themselves free from your simple bun to curl in a halo around your face. He realizes that he’s been holding a pastry halfway to his mouth as he watches you twirl and play with his son. He crams the rest hastily into his mouth and takes a long drink of caf to wash it down. 

The food is good. Delicious, actually. He’s been eating ration bars for weeks, and he’s almost forgotten what real food tastes like. The warm light of the early afternoon spills into the bakery and bathes the room in a tranquil golden haze. He notices now that there are cheerful vases of fresh flowers on each table, and a low shelf full of books against one wall. 

Kriff, he’s so tired. He stretches his legs out gingerly, feeling the ache of his blaster wound. He leans back in the soft chair, just for a moment. Just to rest his leg before making the long walk back to the Slave I.

You finish cleaning the bakery and get everything staged for the next morning, and when you and Boba return to the front of house, you find Jango asleep in your armchair. You finally get a good look at him without feeling quite so awkward and intimidated. He looks younger; his guarded expression relaxes into softness. His head is tilted back, leaving the thick, brown column of his throat exposed. His shoulders are impressively broad, and while some of that bulk is clearly due to his armor, you suspect that most of it is just Jango.

With a tiny smile, you retrieve a picture book from your shelf and settle into another armchair with Boba on your lap. The boy snacks on the leftover scraps from his father’s plate, even though you offer to get him a plate of his own. You read to him until he falls asleep, cuddled safely in your arms.

Jango lurches awake, staring wildly around him, his body tensed for violence. He’s disoriented for a moment, but then he sees you, curled up in an armchair across from him, Boba nestled securely against you. Both of you are fast asleep. He stands, flexing his leg experimentally. He’s not sure how long he was out, but judging by the angle of the sun, it’s been a few hours. He crosses to your armchair and gazes down at you and Boba. Something like tenderness is in his eyes as he smooths your hair out of your face.

Your eyes flutter open at his touch, and you smile up at him drowsily.

“I need to get going,” he says quietly, careful not to wake his son.

You nod your understanding and rise to your feet. He takes Boba and settles him against his shoulder. You help him put on his helmet, and he presses his free fist to his chest in a gesture of respect, careful not to jostle the boy.

“Thank you again,” he says sincerely. “For everything.”

“Of course,” you say. “Tell Boba to come visit me again sometime.”

“He’d like that,” Jango says. 

You walk him to the door and watch as he and Boba disappear down the streets of Bar’leth, and as you stand alone in your bakery, the music continues to play.

“Boba Fett?” a man asks. He is wearing civilian clothes, but the stick up his ass has Boba willing to bet a thousand credits that he’s Imperial military.

Boba nods his head.

“The very man I was hoping to find," the man says. His clipped, affected Coruscanti accent grates on Boba's temper."The Empire requires your service. I’m to deliver you personally to Lord Vader’s ship.”

Boba finishes his drink and wordlessly follows the man, and the song plays on in the empty cantina.

---

Tagging:

@secondaryrealm @blueink-bluesoul @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu

This fic has artwork!

[fandom-friday]

PART 1 OF 2 (FICS ONLY)

Thank you so much to everyone that submitted recommendations this week! There was SO MUCH content, I have to split this week's summary into two parts! A comprehensive list of this week’s fic submissions can be found under the cut! Recommendations are organized by show/media, and any main pairings will be listed after the title.

✨ = 18+ content 🪐 = contains spoilers of a currently running show

Fics:

The Clone Wars: ✨ Rooftop Reunion (Commander Fox x f!Reader) by @wings-and-beskar ✨ Sweet True Lies (Commander Fox x OC Keeda Ionza) by @sleepingsun501 I Fits I Sits (Captain Rex x OC Mira) by @kimiheartblade Cyare (Clone Trooper Sister x f!Reader) by @imarvelatthestars It Happened Quiet by @mercurydancer An Unexpected Chance by @mercurydancer For This Republic I Will Bleed by @captora

The Bad Batch: ✨Stars Beyond Number (Echo x Riyo Chuchi, Gregor x OC Cerra Kilian) by @dystopicjumpsuit ✨ Exigency (Captain Howzer x f!Reader) by @the-rain-on-kamino 🪐 (TBB S3) She Walks in Starlight (Clone Trooper Sister x f!Reader) by @imarvelatthestars A Dead Traitor is a Good Traitor by @hellowkatey 🪐 (TBB S3) Revelation by RheaShay (AO3)

The Book of Boba Fett: ✨ Golden (Garsa Fwip x Fennec Shand) by @btwxsixesandsevens

Star Wars Prequel Trilogy: Shattered Sunrise (Mace Windu x OC Danica Morrow) by @pickleprickle Sahuldeem by @inonibird Agwe by @jedi-valjean

Batman: Home Is Where the Heart Is by LittleLadybugs (AO3) The Lone Ranger Never Had To Deal With Bruce Wayne by @theskeptileptic Your Hands Are To Loud by BatFamily_shenanigans (AO3) Have We Met Before? by @lulurythmea Soft Robin, Sleepy Robin, Little Ball of Trauma by @iselsis Surprise by Racoonwriter (AO3) Patty Cake, Patty Cake, My Brother Ran Away by That_Hippie_Chick (AO3) Play it Again by @jazz020 The Cold (My Burning Promise) by BlueKappa (AO3) Brotherly Wisdom by @olivia-anderson-fanfic Late by breathingsentences (AO3) Not Him by @animemangasoul

