#fem!Pitch

[itspbandjellytime]

The Assistant [Hailee Steinfeld x Fem!Reader] - Chapter 1

Plot: Y/N Waldorf is fresh out of college and her first job is being Hailee Steinfeld's personal assistant, but what Y/N doesn't know is that Hailee is hiding a huge secret from the general public and from her, as her assistant.

Notes: This is a multi-chapter fic, you can also read this on wattpad under the same username "itspbandjellytime". This fanfic is also going to contain NSFW themes in the near future, so if you're under the age of 18 please don't read this. Thank you!

Word count: 1.5k words

[Y/N's POV]

My name is Y/N Waldorf, I am 21 years old and I live in Seattle, Washington, and I just graduated from college a few months ago. After four gruesome years of this course that I didn't like, I am finally free and I get to choose what job I'll have in the future since this is America and it's a free country after all. I got to say College was mentally challenging, but it was worth it after all and I got my degree, which I will probably never use in the future.

My parents, are real estate brokers and they were high school sweethearts. But they're not your typical high school sweethearts where one is a football player and the other is the girl next door, my parents were a bunch of nerds who fell in love and gave birth to two girls. I am the youngest and my sister Kelly, is the eldest. 

If I can talk about their reaction to me graduating college, all I can say is that they were happy that I finished college after ranting to them I want to drop out every five seconds. However they have been bugging me for months to get a job which is annoying at first but I manage to get used to them bothering me at 3 in the morning to get one which I have- well had. I told my parents I've been working at the coffee shop somewhere in our local town, but they told me to get a PROPER job, a job that can pay me well and can give me money to support myself. As if the job at the coffee shop didn't support me when I was in college which it did for some time, I quit my job at the coffee shop a few weeks ago and now I am scouring the internet for a job.

My eyes start to hurt from staring at the screen of my laptop way too long, scrolling through countless job hunting websites, my ears start to hurt as well from the headphones I am wearing and blasting out my playlists as I look for the said job. I start to slowly give up at this point and start to overthink about my life choices until I was on the verge of tears, when all of a sudden I saw something that says: "Urgent! In need of a Personal Assistant, please contact Laura McKinnon." along with her details. I was skeptical at first when I saw the advertisement, I am fully aware about the scams happening which leads to people being in very life threatening circumstances. But with a quick google search, I realized that she works as a talent manager and she's based in California, I feel like this is also a sign from God at the same time. I immediately typed down her e-mail address and sent my resume to Laura, hoping for the best and I don't get scammed.

A few days have passed, I've been checking my e-mail almost everyday to see if I get a word from Laura which I did. According to the E-mail I sent, I am scheduled to have an interview with her via. Zoom the next day. The next day arrived and I was interviewed by Laura through Zoom, once the interview concluded she told me she'll contact me again once I get the job or not. I waited and waited, day and night for a response from Laura. I was desperate to get this job that I started to go to church almost everyday, I was religious for an entire week basically.

One day, while I was in a middle of a run just to count my steps in and getting my blood pumping, my phone starts to ring. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and answered the call from an anonymous number "Hello?" I spoke, panting and catching my breath "Hello is this Y/N Waldorf?" The person asked, the sound of the person's voice sounded sweet, feminine, and had a valley girl accent. 

I furrow my brows, checking my surroundings before speaking "Yes, who is this?" I asked.

"This is Laura McKinnon, from the office of Hailee Steinfeld. I am just here to inform you that you got the job as Hailee Steinfeld's personal assistant." Laura said, hold on... Did she say Hailee Steinfeld? Like... THE Hailee Steinfeld?!? I get to work as Hailee Steinfeld's personal assistant?!? I tend not to freak out in the middle of the street knowing I am gonna be a part of Hailee's team. I've looked up to Hailee since I first saw The Edge of Seventeen for the first time and I never looked back since, she is also the reason why I am into women and met one of my closest friends, Jackie.

"Miss Waldorf? Are you still on the line?" Laura asks me, I snapped back to reality and stammered for a bit to find words "Uhm... Yes. Sorry, I was distracted." I responded, chuckling nervously.

"It's all good Miss Waldorf, anyways you will be starting next week. I know you are based in Washington, but if you have any associates around the Los Angeles area, you can stay with them." Laura told me, all did was respond with a nod and a smile on my face "Yes... I will do that, thank you so much." I said as Laura ended the call.

After my run, I headed straight to my apartment and called up my bestfriend Jackie, I know it's crazy that I am calling my internet friend before my parents who have been bugging me to get a proper job. I met Jackie through our shared interest and love for Hailee Steinfeld, thanks to the website "Twitter", I was blabbering about Hailee on the site as usual and then she asked if we can be mutuals on that site  and we have been inseparable ever since also Jackie lives in Los Angeles around West Hollywood so I can crash at her place. 

"Jackie!" I said with a proud tone, running around my apartment like I am a dog who just got the zoomies. 

"Y/N/N! Hey, what's up?" Jackie asks me, I settle down on the couch and clear my throat. 

"Girl guess what?" I ask her, I cant contain my excitement as a huge grin forms on my face.

"What?" She asks me back.

"I got a job!" I exclaimed, not telling her what my job is and who I work for just yet to build the suspense.

"No way, congrats girlie! What job?" Jackie asks.

I clear my throat again, a smirk forms on my face "Personal assistant." I confidently say.

"For?"

"Hailee Steinfeld." I responded, giggling like a teenage girl. I heard Jackie scream on the other line, causing me to laugh at her response "Yes, I am being serious Jackie. And I need to crash at your place." I told her.

"Oh my God sure, you are free to stay at my place... holy shit... You bagged a good job." Jackie compliments me and all I can do is laugh.

"It's insane, I know." I said, smiling "I start next week, and I gotta tell my parents about it as well." I added.

"Well you better tell them, girl." Jackie encouraged me, I can tell that she's leaning against a wall and smiling with her phone on her hand.

"Of course, I'll tell them and I will drive by there tomorrow." I said, ending my call with Jackie.

I told my parents about the job that I got, their reactions were positive and they supportive of me moving from Washington to California the next day. But my grandparents are huge conspiracy theorist believers, they start to talk about random things about the entertainment industry and my parents just shook their heads and told me to ignore them and enjoy my job. And in the words of my mother, she told me that this job is a once in a life time opportunity and I should savor every moment. Which I will, cause I have a feeling that working with your idol will be one of the best experiences I will have in my life time.

I spent the entire day packing my things for California, and It's a good thing that my sister, Kelly is down to look after and live in my apartment for the mean time. I love my sister, I would die for her. 

The next day, I finally left Washington and headed to California. I decided to take my car and drive, it feels like a road trip with yourself and it's very therapeutic. I suggest that you try it, I spent the entire road trip blasting out Taylor Swift, eating convenient store food, sleeping in my car in empty parking spots. 