Hetalia: Axis Powers: A Matter of Time by @cultureandseptember A Matter of Course by @cultureandseptember TELL ME A PIECE OF YOUR HISTORY by @cultureandseptember

Crossover AUs: Tanjiro & Kagome: A Taishō-Heisei Friendship (Demon Slayer X InuYasha Crossover) by Splashpointparabox (AO3) Life Anew (Batman X Detroit: Become Human Crossover) by BrickSheep (AO3) Steer Yourself (Any Direction You Choose) (The Clone Wars X The Murderbot Diaries Crossover) by antonomasia09 (AO3) The Five Tenets That Mandalorians Must Follow (and the One Thing Worth Breaking Them For) (The Mandalorian X The Murderbot Diaries Crossover) by @urisarang

[tremendum]

twin suns ; striding behind you

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part four of the Twin Suns series  ;  prologue  ;  part i ; part ii ; part iii

pairing: au (canon-divergent), western-inspired Din Djarin x fem!bounty!reader (afab, w use of woman, girl, etc) rating: eventually explicit. slow slow burn. (18+. mdni.)  

warnings: canon-typical violence, allusions to past abuse, fear, descriptions of reader's injuries (there are a lot of them), dehydration and hunger (mention of eating), temporary blindness still, mean!Mando but also soft!Mando???, insecure reader (scars, etc), allusions to past assault and past SA(nondescript), brief mentions of trauma, slightly possessive themes, partial nudity, hints of a size kink. reader hates men <3.

synopsis:  “'aren't you used to danger, bounty hunter?' you spit, indignance sprouting from the rotting seed of your fear. his back is turned, but you still hear him. 'not the kind of danger that you are.'"

word count: 6.7k! 

notes: im back from the graveyard to post this next part! my Din brainrot is returning and ive been finding time between my two jobs to write more :) pls lmk if you like this installation! yay things are kind of picking up now wahoo

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:

every step forward draws a heated exhale from your marred lips.

the harsh desert winds carry whispers of sand across the vast expanse of Tatooine as the hunter leads you towards the distant silhouette of Boba Fett's palace; it stands menacing as you squint against the faintness of your sight.

your throat aches, your head pounds - each step, a creaking of your aching, dehydrated bones. the dunes you don't have to see to understand - they stretch endlessly, a canvas of muted browns and grays beneath the suns that reflect rays sharper than needles. 

'the journey is long, and the desert does not forgive hesitation.'

you grit your teeth, silently agreeing with the strange Rodian who had beckoned you towards the Diamyo's palace. it feels like your body is failing you under the intense heat; how the Mandalorian can stand it in so many layers is beyond you. but in your bitter moment of self-pity, you lose sight of the mounds of uneven terrain that billow below your boots, the heat beating down on your head so hard your eyes almost shut unwillingly as your feet meet resistance.

without warning, you find yourself falling forward - a billow of pain shoots through your wrist as your palms meet the abrasive sand.

your head pounds, dehydration and hunger taking its ravaging toll on you as you land. a soft gasp escapes your lips as the ground kisses you harshly, unforgivingly; a strike of panic over you as your twisted, marred hands are once again slammed against the weight of your body joined by the Hunter's binders. 

you're delirious - fear grips you in a way nothing ever has in your dehydrated state. a screaming ache in your throat and the throbbing in your skull coaxes your lips into the next sentence, your voice hoarse and scratchy. "if I could just have some water, please-" 

the footsteps in front of you halt in an almost menacing manner - wind echoes dauntingly in your ears as you brace for the expected harshness of a beskar-laden hand, your body tensing and ready for the impact of his hand.

all of the hunters reach their limit with you - he'd made it this far, without laying his hands on you; but they all do, at one point or another. you can only hope it doesn't go further.

his voice from days ago echo in your mind. there are far worse people in the galaxy that could have gotten to you.

"s-sorry." you stutter, pulling yourself to your knees and holding your marred hands out to protect your face should he lash out.

you yourself are surprised by the very real fear that is dousing your twisted spine in a wash of ice - but the Mandalorian is already furious by the interruption of returning you for bounty twice; one more step out of line like this and he may just kill you himself. 

you really are delirious. you think, perhaps, you've been too outlandish in your capture. he's not the kind that will break by your snide comments or sly ploys for escape. perhaps submission - you grit your teeth at the mere thought, like a wild stallion bucking in fear of a stable - is the sole way for you to survive.

to escape. 

there's a pause in the air, a moment of suspended anticipation - one in which you shield your face from him further for fear. yet the expected rebuke, the cold demand for resilience, does not materialize, and instead you bathe in a hot, heavy silence that sparks just enough fight in you to try again. 

you slump back on your haunches, eyes shutting as you swallow through sandpaper. "I need water. just a sip, sir, please-" 

"-stop." he orders suddenly, voice surprisingly strained and harsh. your eyes open and you're met with a burning glare, his armor deflecting the immediate rays as he stands over you and observes - a weak being, cuffed and on her knees to beg for water. 

your heart thunders wildly as he pulls a moleskin pouch from the depths of his cape and holds it out for you. "-and call me Mando." he orders, voice still strange. nodding, your hands shoot up to grab at it, your throat singing and dust catching in the crooks of your eyes as you let out a sigh of thanks, a slight whimper that almost loses itself to the commotion of your shaking fingertips. 

the pouch falls to the sand between your knees as you let out a breath of disbelief - in your weakness, you'd fumbled it.  "I'm sorry, I-" 

"-it's okay." he says quickly, a gloved hand raising the pouch from the dust to hold up to your lips. the uncomfortableness of his voice is forgotten instantly as the liquid breaches your open lips.

the water is - by contrast to everything else around you - so pure and clean that you almost start to cry. 

it trickles into your dry mouth and you greedily suck it down your esophagus, hands rising to cup the back of the pack and tilt it slightly, wary not to squeeze and take the whole of its contents. 

the breath you take after several gulps of water is like waking up in a meadow of fresh fruits, flowers, a cold pond at your fingertips. you let out a shaky laugh, swallowing another sip offered to you by your captor. "thanks." you say, resigning to the realization that the only way he reacted was when you were desperate - on the verge of collapsing. 

disdain coils in you.

slowly, you feel strong gloved hands encircle your shoulders, guiding you back to a standing position. the Mandalorian's touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the ruthless reputation that preceded him - a stark contrast to the experience of the last days in captivity.

you're once again left with the bitter confusion of a rug being pulled from beneath you as the hunter pulls a few pieces of jerky from his utility belt, holding them out tersely. 

your hands dart out to grab them quick as the lizards that skitter into their hideaways when your bootsteps near. you stay like that, eating the jerky like a rabid animal and taking a few sips of water that the Hunter offers you intermittently, avoiding the unyielding armor that can't mask the underlying patience in the Mandalorian's actions. 

a few minutes of terse silence and your stomach less nauseated, the Mandalorian starts suddenly, making you jump back in habit. he doesn't strike you; instead, he removes the thick cowl off his own neck and reaches towards you.

he must see your confusion, apprehension - because he stops, sighing. "you need to cover these wounds up. the exposed sun is not good for them. we will get them mended at the palace." he explains, voice evenly as he starts to lay the thick fabric over your conjoined wrists, wrapping so your skin is no longer exposed. 

you don't know what to say - but he gives you no time to think as he turns and starts off towards the palace in the distance once again. you follow him in shock, blinking down at the faint outlines of your arms, mimicking his stride though in much shorter steps.

as you trudge behind him, protected from direct sunlight through his bulking, massive frame, you grin bitterly - you've become the man's own shadow this time, striding behind him in the light of the afternoon.

the rest of the trek is plagued with silence. you'd expected cruelty, a reinforcement of a status as a captive - but instead, there was a curious patience, an unexpected kindness that left you questioning the man who strides in front of you, helmet occasionally craning to his right to check on the floating pod containing the child that floats by his hip.

he should be furious. you're nothing more than a burden -  the sudden moment of patience a shock from the cold exterior that has you staring in disbelief at your boots. what had changed? the answer eludes you as you follow him, disoriented in more ways than one. The Mandalorian's actions, or lack thereof, became a puzzle; you can't see the expression on his face, but the absence of anger resonates through the silence between you.

until he decides to slow his pace, turning his helmet to the right. "it wasn't my intention to starve you." he says, voice stoic and almost awkward. "I often forget that others do not eat when they are concealed." 

he looks away. "if it happens again, remind me." 

you swallow, lifting your head. an odd request. you'd seen glimpses of this bizarre kindness within him - gently stroking the child's ear, bringing you in to his ship after the wreckage and ensuring you stayed upright and didn't let the blood swell in your brain. letting you rest in his cot. 

most of these things, means to your end. 

perhaps it's this moment that gives you the clarity to vie for an ounce of freedom. 

"uncuff me." you say, voice sounding much less meek now that life has been breathed back into your sore lungs. if he has any emotions, your blindness renders you too incapacitated to notice them. he doesn't stop his stride, but he does turn his head. 

"no." he says it as if you're stupid.

you sigh, straining to push your shorter legs faster in order to catch up to him and the floating pod. you're not fully discouraged, despite his demeanor.  "you know I'm too weak to do anything." you insist. "it'll do you good to uncuff me before we see the Diamyo." you warn, straightening your spine as he turns slightly, pace slowing until you're just a step behind him, still pushing to keep up. 

"is that so?" he asks, sounding completely uninterested. your innards churn at his tone, your tongue running over your teeth before you nod. "I show no risk anymore. he'll find me if you don't find me first." and it's the honest truth.

silence for a moment.