The trip lasted for 17 hours, and 17 hours later I arrived in sunny Los Angeles. The last time I was in Los Angeles was when I was 15, when I first met Jackie and we saw Hailee live when she opened Charlie Puth. I took time to look around the surroundings as I drove to where Jackie lives, a smile forms on my face and it made me realize that this will be the start of a new chapter of my life and I hope this one will never end.

[lunarbuck]

Fever Pitch

pairing: steve rogersxf!reader (any race)

wc: 4.6k

summary: After an accident at a hydra base, you and Steve have to come to terms with your dire situation or face the consequences.

warnings: sex pollen, smut, oral (f receiving), swearing, stressful situation, friends to lovers

a/n: Hello! This is my (late) entry for week 3 of @the-slumberparty :) And the one I got from the generator was sex pollen!! I have never written something like this before so I hope you guys like it lol

my masterlist

The bunker is quiet as you examine the lab set-up. All the vials, chemicals, and files are labeled in Russian, so you snap some photos and send them to Bucky for translation. Somewhere in the distance, you hear gunfire, but you know Steve can handle his own. If he needs you, he’ll signal. The bunker is underground below the Hydra base you and Cap have been searching. You left the hatch open just in case you needed to get out quick. You don’t like being stuck.

“You there?” Bucky’s voice crackles through the comm in your ear. 

“Yup. What am I lookin’ at, Barnes?” You flip through a few pages of a file, looking for literally anything in English.

“So this lab appears to be where they were developing different chemical weapons,” he explains, translating the labels and descriptions you’d sent him. As Bucky speaks, you find your attention being pulled to the far end of the lab desk. Beneath a pile of newspapers is a little glass vial filled with gray powder. 

As you run the tube between your fingers, the powder seems to follow the heat of your skin, shimmering and practically moving. 

Bucky’s voice continues to drone on and on in your ear, but you’re not listening. The sound of gunfire in the hallway above the lab sounds muted and far off. You can’t take your eyes off the glass vial in your fingers.

Something loud crashes behind you, and a second later, you’re on the ground. The vial slips from your fingers, but you don’t have time to wonder what the gray powder inside is. You don’t have time to think about the consequences of dropping it. 

“Holy shit,” you grunt, trying to maneuver your hand to your gun holstered at your side. The thing that pushed you to the ground turns out to be Steve. His large body presses you into the concrete as an explosion sounds overhead. He covers you from any debris that falls through the entrance of the bunker.

Your heart pounds, but you smile at the way Steve looks down at you, blue eyes focused and intense.

“Language,” he replies, quirking an eyebrow at you. Steve’s teasing side is one that doesn’t come out often, but you love when it does. He’s always such a golden boy, perfect in every way, but when he’s giving other people a hard time, he feels so much more… real. It’s the real Steve coming out, not the version of him SHIELD wants. 

“Sorry, Cap,” you say as you laugh. Once he deems it safe, Steve shifts off of you, then helps you to stand. Bucky asks for confirmation that the two of you are okay, and once you get the all-clear, you show Steve the little lab table. With the information Bucky gave you, you have a better understanding of what Hydra was working on when this base was active. As you’re showing him the chemicals, you find yourself looking for the little glass vial again.

Frowning, you check the floor around you, only to find debris and dust everywhere. There’s glass shattered beneath your boots, and when you crouch down, you find the little cork stopper. Your footprints tracked the shimmering powder across the concrete. 

You stand, strangely upset about the loss of the vial. “There was this powder,” you explain, looking for more in the lab. “It was gray, and when it got close to the heat of my fingers, it was… attracted to it. It moved in the vial.” Steve crouches down and tries to examine the powder, running his fingers through it to investigate.

When you turn your attention back to the Captain, you find him on his knees, gazing up at you. Looking down at Steve is something you haven’t experienced before. The way his bright eyes shine in the dull light, the way his lips part, have your head spinning. Down on his knees in front of you, Steve looks softer. All those hard angles and sharp features look so much sweeter.

“Do you know what it was?” He asks, tilting his head. 

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. Something flashes in Steve’s eyes, but it’s gone a moment later. He stands, returning to his normal towering height, and you tilt your head to keep eye contact.

Steve sucks in a breath, his large chest expanding in his tactical gear. “We should get going.”

Even though you know you need to leave, you can’t help but feel conflicted. Steve must sense your apprehension because he steps behind you and guides you to the ladder. His hands hold your waist while you climb up the rungs, and the heat of his skin on yours sends fire licking through your veins. 

As Steve guides you through the base, you feel your body temperature rising. He isn’t touching you anymore, but he’s just inches away. You’re itching for the contact, for his hands to be back on you.

“Got an update?” Bucky asks, probably antsy to hear about what you’ve found. The only reason you and Steve made the trek to the base was to learn more about the Winter Soldier program. 

When Steve notices that you’re not going to respond, he updates Bucky for you. “We’re good, heading out of the base now. We’ll be back at the safehouse in about an hour. I’ll give you another update then.” 

Even though you’re keeping up with Steve, even though you’re doing your best to act normal, he’s still giving you sideways glances. It’s like he can tell you feel feverish, that something has changed. You can’t stop staring at him. His muscles, the way he clenches his jaw. 

Your thoughts swim with images of Steve during training, Steve pulling his tactical gear on before a mission, Steve toweling off after a run.

It’s not like you’ve never thought about Steve that way… you’d be lying if you said it’s never crossed your mind. After working with Steve for the past few years, it’s practically been inevitable that you’d develop feelings for Mr. America. 

But it’s never been this intense, this… desperate. It’s like your feelings have been amped up to 1,000. Every breath smells of him; everywhere you look, you see his face.

You finally make it outside and practically sprint to the car hidden in the woods near the base. Steve runs after you, catching up in an instant due to his super-soldier speed, but he doesn’t ask you what’s wrong. 

By the time you’re back at the safehouse, you feel like you’re dying. Your blood is hot, coursing through your veins and pulsating between your thighs. The entire ride, you tried your best not to rub your legs together to alleviate the feeling, but you’re not sure you did a very good job.

Steve does a sweep of the safehouse, leaving you in the car. The second he shuts the door, you let out a long, low moan. The air in the car smells overwhelmingly of Steve’s cologne, woodsy but sweet. It invades your nostrils, fills your lungs, and nearly sends you over the edge.

Your fingers fly to the zipper on the back of your suit, tugging it down and pulling your arms from the sleeves. It’s not quite spring, there’s still snow on the ground, but you welcome the chill of the air on your heated skin.

By the time you have your suit around your waist, Steve gives you the signal that the safehouse is clear. You clamber out of the car and into the house, not bothering to shut the door behind you. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks as you shove your suit down your legs and kick it away from you. In your shorts and athletic t-shirt, you feel only a shred of relief from the heat. The material of your clothes is thin, made to help you regulate your temperature, but it’s not helping. Not nearly enough.

“I think I have a fever or something,” you groan, finding your way into the kitchen. The safehouse is a simple one-story home in a farming town near the base, and it’s stocked with everything you and Steve could need if you were stuck here for a prolonged period of time. 