"you're danger." he utters, as if the two words explain it all. you sneer at him behind his back. "aren't you used to danger, bounty hunter?" you spit, the indignance growing once again, sprouting from the rotting seed of your weakened fear only minutes ago. 

his back is turned, but you still hear it. "not the kind of danger that you are." 

you stare at the faint shadow of him, unsure of what to say. it's silent, the shifting sands beneath your feet echoing the enigma of your chains, the impending danger that awaits you once the Hunter has returned you for the bounty.

now on slightly more steady legs, you can't help but wonder what kind of man lurks behind the unyielding armor—a question that remains unanswered as the walls of the palace rise through the dune sea. 

you reach the impending building as the suns cast your shadow and the Mandalorian's far behind you.

your footsteps echo through the halls of the palace, your body cooling slowly. The Mandalorian pushes past the droids who tried to guide you; he makes turns and walks down the stairs with too much confidence.

with an inkling of trepidation in your heart, you feel as though he's been here before - it does not bode well for you.

as you stumble after him, the burns upon your skin ache slightly and you fight to see with the dim lighting. 

but soon, you're walking into a great space, the air of which you can feel upon your beaten shoulders as you let your arms, still swathed by the Hunter's cloak, fall to clasp against your restraints. 

there's a large platform of slabbed cement before you in the faint light that leaks through cracks of the shades on the opposite of the throne room. 

two figures shrouded in the darkness of your blind vision watch you and your captor enter. the one on the throne is bulky - bulkier than you remember the cloaked figure of Boba Fett to be, though as your gaze flickers to the more feminine figure perched on the arm of the throne, you know this is not him either. 

your footsteps fall silent in front of them, and soon a droid is announcing the Diamyo of Mos Espa, Boba Fett. 

you blink heavily - as if this would wipe the mugginess of your vision as the figure sits forward slightly and your heart drops.

the man in front of you, Boba Fett - fully clad in beskar armor and a helmet so similar to your captor's that you nearly consider turning and running. 

you try to mask your shock. Fett's Mandalorian? confusion and fear shock up your spine. 

panic strikes heavy in your heart as you and the Hunter stand completely silent and still, your heart thrashing frantically. Boba Fett - in Mandalorian armor... confusion must lace your features, because hands faintly rise up from the shadow of the Daimyo, and a moment later he removes his helmet with a soft hiss. 

you suck in a breath as the scarred, familiar face comes into view just barely under the lighting and you're almost certain that his eyes land on you. 

"it's been a while." he says. 

his voice is the same as you remember, and the fear stuck in your throat quells only slightly at his greeting. 

"yes." you agree, jumping in shock when the low, deep voice of the Hunter speaks at the same time as you - "it has." 

bewildered, you shoot a sideways glance to the Mandalorian beside you.

your inkling was correct, Mando must know Boba Fett too.

you swallow shakily, knowing how terribly this seals your fate - of course they know each other. apparently, Boba Fett is a Mandalorian now - for all you know, they could have been raised together. 

but the Hunter's helmet has shot a similarly shocked glance towards you and for a brief moment, you stare into the t-visor of your captor. 

in a bout of fear and anger you turn, meeting the gaze of the man who had once been your savior. from what you can make out, the years had carved lines on his face more than when you'd last seen him, and you faintly wonder how different you look to him. 

you had been, after all, just a child back then. 

you speak again, a mixture of nerves and trepidation in your voice. "sir. I didn't think I'd see you again. even when I came on-planet."

Boba Fett's head inclined slightly, a nod that spoke of the gravity of the situation. "times change. I wouldn't have summoned you here if it weren't necessary."

you're sure your eyes held for a moment, the unspoken understanding passing between you. it had been a long time. 

the Mandalorian crosses his arms from beside you. "what business do you have with us?" the hunter speaks up, clearly tired of the stiff small talk. "do you want the puck?" 

this had been your fear, too. Fett could have easily summoned you to the palace to buy your bounty from the Mandalorian; he has good enough reason to buy you to his custody.

yet at the Hunter's words, you swear you see a twinge of confusion from the two: Fett shifts, as does the figure to his side - a silhouette which, with the grace of her helmet sitting below them in a ray of bright light, you finally recognize as the sharpshooter Fennec Shand. you'd heard of her in town during your time on the run. 

"I have favors to call in." he says simply. your heart pounds twice as heavy at the mention of the favors- yes, he does. he is owed a lifetime of favors from you.

but the hunter is not so swayed. 

"call them in later. I have problems to attend to." he sounds impatient, voice laced with the strain of a time crunch.

Boba stares at him, leaning elbows on his thickly armored thighs. "you and your lady friend here," he nods towards you sardonically, "are in a bind, am I correct?"

you gape in offense at his casual tone, addressing you as anything other than a captive - irritation floods your face but is soon replaced with a strike of fear fluttering down your spine, worried of the Hunter's reaction to such vocabulary. 

"I don't play games with my bounties." his voice sounds equally irritated as you feel. it's final - deep as it exits his helmet. your stomach flips. 

you almost snap back - that's a lie, Mando. you and I both know it - but, for fear of speaking out of turn, and for fear of the man before you, you stay silent.

"bounty?" the silhouette sits forward and a plaited length of dark hair swings into your faint vision.

the room is suddenly plagued with a pregnant silence that you don't dare break, your mind churning.

did they not know of the situation you've found yourself in?

"she has a bounty on her head." the hunter says finally, as if surprised that they were not privy to this information. you shift on your feet, your head still pounding, eyes sore from straining to see in such dim light. your whole body aches.