You dig through the cabinets looking for fever medication and pop a few of them, chugging a glass of water. You lean against the counter, dropping your head as you take deep breaths. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst through your chest with how fast it’s beating.

Steve’s feet appear in your vision, and you drag your eyes up his figure. He’s still in his tactical suit. It’s fitted perfectly to him, sculpted to his muscular mountain of a body. When you finally reach his eyes, concern is written all across his face. He steps closer and places a hand on your forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he whispers, letting his hand cup your jaw. You lean into his palm, loving the way his calloused skin feels against your cheek. Just having him this close, having him touch you, brings you so much relief. But it’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough. 

You bite back a moan as his fingers brush down your jaw to your neck, feeling your pulse. “How have you not passed out yet?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “I need to call this in.” You whine at the loss of his touch when he pulls away. He comes back a moment later and holds his phone out, pressing the speaker button.

“Did you touch anything in that lab?” Bucky asks, voice tense. It’s a struggle to formulate the words. With Steve so close but not touching you, your brain feels like it’s scrambled.

“No, don’t think so,” you reply, clenching your hands into fists. Your fingernails dig crescent moons into your palms.

“Well, think harder. I need to know.” Steve watches you carefully, but you can tell he’s running through his memories in search of an answer.

“I don’t know, Bucky,” you whimper, a new wave of heat rushing to your belly. Steve steps closer again and places a hand on your arm. Goosebumps jump up on your skin. “Fuck,” you whisper.

You can tell it takes effort for Steve not to chide you about your language, but in the end, his concern for you wins out. “What about that vial?” he asks, thumb brushing up and down your arm.

“What vial is he talking about?” Bucky practically shouts. 

“It was this tiny glass vial with gray powder in it,” you explain, voice tight. “I didn’t open it, but I dropped it, and it broke open.” You hear Bucky typing and a moment later, cursing under his breath. 

“I’m gonna send you a picture. Tell me if this is what you saw.” Steve’s phone pings, and he shows you the photo. The gray powder looks identical to what you saw in the vial.

“Yeah, this looks the same.”

“Did it react to your touch? To heat?” Steve’s fingers curl around your arm, giving it a comforting squeeze, but all it does is make you throb all over. You want his fingers somewhere else, squeezing something else.

“Yes.” 

“Shit. Sorry, I know, language, but shit.” Steve squeezes your arm harder.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” He asks, starting to pull the phone away from you. 

“This stuff is bad, Steve,” Bucky says, worry seeping into his words. “If you two were in there together, you’re going to start feeling it soon too. It’s probably only delayed because the serum is fighting it off as best it can.”

“Feeling what?” Steve asks, eyes flicking between you and the phone.

Bucky pauses, probably finding a delicate way to break the news to Steve. If you didn’t feel like your heart was about to explode from your chest, you’d probably find it funny. “Aroused,” Bucky ends up saying. “So aroused that you feel like the only way you’ll survive is to… get it out of your system.”

Steve nearly drops the phone. He stares at you and releases your arm, taking a step back. You ache to feel his skin on yours again. Without it, you can barely stay standing. You sink to the floor, crouching low. The seam of your shorts digs into your panties, providing only a sliver of relief.

“Get it out of my system,” Steve states in disbelief. His voice is low and gruff, and it sends a pang of need through you. You fist the fabric of your shorts. Images of Steve’s hands gliding into the waistband, pressing down just where you need him, flood your mind. 

You can practically feel his calloused fingers dipping into your panties, rubbing circles into your clit while he kisses your neck, covering you in marks. It takes everything in you not to reach down and just do it yourself.

“And what if we don’t,” Steve asks, running his hand through his hair. “Get it out of our systems, I mean.”

Bucky takes a long moment before responding. “You’ll be in too much pain,” he says. “Steve, you might survive, but I’m not so sure about–” Steve abruptly cuts off Bucky, but you already heard.

“Fuck or die,” you whisper to yourself. You laugh at the thought, scaring Steve. He watches you with wide eyes as you giggle to yourself.

Your heart is tight in your chest, constricting so much that you’re surprised it’s still beating. The feeling that’s settled in your belly, the one that makes every brush of your panties against your clit feel torturous, can only be described as need. But it’s so much more than that… how does Steve not feel it? 

Steve keeps talking to Bucky, but you don’t hear any of it. Your blood is rushing in your ears, and the only thing you can think about is the way Steve’s gear is beginning to strain around his dick. Your mouth waters, more like floods, and you know that if you don’t get away from him this second, you’ll pounce.

Even though it feels like you’re going to die as you do it, you push yourself up and bolt out of the room. You stumble into a bedroom blindly, throwing the door closed behind you before you toss yourself onto the bed. The sheets are cool against your burning skin, and you waste no time tugging your shorts off and pulling your shirt up over your head.

Your clothes stick to you, but you manage to rid yourself of every scrap, leaving you naked and heaving on the bed. In an instant, your fingers are between your thighs. You’ve never been this wet before, never wanted to come so badly before. It’s pornographic, the way you’re touching yourself, but you can’t hold back.

For a second, you worry you’re being too loud, but the thought is washed away by your impending orgasm. It’s so close you can practically taste it, but as you begin to crest over the edge, it fades. Instead of satisfying you, all the orgasm accomplished was making you feel somehow worse. 

You don’t even startle when you hear a knock on the door. “Are you okay?” Steve asks. You know he’s blushing; you don’t need to see him. He’s always so shy about this stuff. You don’t even know if he’s dated before. He’s a closed book.

“No,” you whimper, circling your clit with your middle finger. Normally, you’d be too sensitive after coming, but it’s like it never happened. You could easily go again, and again, and again…

“Are– are– are you decent?” You groan out a laugh. It’s adorable. 

“No.” Your orgasm builds again, and this time you use your other hand to press two fingers inside of yourself. You can’t reach the spot you need to hit, but the fullness is nice. It’s still not enough. The second you fall over the edge, the pleasure is gone. No relief, just endless, relentless want.

“I’m gonna come in,” Steve tells you. For a moment you consider pulling the sheets over yourself, but the thought of being trapped under the stifling sheets makes you cry out. 

The door opens, the light of the hallway flooding in, and you take in the sight of Steve. His suit is unzipped down to his waist, revealing his white shirt that is plastered to his chest. It shows off every muscle, the dip of his waist. He looks disheveled. His face is flushed, but it’s different than when he comes back from a tough workout. He looks like a predator.

The way his eyes roam over you is full of heat and danger.

“Steve,” you whimper. He’s beside the bed a second later, chest heaving as he takes you in. “Please, Steve, it’s not working,” you babble, clutching the sheets beside you. “Nothing’s helping!”

“Bucky says you could die,” he whispers, clenching his fists. He battles with something internally, though you’re not sure what. “This isn’t the way I wanted it to happen.” You don’t have time to think about it because he’s kissing you. He holds your face in his hands and kisses you lifeless, breathless. The feeling of his lips on yours is like a salve, soothing some of your achings.

He pulls away only to push his suit down the rest of the way, revealing his tented shorts. He’s back on you in a second, and your fingers find the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over him. You know Steve always runs a little warm due to the serum, but he’s burning up just like you. The feeling of his skin pressed against yours is heaven, but you still need more.

“Oh my god, Steve,” you murmur as he kisses your neck. He’s being gentle, too fucking gentle considering the circumstances. “I need more, please. I need more.” Steve nods into your neck and moves his hands to your breasts.

His large hands cup you perfectly, palming you. His fingers find your nipples, and he toys with them, playing you like a fiddle as you writhe beneath him. Your hips grind against his dick, and he groans into you. It’s a sound you’ve never heard from him but one you’ve craved long before tonight.

“You’re killing me,” he moans, driving his hips against yours. You run your fingers down his back, scratching into those beautiful muscles, and pull him closer. 

“I need you, Steve.” Your voice comes out a whine, but Steve knows you’re in pain. He knows how much this is hurting both of you. He kisses you again before ridding himself of his shorts and briefs. 

Steve Rogers is built like a god. Like a mountain. In all his naked glory before you, he is a thing of beauty. For a moment, the noise in your head fades, and the severity of this moment comes into focus.

How long have you pined after Steve? How long have you wanted to tell him what you feel about him? 

This isn’t how I wanted it to happen.

It’s not how you want it to happen either, but maybe after all of this is over, you can fix things.

“I don’t feel like I can control myself right now,” Steve tells you, bringing you back to the situation at hand. His fist is wrapped around his cock, and he pumps it slowly, though you can tell it takes effort. 

“I feel the same way,” you say, attempting to comfort him. His brows are knit together with focus, but he nods. 

“Do you know if there are condoms anywhere?” he asks, somehow blushing harder. You shake your head, so Steve digs through the bedside table, then the cabinet in the bathroom, but comes up with nothing.

“I get the shot, and I’m clean,” you tell him, voice tight. Pain radiates through your body, making your toes curl.

“I’m clean.” As the words pass his lips, he climbs onto the bed. He settles between your legs, sitting back on his heels as he drinks in the sight of you. Your eyes devour him right back, eating up his muscular body, following the trail of his abs to his dick. He’s big, bigger than anything you’ve ever taken before, and you shudder at the thought of how he’ll stretch you. 

Your fingers grip the bed sheets, and you twitch just thinking about his dick. It sets something off in Steve; it’s like a switch flipped. He ducks his head down and takes your nipple into his mouth, one of his hands drifting down your body. His calloused skin scrapes against you, and you writhe beneath him. His fingers reach your clit, and he toys with it, tight quick circles that work you up, while his teeth graze your nipple. He nips at the skin around your breast, soothing each mark with his tongue, and the want that’s coiled in your belly seems to wind tighter.

He sinks lower, tongue tasting your skin as he descends until your legs rest on his shoulders and his lips are hovering over you. His breath is hot on your sensitive skin, and you do your best not to buck your hips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he practically whispers before dipping down and dragging his tongue through your arousal. You burn at his words, grinding against his face. You’re past the point of being shy or embarrassed. He knows what you want. What you need.

“Steve,” you moan. The sound of his name on your lips sounds downright pornographic, and it spurs him on. He brings you right to the edge and grazes his teeth over your clit, sending you right over. This time, when you come, it feels so much better than when you’d been doing it to yourself. It only provides you a second of relief before the need returns.

Steve holds your legs apart, and his tongue darts out, licking his lower lip. You pant as you watch him sit up. He strokes his cock a few times before running the tip along your pussy. He collects your arousal, knocking your clit with his dick.

You can tell he feels conflicted. You don’t want him to regret this, to feel bad. “Stevie,” you whisper, pushing yourself up. Your body screams at you not to waste time, but this is more important. “Can I tell you something?” 

He nods, searching your eyes.

“I know it might sound stupid, but I’ve had a crush on you for forever,” you admit, trying not to drop his gaze. His lips part as he sucks in a breath. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t want to live with you rejecting me.”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t have rejected you,” he whispers. “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time.” You grin at his words and lean forward, pressing a kiss to his abdomen.

“This isn’t how I wanted any of this to happen,” you say, echoing his earlier statement. “But I know you’ll take care of me. You’ll keep me safe. I wouldn’t want anyone else here with me.” Steve’s expression softens, and he leans down to kiss the top of your head.

“That’s right,” he says, guiding you to lie back down. “I’m gonna take real good care of you.” His words take on a possessive growl as he lines himself up with your pussy. He raises his eyebrows at you, silently asking if you’re ready.

“Please, Steve, please,” you beg. He pushes into you in one brutal thrust, stretching you around his length. You let out a guttural moan, and he starts moving. 

“Shit,” he grunts through gritted teeth. “You’re so tight, baby.” 

“Language,” you moan, earning you a slap to your inner thigh. Steve’s pace is punishing, his thrusts deep, and you feel him everywhere. His hands grip your hips, your breasts, your legs, anywhere he can get his hands on.

His focus is entirely on you, on bringing you right up to your peak. You’re so sensitive that it doesn’t take much to send you over the edge. Steve moans when you come and repositions you so your face is in the mattress and your ass is in the air.

When he pushes into you again, you feel him even deeper this time. The slam of his hips against your ass, his fingers digging into your hips, it’s almost too much. You crest again, chanting Steve’s name into the sheets. 

It feels like it lasts forever, but you can’t get enough. Steve whispers words of encouragement to you, but they’re laced with a filth you hadn’t expected from him.

Doing so good for me, baby. Squeezing me so tight. You look so perfect taking my dick.

It’s only after you’ve come down from your 6th orgasm, does your fever start to break. Steve has only come twice (only! You have no idea how he’s been able to keep going… must be the serum), but you can tell he’s getting worn out.

At some point, he’d pulled you to the edge of the bed so he could stand between your legs. Your ankles are hooked around his neck now, and you’re a puddle in his hands.

His fingers come up to touch your face, and he smiles. “Your fever is gone,” he tells you, slowly thrusting inside of you. “How do you feel?” You’re not sure you’ll even be able to speak, but you try anyways.

“So good,” you whisper. “So good, Stevie.” He leans down, bending you in half, and kisses you softly. He tugs your lower lip between his teeth before pulling back a bit. 

“Perfect.” He stays where he is with you bent in half and picks up his pace. Still, you can tell he’s already close to finishing again. He comes on a low groan that resonates through your whole body. You tilt your head up to kiss him again, and finally, that panicky need fades.

Steve pulls out of you gently, and you drop your head onto the mattress. Your body tingles all over, and you feel like you’re about to float away until you feel his tongue teasing your clit. 

“Stevie,” you whimper while you try and fail to wiggle away. 

“Please,” he whispers against your pussy. “You can give me another one, can’t you, baby? For me, please?” He licks your sensitive flesh with each word, begging you for just one more. And even though you’re sensitive, you don’t want to say no. 