"she may be a bit worse for wear, but she doesn't look like a prisoner to me." Shand retorts, nodding to your figure. 

at the woman's words, you huff a bitter laugh. worse for wear - you'd be surprised if you have more bones intact than dislocated right now - you're blind, you have a nasty hydraulic burn on your cheek..

you shake the cowl off your arms, revealing the cuffs which bound you as the fabric drops to a heap at your boots. you barely glance down at them before back up as Fett lets out a low hum. both heads upon the throne shift to the man beside you. 

"you have nerve, Mando, bringing a bounty into my palace," Boba Fett remarked, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence. to your shock, Mando inclines his helmeted head in a nod. "she's more trouble than she's worth." you instinctively shoot Mando a withering look but before you can defend yourself, he continues. "when you summoned us, I assumed it was to pay her bounty."

Fennec Shand - ever observant - leans forward slightly, her sharp eyes finding yours somehow through the mist. she seems more interested in you than in the talk of the Daimyo's business.

"last we heard of you, you were supposedly walking free. stirring trouble." she tilts her head, revealing her eyes in a panel of light. the insinuation makes you chuckle bitterly. defiantly, you stare back. "then your people in town got it wrong. I was never free. I've been a captive since I set foot on this planet, even before him." 

Fennec raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Boba that even you don't miss. "our messenger mentioned he saw her just a few days ago with your speeder," Fennec remarks, her voice carrying a hint of skepticism as she focuses on Mando this time. "that doesn't sound like a well retained bounty."

you stifle a laugh at that, craning your head away from Mando to conceal your smirk as a feeling of triumph fleetingly passes over your body. you recall the anger that'd seeped through the Mandalorian when you'd tricked him, taken his speeder - then, found the child... 

"ma'am, to be fair, it took him a long time to find me. I can be very slippery when I want to be." you say coyly, highly aware of the cold stare from beside you. 

"-after all, the line between lawmen and the outlawed can be deceiving." you send a pointed look towards the wall of beskar on your side.

a sharp silence through the room; tension thick in the air as a strike of fear gloats among your abdomen. what kind of pendulum swing is your attitude on recently? 

"Mando." Boba addresses the man, causing the aforementioned to nod, shifting his weight. the throbbing of your head is gradually increasing once again and you find yourself in desperate need of a sip of water, and maybe a few hours of rest. 

"I didn't expect to have to cash in on the favors owed to me, but times have changed." he shrugs, "I hear the Crest's seen better days. I can help with the ship. in return, clean slate. functional vessel. and no more pirates."

in a swift moment of realization, your eyes widen. you aren't the only one with favors owed to Boba - this was about you and Mando, separately. he truly had no idea you were his bounty.

your surprise is short lived as he continues speaking, the pirates echoing in your mind. your eyes flicker at the mention and you can't help but shoot a glance sidelong at your captor, once again unable to read his helmet. uncertainty swirls in your gut; the Maracavanians are more than just one ship, and you know they will likely stop for very little to find you.

you are, after all, very valuable to them. the looming threat of their presence haunts you, bearing weight on your tired shoulders. your head pounds. 

"-in return," Boba Fett continued, "I need your skills - both of you. when I sent for you, I was not aware of the bounty on your head, nor the hand that held the tracker. there's a settlement on the edge of the Outer Rim. they've found some trouble with some smugglers calling themselves the Ivory Cartel; they're pushing the spice trade back into the area, and the Marshall needs help bringing them back in line."

Din's helmet tilted slightly. "I don't do charity."

Boba Fett chuckles, the sound reverberating in the room as you shift on your feet. "we've been through this song and dance before, haven't we?"

the Mandalorian crosses his arms, but says nothing.

Boba continues, "I hear you're intimately familiar with the area, Mando. Freetown."

the irony of the settlement name is not lost on you, and you can't help the scoff you let out as you cross your arms. you hear the short exhale that escapes the helmet the same time as you, but cannot decipher what it means. 

"Marshall Vanth mentioned you know each other." silence spurs him on, "only a few days, then you can turn her in. I'll ensure you have safe passage - no one coming after you. we'll consider it a debt paid in full."

you expected this; for as long as you've known the man before you on the throne, you wouldn't exactly say he is your biggest ally; in fact, part of him would surely love to see you rot in a cell. and you can't blame him. 

yet this seems like some sort of mercy - for him to not just take your bounty off of Mando's hands and immediately turn you in to the several other vying parties. indeed, that would benefit him well, and it'd likely satisfy the Mandalorian. they'd be rich beyond what they could imagine if they turned you in to the Maracavanya. 

the thought itself makes you feel ill. 

fear of your fate should you fall into the captivity of the Maracavanians grips you, far more deadly than when you will be taken by Mando to whoever casted your puck.

this fear, gripping your skull and breathing its evil thoughts into your mind, drives you to step forward slightly. "and what guarantee do we have that you'll uphold your end of the deal?"

the visor next to you stares in surprise at your words and you hold your gaze forward, steadfast. to an outsider, you imagine it is odd for a bounty to agree to be turned in after such desperation to escape; though knowing Fett as you once did - and after what you did back then - what the Macaravanya would do to you if you were their captive... you shiver, fear gripping your throat. 

your life is owed to the man before you, no matter what your past says. and if your life is to end soon - and it very well may depending on who has cast your bounty - you'd like to have paid most of your debts out by the end.  

Boba Fett's gaze shifts to you through the dim of your vision. "my word is my bond. you of all people should do well to remember this."

your face burns, chin dropping to your chest. the Mandalorian remains silent for a moment, contemplating the proposition - after all, you're his captive, and you'll have to go with whatever he decides. the weight of the favors owed hang in the air, memories of a young girl stranded on a desolate planet with a pack wrapped around her middle, her brother stumbling behind her, men in all grey following with whooping sounds as they stumbled over tumbleweeds to get away. a cloaked figure and blinding pain-

finally, the Hunter nods, speaking and pulling you from your thoughts. "fine. we do the job, our debts are settled."

Boba Fett inclined his head, acknowledging the agreement. "you'll leave in the morning."

you send a meek nod to him, feeling once again faint, as though the strenuous walk has caught up to the rest of your body, which is still reeling from the water and jerky after so long without it. 

you're escorted, after a brief hesitance by your captor, away from the group; with a grumble of irritation from the armored giant and a rough few pokes on his vambrace by gloved fingers, your bound wrists fell free, the skin marred and blistering.

fear flares up in your stomach as a droid brings you down several twisted hallways and staircases. what are they speaking of without you?

were they talking about you? 

surely there isn't much the Mandalorian doesn't know about you, depending on how much of your information was on your bounty profile, but Fett knows many things about you others don't. a darkness coils through your veins, lingering in the back of your mind; a steady reminder to trust no one. no friends but tumbleweeds. 

perhaps you had overestimated the reach of Tatooine's rumor mill. or, perhaps, you really were that good at hiding. and the Hunter was that good at hunting. 

the thought doesn't make you feel any better. 

you enter a room where the droid gestures to the large glass in the center of the room; your eyes widen, taking in the large bacta tank, inviting and horrifying the same. 

on the other side of the room, a refresher awaits, and the droid instructs you to use what you need and it will provide you the bacta process to ensure you have a restful healing.

you stare, shocked, between the droid and the tank; things like these cost an unimaginable amount of credits. you bite your lip.

"I'm sorry, I don't-" you start to flush, "I don't have enough credits, I-" 

"nonsense," the droid speaks, its voice oddly comforting, maternal. "Master Fett has requested our guests are healed and take as much time as necessary. you will need your strength and health." 

you blink, stomach flipping with nerves. "okay," you whisper, padding slowly across towards the fresher and sealing yourself inside. 

your heart pounds, stress pulsing through you. it takes you forty-five seconds to even bring your eyes up to your reflection, your nails digging hard into your dusty, pained palms. 

it's horrible. truly. 

faintly, you wonder if it's just the residual blindness that makes you look so awful. maybe the shadows under your eyes aren't as prevalent in full vision - or the cuts and bruises that show evidence of the crash landing on your skin. 

to be fair, you look still like yourself - same eyes, same skin, same scarf concealing most of your hair, save the sticky tendrils which glued themselves to your forehead and mouth on your trek. but your face; it's gaunt, absent of the life it used to have. your eyes look empty, your features splintered by a broken nose which holds a crusted bloody split across the center. 

your cheekbone similarly has a cut that's swelled one eye socket, a bruise blossoming and singing of broken vessels of blood within your eye. your hands, as they rise to touch your aching face, are mangled and horrifying. dry, caked with dirt in the splits over your palm, your knuckles are sticking out in an unnatural pattern. the hydraulic burn you'd sustained on your cheek is raw and angry still, exposure to the suns making it rough and bloodied. 

fuck, you will need this bacta is you're to help pay off your debt. you can't help the inkling of curiosity as to what it is that the Mandalorian owes Fett for - he doesn't seem the type to run off for secondary missions when he has his bounties. especially, you think with a smirk, bounties as irritating and conniving as you've been. 

it is extremely odd, this new situation. 

you're sure this has not once happened to the Mandalorian before, judging by his reaction: obligated to work alongside one of his bounties - who has willingly agreed - in order to earn ship repair to turn her in. 

you squeeze your eyes shut, bewildered by the complexity of the situation; you're overcome once again with the urge to run, run, run. 

run.

you snap your eyes open, staring into the mirror again. 

your body screams of exhaustion, lack of sleep, hunger, pain. a surge of sadness floods over you at the realization that you've looked like this far before crossing paths with the Mandalorian.

this cycle is nothing new. it may be the oldest thing in the book.

in fact, considering how the last few stints went with other hunters went - horrifyingly, though you always ended up the one holding the smoldering blaster - the Mandalorian has been uncharacteristically considerate. 

so unimbued by your teasing. irritated constantly, serious - but admirably capable. dangerous. your eyes again find the ugly scar that cuts jaggedly across your cheek, towards your jaw. it was an injury done to you just to do so, by the last hunter who tried to take you. he'd done worse afterwards; all the injuries will last with you forever.

cruelty for the sake of it. 

despite who he is, you can't find it in yourself to believe your current captor would ever do such a thing. 

imposing, intimidating, gruff - yes, but he never threatened you more than empty words; even though you know how easily he could snap your arm (or neck). he didn't seem to want to inflict pain.