Your fingers release the sheets and trail down to Steve’s head, where you tangle them in his hair. He understands what you’re asking. His tongue dips lower, licking up where his cum is leaking out of you and he pushes it back inside. He tastes every inch of you, soothing the soreness that is slowly starting to creep in. Your fingers tug his hair, guiding him to where you need him most, and he lets you.

The noises Steve makes as he eats you out are what put you over the edge one final time, and he laps it up eagerly. He presses kisses to the insides of your thighs before standing. You’re barely conscious as he carries you into the other bedroom and cleans you up.

As you’re beginning to fall asleep and he’s tucking you in, you hear his whispered words. “I’ll always be here to keep you safe. I’ll always take care of you.” Steve climbs into the bed and pulls you to his chest. He kisses your forehead, and you succumb to the warmth of sleep.

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[cccloudsss]

Six Sentence Sunday

a rare post from me!! i've been doing some work for CORB as well as drawing casually on the side. however, for a few months (very sparingly) i've been working diligently on a WIP.

tl;dr it's a housewife baz (married to lamb) with mailman simon, need i say more.

The mail lady is here, and she’s just the woman I wanted to see.  I school my features and slink up to her, cocking my hip. I make sure it’s the side with the slit, to give her a good view of my leg.  Her jaw is completely dropped, and honestly she looks like she’s about to start drooling. I walk a little closer and put my finger under her chin, closing her mouth.  “Darling, mouth breathing isn’t a very good look on you, wouldn’t you agree?”

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@talentpiper11

[daimyosprincess]

PART I: FOREWORD

—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: When the new Mandalorian studies professor Boba Fett comes into the university library looking for help, you’re more than happy to be of assistance.

—WORD COUNT: 6.4k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, references to sexual themes, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), bisexual reader, reader described as having hair, alcohol consumption by reader and others, GRATUITOUS flirting (like a ridiculous amount), use of pet names

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here it is, my first ever posted fic! I'm so excited to share this with y'all, it's been so much fun to write. Thank you for all your support for this series. Enjoy the Boba brainrot with me :)

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Part II>

The university library is dead—classes aren’t in session and things are slow. The afternoon summer sun streams through the building’s tall windows, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the golden light. The faint rustle of papers turning is the only sound filling the idle air other than you and your coworker’s chatting at the circulation desk. 

“No, I’m telling you there’s no good guys to date here. They’re all either emotionally unavailable or terrible in bed… or both,” your friend Selena gripes. She’s exasperated by the most recent of her flings ghosting her after their last hookup. 

Swirling your iced coffee, you roll your eyes. “Well maybe you need to expand your dating pool, there’s more out there than just twenty-something guys who spend all their time in the gym.” You grin knowingly at your friend—she definitely has a type.

She throws an elbow at you. “Hey! Not all of us are into girls and men old enough to be our dads! Speaking of which…” she cuts off, wiggling her perfect eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice calls from behind your back, “is there a librarian I can speak to about reserving my course materials?” The voice’s vowels lilt and come together like sand being molded by an ocean wave, powerful yet graceful—it’s a voice that could warm you in sunny, shallow waters or drown you in a raging storm.

All but choking on your coffee, you spin to face the front desk. Standing on the other side of the counter is the most handsome man you think you’ve ever seen: copper skin, white teeth, and dark eyes stand atop a crisp linen shirt rolled up to reveal thick, strong forearms. Pale, silvered scars crisscross his skin, glinting in the light, making him look equally dangerous and enticing, like a trap baited with everything you’ve ever wanted.

Shit, he could get me in a lot of trouble… and I’d let him. You clear your throat, doing your best to recover with at least some of your dignity intact—a difficult task when the absolute god of a man before you just heard that you’re definitely into men his age. 

Selena, however, beats you to an answer. “Yes, sir, that would be my coworker here,” she answers in a sing-song voice, “she’s more than happy to help you with anything you need.” You shoot her a dirty look as she flounces away back to her desk in the back, her attitude completely unapologetic.

Being the flirt you are, you did fully intend to hit on this handsome professor, but that’s not the point. Rallying your thoughts, you flash him a dazzling smile. “Yes, I certainly am,” you confirm. “What can I do for you, professor…?” Your voice trails off in anticipation of his response, and you catch the dark gleam in his coffee-colored eyes. 

“Fett, Boba Fett. Professor of Mandalorian studies,” he answers smoothly, his rich timbre confident and unphased by you and Selena’s antics.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, professor,” you respond, matching his blithe tone. You introduce yourself with your name and title as the research materials librarian.

He smirks, flicking his eyes over your frame in a casual, yet interested, way. “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” When his eyes meet yours again, they flicker with amber fire, bright and tempting.

You let his compliment hang in the sunlit air between you for a moment, gauging whether he too felt the electric connection buzzing between you two. Judging by the glint in his eye and quirk of his lips, he did.

Game on. “Well, usually faculty submit their materials for purchase and reservation at the end of the previous school year or at the beginning of the summer session,” you inform him with an overly patronizing tone. “But I suppose I can make an exception for you since you’re being so polite.” You end your statement with a wink, inviting him in to test the waters.  

Taking your hint, he leans his muscled arms on the high lip of the desk, bringing himself closer into your space. “You’re too kind. Things have been a little difficult since I’m new to the school and wasn’t in the country until last week… and I’d really appreciate your help, princess.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like spiced honey, hot and sweet.

  Your brows arch up and you run your tongue over teeth behind your lips as you consider the handsome professor. Most men you meet are either too intimidated or too stupid to give you a fair fight, but this Boba Fett… he might just be the one. Without saying much, he’s said it all: true power doesn’t need to be defended because it speaks for itself. His innate confidence makes your stomach tighten and your blood run hot—this is going to be even more fun than you first thought. “Why don’t you come into my office and I can see what all I can do for you, Professor Fett,” you offer with a flirty smile.

“Please,” he entreats with a saccharine smile, “call me Boba.”

Leaning against your doorframe, Boba shoulders his leather satchel, his broad shoulders rippling under the material of his shirt. The muscles in his arms carve out valleys in his marked skin, making your mind race with the thought of how those arms would feel around you, lifting you up, or pinning you down beneath him. The way he totally fills up the space around him is enough to send heat between your legs, and the snatches of fantasy only heighten the desire simmering in your core. You’ve done everything you can to help the professor at the moment, but neither of you seem too keen on parting just yet, much to your satisfaction. 

“So how old are you, then?” he asks, eyeing you tilted back in your chair below him.

You’d teased him about his thesis date being long before your birth while you chatted as you submitted his materials requests. “Why, professor,” you taunt, looking up at him from heavy-lidded eyes, “are you trying to make sure I’m at least eighteen?”

He answers with a devil’s grin. “No, just trying to see whether or not I’m old enough to be your father.”

Yep, he definitely heard that earlier, you groan internally as heat pricks up your neck. Not one to be beaten so easily, however, you lazily trail your eyes down to his left hand braced on your door, a smirk splitting your face when you don’t find a ring. “As long as you’re single, I’m twenty-six.”

“And if I’m not?” he counters, cocking his head in pointed curiosity.

You pray to whoever might be listening that he is because you might not survive temptation much longer, not with the way he’s looking at you like you’re the sweetest dessert he’s ever seen. “Well then, I’d be twenty-six and disappointed.” 

He snorts, shaking his head with a deliciously low chuckle. “You really are something, aren’t you, little one?”

Your stomach flips at his continued use of the sweet names, but you swallow it down. Boba Fett is a test you intend on passing and that means you have to keep your wits about you.  “I have been told I can be quite the handful. Hope that's not a problem… don’t think it would be for you, though,” you reply, looking him up and down meaningfully and letting your eyes linger on the fabric stretched tight over his biceps. He’s built like a kriffing brick wall, thick and solid, and you want to climb him to the very top. 

The sultry look he gives you makes you think he’d let you, too. “After forty-seven years, princess, I don't think it would be.”

That same hum of charged energy of your initial meeting fills your office as your gaze falls into line with the intense depth of his own. You were wrong before, he’s not looking at you like you’re dessert. You’re prey, soft and open, and he’s the predator tracking you deeper and deeper in the forest, far away so no one would hear your shriek when sunk his teeth into your flesh. 

But did prey ever want to be torn apart by its hunter? You roll your lips together, squeezing your thighs against the embers of desire flickering to life between them. 

A few moments later, your computer chirps with an email notification and you blink back to reality, the tension fizzling out into the surrounding air. Probably for the best since I’m about ten seconds away from jumping this man's bones in my office. Straightening up in your seat, you clear your throat. “Same time tomorrow, then, professor?”

“If it’s not a problem,” he shrugs, his heated gaze betraying his nonchalance, “I know you’re a busy girl.”

He’s clearly enjoying calling you everything but your name and you, much to your surprise, are lapping it up. In an attempt to even the score, you push up from your chair, snatching up one of your business cards from your desk and scribbling your cell number on the back. Sauntering over to him stretched out in your door, you stop just a little closer than absolutely necessary. You slip the piece of paper into his front pocket, pleased with the way the muscle in his jaw twinges at the contact. “Oh, no, it’s no problem at all,” you practically purr, “At the university, we want to make sure our new faculty enjoy everything the library has to offer.” 

He huffs in amusement, not moving away. “Your efforts should be rewarded, then,” he notes, his voice like rich molasses, “You’ve been nothing but eager.”

Before you can stop the impish impulse, you rattle off your usual coffee order. The worst he can say is no, but something tells you he’s willing to indulge you just a bit more than most would.

He tilts his head to the side, his lips twitching into a smile in understanding a second later. “Size?”

“As much as you’re willing to give me,” you wink, flipping your pen between your fingers under your chin. You’d like to think he’d indulge you in that too, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“Don’t worry,” he assures, his voice like bittersweet woodsmoke, “I’ll make sure you get everything you deserve.” The promises laced through his words like invisible threads, weaving together images of love-bruised skin and rough hands pressed into soft flesh.  

You swallow thickly, and almost groan in embarrassment when his eyes track the bob of your throat with a smug look. “You could get a man into trouble, little one. A lot of trouble…” 

He shoves off the doorframe, his face swaying dangerously close to yours as he turns to leave. “See you tomorrow, princess.” He says the words like a promise rather than a casual expression.

“Oh, professor?” you call out after him. You can’t let this man come out of your office thinking he’s won your little game, your pride simply won’t allow it—and neither will the lurid desire bubbling up from somewhere deep within you. You want to push him, needle him until he snaps, poke the bear until he takes a swipe. Not very smart for someone who’s definitely the prey.

He turns to face you as if he had been hoping you’d stop him. “Yes?”

“You should know,” you bait, letting your eyes flicker down to his lips and back up in wicked pleasure, “I like trouble.”

Every day since your electrifying meeting has been an excuse to see him: hand delivering something that could have been interofficed, calling his office phone and inviting him to look over some course book in person, or volunteering to give him a tour of campus that happened to include lunch together. Boba’s like a burning sun and you’ve been ensnared in his orbit, your every phase and season given life by his heat.

When you couldn’t find an excuse to be around him, he found one; he came to make copies in the library because his department’s machine “never seems to work right,” the coffee shop gave him an extra pastry he “couldn’t possibly eat,” or the darn databases wouldn’t let him log in and you’re the “only one who can get them to work.” Even when your extensive partnership gathering his course materials came to an end, Boba was quick to offer you a spot in his office to work while last minute construction went on in the library before the start of the fall semester.

Boba’s office is tucked away at the end of a long hall in the gothic-style humanities building and quickly becomes your own personal sanctuary for the remainder of the summer. Its soaring ceiling and long, arched window gave a sense of lightness to the corner space, the natural light reflecting off the pale walls. Brass lamps with warm, golden light keep the room cozy when clouds roll in, along with the sumptuous oriental rug spread over the stone floor. Boba’s furniture is functional and comfortable; a large, sorrel leather couch sits perpendicular against the wall from his sturdy oak desk, accompanied by matching armchairs facing him for visitors. The walls are lined with bookshelves and cabinets housing his impressive personal library and mementos from his illustrious life.

It’s in this ivory tower oasis that your heart begins to grow into a softer shape and your mind settles into the rough-hewn grooves of the professor’s tides. The power of him both rouses and relieves, stirs and soothes; the shards of you are made into soft seaglass by the roll and drag of his waves against the sand. And oh, how you’re tempted to let him pull you under the glassy surface, to submit and let his current tow you to blissful paradise. You yearn to provoke his storms as well as seek his shelter from the harsh creatures of everyday life—you’re sure he’s going to be the end of you.

The week before classes start you’re slouched comfortably across the couch in his office. Sunlight dapples the room in a saffron glow through the forked leaves of ivy hugging the window as you’re half-heartedly responding to the numerous last minute item requests from harried professors. While most of them are smart enough to be polite, quite a few have decided to be rude, pain in the asses instead. 

You grumble loudly, throwing your head back against the cushion behind you. Your frustration is not helped by the fact Boba is extra good looking today, his white shirt is practically glowing against his sun-kissed skin and open a button lower than usual for the breezy weather—not that you noticed those kinds of things about him. Just like you definitely weren’t aching for his attention that’s currently wrapped up in class prep.

“Why do all these professors expect me to drop everything to attend to their specific requests like I have nothing better to do?” you huff, massaging your temples with your fingertips. “I do have an actual job besides course reserves.”

Looking over a pair of reading glasses, Boba leans back in his chair, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Must have seen you doing it for me, princess.”

You blow out a dismissive sound and roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re different.” Snapping your laptop closed, you manage to keep the pleased smile from turning up your lips. You have Boba’s attention now, just like you really wanted.

“Mmm, different how?” he hums, his intense gaze now trained on your face.