you think of his little green companion, with its kind eyes and soft babbles. the way he runs his gloved fingers over the wiry hair atop its head, soothing its ears.  

then, when he'd left you alone on his ship; sure, it was wrecked and you were in the middle of nowhere, but he'd still left you. given you privacy. 

you glare at the ground - no. 

the memory of his hand slamming against the carbonite freezer echoes in your mind, your words - "you're a bad man." you whisper mirthlessly. "I don't deserve this."

no man is kind. no bounty hunter is fair. 

with a growl of irritation, you slide the door open, peering out into the room before you. it's quiet, the afternoon sun streaming through the curtains of the open stone windows, flickering over the tank in the center. a set of towels your size sit next to the tank. the droid is gently preparing tubes and a small breathing mechanism as the bacta moves in the glass. 

the liquid, viscous and beckoning you like a mirage in the dead heat of the plains outside. 

you haven't been in water in months - years, maybe. sonic showers got the job done, removed dirt and grime and oil, but you haven't felt really clean in so long it almost brings tears to your eyes. before you can think again, your voice cracks out, shy and meek. 

"I'm ready." 

when you wake up, the suns are nearly setting. 

your body glows a hue of orange from the dying light, dripping with the liquid you'd just emerged from. the droid towels you off and you note the sweet, small markings alongside her collar, small paintings of flowers.

it's because of this that you realize with a sharp inhale - "I can see!" you gasp, flexing your fingers instinctively and feeling a wash of freedom when no shooting pain or stiffness prevents the action. 

you feel as though you've been reborn. 

the droid pulls a chest band over your flush, healthy skin. nothing but pinking scars and a few light colored bruises. "how do you feel, ma'am?" she asks you. you smile at her just as she hands you a pair of underwear, folded tunic, and trousers. "I feel wonderful. thank you." you respond, tugging on the underwear. 

you stare down at the dark gray color of your tunic, tilting your head- but before you can ask, the droid assures you your own clothes are being cleansed and repaired for you to have back. 

you nod, feeling naked still without any concealment of your hair or face - it seems, after so long on the run, you've forgotten that the items were not sewn to your skin, a part of you. 

the droid leaves you to collect yourself, telling you it will prepare you supper to eat in the palace hall. slowly, you let your joints stretch, taking in a deep, long breath for the first time in ages without feeling the stabbing pain of broken ribs.

gone are the dizzy spells, the fogginess that had plagued you since hitting your head. 

with a small laugh of disbelief, you pull the tunic over your head with no pain - your hair drips down your spine as you comb through it, padding with a sudden shock of clear vision towards the mirror.

closing yourself halfway into the fresher, you stare at your reflection; a healthy glow on your cheeks, clean, a hint of a smile. you nearly tear up, feeling fresh, free from physical pain. there are no blisters or bruises from the binders. 

with a smile, you take a step out of the bathroom in search of the trousers you'd left, discarded on table you'd woken from. you let yourself hum a short tune, something from your childhood that your brother had loved. 

but a hulking figure across the room makes you stop short.

your eyes widen as a rush of shock floods through you. 

to his credit, the Mandalorian looks just as caught off guard as you feel, if his body language is anything to tell. 

he stands, alarmed, with one hand holding the trousers you'd left, one holding a removed blaster and his lasso. with a quick glance over to the tank, there is larger preparations, a large microfiber towel, much larger than the one used for you, folded next to it.

oh. 

a beat passes. 

then another. you start to feel warm, cheeks flaring in heat as your gaze flickers from the visor, cold and staring, down to the trousers in his hand. you are suddenly aware of your exposed skin.

"um," you say brilliantly. 

but before you can say anything else equally as riveting, the droid rolls into the room and nearly shrieks. "oh, ma'am, I'm terribly sorry- thought you'd already gone downstairs-" 

you swallow so thickly you're surprised you don't choke, the warm breeze in the dying evening sunlight sending cascades of goosebumps over your exposed legs. you ignore the rolling heat that tumbles down your body as the helmet moves ever so slightly down your frame. excitement sends the sensation even deeper - but you shake the thoughts away. that's an emotion you'll deal with probably never.

the Mandalorian snaps alive, taking two lumbering strides towards you, holding the trousers to you stiffly. "I assume these are yours." his voice sounds almost pained.

you swallow dryly, nodding, "y-yes." you squeak, feeling hot under his stare. 

"-so sorry, sir, I apologize-" the droid was still panicking - you think it odd until you get a feeling Mandalorians wouldn't like even droids to see them without helmet. let alone, their annoying bounties who now have to work with them against a cartel in some forgettable dust town.

you wonder if the same goes for armor.

but he waves the droid off, "I can take it from here, thank you." his voice is terse; disdain leaking through the baritone.

you awkwardly take the moment to slide the trousers over your legs, bending quickly to save at least a bit of dignity as you do the clasps and zipper, eyes avoiding the tall statue before you. 

the droid, still wailing apologies, wheels from the chamber, bathing the two of you in a strikingly thick air as you stare down at your boots. you watch as his own boots shift their weight just a few steps from you. 