The heat of his assured, teasing confidence makes your guts churn. While your mutual physical attraction to one another is surely evident to both of you, you’ve been doing your best to hide the fact that he holds your heart in his hands too. No use ruining the good thing you have going with the handsome professor by admitting you have an honest-to-god crush with feelings.

Rolling over on your side so you can prop your head up on your hand, you find Boba entirely too smug for your liking. Putting on your most innocent face, you blink up at him with wide doe eyes. “Oh, you know me, professor, always happy to help you older folks figure out all the complicated technology involved in getting your books.” Despite your efforts, you can’t help cracking a grin at the end of your sentence.

That sparks the fire you hoped it would in Boba, his eyes glittering and his posture shifting forward in response to your goading. “Watch it, princess. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

Heaven help me, he looks so kriffing good, his shoulders alone make me want to risk it all. “Don’t worry,” you grin, “I’ve never had any trouble swallowing what’s in my mouth.”

“Well, well, well,” a rich female voice interjects from the door, making you jerk upright. “If it isn’t the new Mandalorian studies professor going at it with the pretty little librarian. I should’ve known that I couldn’t trust you around her, Fett.”

“Fennec!” you exclaim, relief dousing your prickling surprise: she knew you were a tease. You scramble off the lounge and throw your arms around your friend. “It’s Wednesday,” you state, perplexed, “I thought you wouldn’t be back from your trip until Friday?”

She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a satisfying hug. “Missed you too much, kitten, had to come back a little early,” she answers with her usual flirtatiousness. You don’t miss the way she winks at Boba over your shoulder as her palms slide over the small of your back when she pulls away. You secretly hope it will make him a little jealous.

“Never met a beautiful girl you didn’t try to seduce, have you Shand?” Boba pipes up from behind you, his tone familiar.

Your heart rate spikes at his compliment but you tamp down the heat threatening to creep up your face. Stepping back, you swing your head back and forth between the two professors. “You two know each other?”

Flicking her long braid over her shoulder, Fennec smiles, throwing a puckish look at the man behind the desk. “Oh, Boba and I go way back, long before either of us cleaned up and joined academia. Who do you think got him a job here?” she quips, sinking her weight onto her hip with her usual air of unapologetic fortitude.

“I got myself a job here,” Boba cracks back, his grumbling making it obvious he’s accustomed to Fennec’s ribbing.

She shrugs, grinning. “Don’t discount the power of a good word on the inside.” Slinging an arm around your shoulder, she loudly whispers in your ear, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing with a man like him anyways, kitten? Thought I taught you better than that.”

“Kark off, Shand,” Boba huffs, and Fennec throws her hands up in front of her chest in a showy apology.

Letting his languid gaze slide over to you, Boba studies the curves and planes of your body, mapping out each. You can’t squash the tingling glow buzzing in your chest at his attention, and your eyes sink down under fluttering lashes, your resolve weakened. “She’s a smart girl, she knows what she wants,” he finally says, releasing you from his inspection to smirk at his colleague.

The heat in your lower belly flares hot and wanting at his passive claim over you. Shit. Sometimes you wish he’d just shove your clothes aside and bend you over the nearest flat surface to take you for himself. Dangerous thoughts like those keep you up at night, wishing it his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy instead of your own. 

You drop back down onto the couch to buy yourself a second to regroup. Kicking your feet up in an act of collected indifference, you drawl, “Aw, don't you two go fighting over me, there’s plenty to go around.”

“Yeah, but Boba doesn’t like to share,” Fennec snorts.

You grin up at the dark-haired woman and prop your computer back on your thighs. “Good thing we’re just friends then, Fenn.”

“Lucky him,” she chuckles. Straightening up and drawing a breath, her jovial expression settles into something more sincere. “Well, I’ve got plenty to do for classes next week, just wanted to stop by when I heard your voices. It’s good to see you again.”

Genuine affection spreads in your chest as you look up at your friend; for all her teasing and bluster, Fennec has a heart of gold. “Glad you made it back safe, Fenn, we’ll get coffee and catch up soon,” you promise with a candid smile.

“Sounds good, let me know if you ever want some better looking company.” She winks at you then tosses her head in Boba’s direction. “Always a pleasure to see you still in one piece, Fett.”

Despite his glowering expression, Boba’s voice is warm. “Same to you, Shand. Just remember to always watch your back.” The sound of the dark-haired woman’s throaty laugh echoes down the hallway as she heads towards her office. 

When you look back at Boba, his mahogany eyes are already on you. They’re watching, as they often are, like you’re some fascinating phenomenon that might disappear if he doesn’t recommit it to memory repeatedly. “So you and Fennec are friends,” he states simply, leaning forward on his elbows. There’s something expectant in his tone, his demeanor hinting at anticipation. It makes the cozy atmosphere of the office crackle with intent.

You learned rather quickly that there was little use in trying to figure out Boba when he didn’t want to be figured, so you relax back into the couch and play along. “Yeah, she’s one of the first people I met when I started at the university. She took me under her wing and helped me find my way around here, she’s a good friend.” Before you can think better of it, you add, “But she’s only ever been a friend, despite what she might hint at.”

A small smile chips through the stony set to his features that makes your heart skip a beat. “Well that’s good to hear. Raises my hopes for your answer to my next question.” The richness of his voice belies any nervousness, if a man like him even feels such a thing. He always seems so sure, always in total control. 

Was he jealous of Fennec? Your mouth goes dry and you force your easy smile to stay in place; Boba’s focus is zeroed in on you and you'd rather die than slip up in front of him—he'd enjoy it far too much. “Oh, do tell, professor. I'm all ears,” you urge, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your cool with passing success.

His lips twitch up, amused with your brashness. “You’ve been more than helpful these past four weeks, little one,” he begins, “I couldn't have gotten everything done for my classes or had the peace of mind to get properly settled here.”

“Really, it's no problem, I don't-”

Boba raises a hand for silence and your jaw clicks shut in quick obedience—much to your embarrassment and his obvious pleasure. “Whether you mind or not,” he continues, “or if you feel it's your job, I greatly appreciate all your efforts.” He studies you for a moment and it feels like he can see right through to your insides. “Can I take you to dinner at the Vineyard this Saturday, to thank you for all you've done?”

Genuine surprise releases a stream of words pouring from your lips before you can even register them. “The Vineyard? Downtown? It’s so fancy, you don't have to do that. I mean it's like $100 dinners and-”

“You deserve it, princess. I told you you'd get everything you deserve, remember?” Boba smiles, the corners of eyes crinkling in a fond expression. “Plus, I enjoy your company… and I think you enjoy mine, too.”

Your poor heart is beating so hard in your ribs you’re sure Boba's able to hear it. The safety of him and his space have disarmed your usual defenses, sanded down the spear of your tongue; it’s equal parts freeing and terrifying, uncharted territory ripe with possibilities and danger. You’re left unable to deny his assertion—or form any real words—so you opt to arch a brow instead. 