"you look..." he seems to lose his words as you look up at him, stomach flipping. "-healthy." his fingers twitch by his sides. you feel shockingly flustered as you clear your throat, "I need to take better care of myself." you joke, the words falling flat and sounding more pathetic than humorous in delivery, "just glad I can recognize myself again. well- I can see, too, which is even better." your voice squeaks as you trail off, butting off your anxious ramble.

he doesn't respond to that, but he does clear his own throat. "have you eaten?" he asks, voice strained. you clear your head, "no- no, that's where I was about to go..." you trail off, cheeks aflame as you look up at the helmet. he makes a noncommittal noise, turning away. "well, if you don't mind-" 

you shake your head, "not at all." you say quickly, taking great strides towards the exit, not turning back as you scramble away. 

the Mandalorian doesn't look at you the rest of the evening. 

you can't tell if it's out of embarrassment, shame, or anger at the prospect of having to work with you; no matter, you're relieved at the absence of that piercing, emotionless stare. 

you eat much too fast, due to the crawling hunger in your stomach, and have to later fight to keep it down; though the rest of the night is spent relaying plans for transportation and communication with Fett and Shand, you standing awkwardly in a corner and being referenced as the bounty by your captor. 

you wonder if he can feel the glare you shoot at the back of his helmet. 

by morning, you feel more refreshed than you have in years, despite your captivity. the more you think of it, and the more that clock ticks in the back of your mind, the more willing you are to stay on-planet, to waste time. 

perhaps you could miss the trial all together, if nobody finds you first. you let yourself wonder, as you stand to the side and observe Mando strapping supplies to the back of the speeder, what would happen if you missed the trial. 

surely, you'd still be wanted. an outlaw is an outlaw, no matter the date on the galactic calendar. 

but would it be safer for you? depending on the verdict. there are plenty on both sides who would pay heavily to see your body buried in the Wasteland, no doubt. 

"hey." Mando's voice is terse and vexed. your eyes snap up to meet the helmet, which glints harshly under the morning suns. "let's go." he orders, gesturing behind him where a space remains for you.

you think back to that first night; your desperate attempt at escape, feigning sleep and then sprinting off into the dark desert. 

you slide onto the back, leaving as much space as possible between you and the Hunter, his jetpack hard against your chest. you opt to hold it instead of his torso as he kicks up the speeder, the child tucked into the bag at his hip. 

"did you get enough to eat?" he asks, voice louder over the noise of the speeder. you swallow, unease leaking into you at the tone of his voice - it's alarmingly like the tone he used when he'd fed you back in the desert. like he was making sure you wouldn't have to nearly pass out again for him to remember to feed you. 

it makes you wonder how often he eats or drinks himself.

it makes you wonder why you even care.

you nod, "I did." 

he sends you a terse nod in response and as he starts to speed off, the wind whips over your scarf. you tie it under your jaw, the long bandana secured. heat finds you like an old, unwanted friend and you already feel tired; you rest your hot cheek against the metal of the beskar jetpack, hoping he cannot feel it. you're instantly cooled down, relief flooding through you. 

the speeder hums beneath you, kicking up plumes of sand - your eyes, alight with the fresh relief of unfiltered sight, scan the horizon, taking in the harsh beauty of Tatooine's desolate expanse. rocky outcrops jutting from the sandy dunes, casting short shadows in the midday suns. the sky above is painted with hues of blue, a stark contrast to the unforgiving landscape below. 

you steal another glance at the Mandalorian's back. thankfully, he has resumed his tense, stoic silence behind his helmet, his focus fixed on the path ahead. there's a quiet determination, a silent strength - the same one that had initially inclined you to play such luring games with your Hunter in the first place. 

a determination that makes you want to do it again, despite everything.

you think of how naive you were just days ago - had you ever really expected to get away from him? or, the whole time, have you just been waiting for him to finally get to you?

the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. 

hours pass on the speeder with intermittent stops to stretch your legs or sip water. the baby insists on babbling to you any chance he gets - an endearing sight, as he waddles over the mounds of sand to climb up onto your boot.

the gentle smile that graces your lips after asking permission silently from the Hunter to hold the little goblin.

the child's endless eyes stare up at you from the bag at the hunter's side when you're back on the speeder, and you supply him with a finger to hold on to.

you can't shake the whirlwind of confusion swirling within you - what had started as a fateful capture in the wake of your euphoric game had morphed into a nightmare capture, which has now evolved into a reluctant alliance - a ceasefire of sorts forged by circumstances beyond your control.

whatever Mando had for Boba to cash in on must have been just as serious as what he'd done for you - or, rather, what you'd done to him. regret and guilt snake through your veins, black and greedy and painful.

you stare down in regret, trying to map out a way to escape the clutches of the man before you as the lines between captor and collaborator blur in the shifting sands of fate.

you had been running for so long - elusive and cunning, the closest to free you'd been in years - until you got too egotistical. all those weeks ago, why did you have to taunt him so? 

happy hunting, Mando. 

you're a fool. a fated, heartless fool with too large an ego. 

as the speeder surges onward, you lean back, letting the rush of the wind and the rhythmic hum of the engine drown your thoughts. the heat bears down on you. 

in the distance, a bundle of buildings emerge, wavy through heat - at first, you thought it a mirage. 

Freetown.  

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