“Don’t play coy, little one,” he chastens, his firm words and velvet tone skating over your heated skin. “I know construction in the library finished last week, yet you're still spending all your days in my office.”

Biting your lip, you do your best to look surprised. “Oh, really? I must have, uh, missed the memo on that,” you try lamely, scratching at the back of your neck. It’s a weak defense but it’s all you can muster at the moment, only half your brain is available to cobble together a response; the other half is too busy fighting the urge to leap over his desk and into his lap.

Boba chuffs a laugh, his handsome face all too knowing and his deep eyes sparkling with amusement—and maybe something darker, more sensual if you could bear to look. His reaction does, however, kick-start your customary attitude. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you fix him with the most sardonic look you can. “Well, I didn’t see you complaining, professor.” You tack on an eye roll for good measure as it never fails to get a reaction from him. And, oh, how you wanted to get one out of him, be the reason he’s loses his cool. Just the mere thought of it makes you ache.

Cocking his head to the side, he has the gall to look like he’s already won. “Why would I complain about getting what I want?” His face is drawn in a question, but his eyes flash with the answer.

“Well, you… you, er,” you stammer, suddenly unable to find a foothold. Boba had shaken the very earth beneath you with his admission, it has scattered your mind and rattled the bedrock of your resolve. The familiar nagging, forbidden desire to give in, to submit wells up in your throat; it would be easy, sinfully easy, to give up the fight and let Boba win. But easy’s never been my thing, has it?

Rolling back your shoulders, you mount your last stand. You let your head loll over to look at him directly, your eyes peeking out at him from under hooded lids. “And just what do you want, Boba Fett?” you answer, your voice husky and weighted.

The air itself thickens around you, dampening the outside world to something far away and unimportant as Boba contemplates his response. This is the impasse the two of you had been circling all along, choosing to precariously balance your brash determination against his indomitable will rather than risk tipping the scales. The only true solution is for one of you to give, but neither of you had yet been willing to break.

Finally, Boba’s lips part, a quick tongue darting out to wet the chapped skin. “I want,” he starts, low and deliberate, “to take you out to a nice dinner, have a good glass of wine… and have you all to myself.”

His words are etched in crystalline honesty and thus you have no choice but to respond in kind, even if it only skirts your shared quandary. “Then who am I to deny you, professor?”

The rest of the week might as well not have even happened as far as you're concerned—all that mattered was making it to Saturday. Boba had dangled the promise of sweet reward in front of you and seemed content to watch you flounder your way to it over the intervening days. It also didn’t help that Selena could not shut up about it, even now as she’s standing behind you, pinning and primping your hair to her liking.

“Ooo, I can’t believe it’s really happening!” she squeals, sliding another bobby pin into place against your scalp. “You and the hot professor, going on a date to a romantic restaurant all dressed up! I bet he’s going to invite you back to his place after. Do you think he has a big… you know?”

“If you never finish with my hair, I’ll never have to know,” you grumble. Now that the time has nearly come, you’re about sick to your stomach with all the overthinking you’ve done. You almost talked yourself out of going three times before Selena even came over to help you get ready.

“Hey, none of that sad shit,” she chides, pointing a hairbrush at you in the mirror. “You’ve been dying to go on this date all week, you’ve just got a little case of nerves. Totally normal.”

“But what if he doesn’t actually see this as a date? He never actually said it was. Or what if he really just wants to sleep with me and ditch me after this?” You groan, flopping back against your vanity chair miserably. Your earlier suspicions about his mutual feelings for you had soured—now you’re not even sure he likes you. 

Selena thwacks the back of the head. “Ow!” you yelp, glaring at her in your reflection.

“Pull yourself together. Anyone within a mile radius of you two can tell you’re crazy about each other. Now sit still so I can get these pieces even,” she orders, centering you in the mirror with her hands on your shoulders. You do as she says, focusing on the practiced movements of her hands as a distraction for the feeling in your gut.

By the time you pull on your dress and slip into your shoes, you’re beginning to come back around to your usual self, likely in part due to the shot of tequila Selena convinced you to take with her—not that you needed much convincing to begin with. 

She hypes you up as she fastens the clasp of your necklace around your throat. “Shit, girl, you look hot! I’m not sure he’s going to be able to take his eyes off you long enough to drive to the restaurant.” 

“I do look good don’t I?” You flash yourself a smile in the mirror. After a trip to the mall yesterday, you and Selena had decided on a simple black satin slip dress and matching strappy heels. The deep “V” of the neckline and snug fit around your hips gave the dress just enough sex appeal while still being elegant. Twisting around, you check the lines of the dress in the back. “It’s too bad no one can see these panties, they’re so cute.”

“Oh, someone’s going to be seeing them alright,” Selena giggles from her perch on the end of your bed.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the girlish grin turning up the corners of your mouth at her insinuation. Shit, I hope he rips them off me. “Only if I decide he deserves to.”

“There she is, there’s the girl we know and love. Give him hell!” 

Your phone dings on your bedside table and your friend snatches it up before you can get to it. “Hey! Give it!” you demand, grabbing at the device.

Sliding up the bed out of your reach, Selena hunches around your phone. “He’s here! And he sent a bunch of heart emojis.”

Your nerves tingle in cold-hot anticipation, your face going slack in disbelief. “He did?!”

Selena bursts into laughter. “No, I’m just messing with you, he just said he’s outside.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you groan, snatching away your phone. “Go ahead and see if I keep helping you come up with texts to send all your gym rat side pieces.”

She lays a hand on her chest, feigning shock. “You would never. Now get out there and blow his socks off, or you know, whatever else you want to blow.” She smirks suggestively, shooing you towards the door. “I’ll lock up, now out out out.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going!” Your heart hammers in your chest and you consider another shot of tequila before dismissing it—no need to set yourself up to be any hornier than you already are for the Mandalorian professor. Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you’re out the door.

Leaning against a sleek midnight black Audi is Boba Fett in all his glory, dressed in a well-fitted pressed shirt (with the sleeves rolled up, damn him) and gray slacks. His salt and pepper stubble and dark eyes make his already handsome face look even better. Catching your appearance in the doorway, he juts his chin up in greeting, his eyes sliding over you in obvious pleasure. “Evening, princess.”

He holds out an arm and you take it to step off the curb, testing his muscles underneath your fingers as you do; if Boba notices, thankfully he doesn’t say it. He opens the passenger door and you step in, settling down onto the supple leather of the lush interior. 

He doesn’t close the door right away, instead standing and clearly enjoying the view down your dress. You glare up at him in mock annoyance. “You gonna stare like a dirty old man or are you going to take me to dinner, professor?”

“You’re the one who got all dressed up for a dirty old man, sweetheart, I figured you'd want me to enjoy it,” he replies smoothly, his lips quirking into a smirk as he shuts the door before you can manage a response.

Yep, these panties don’t stand a chance.

“So, Fennec tells me you were some sort of deadly mercenary gun-for-hire before you settled down to teach the impressionable young minds of university students,” you smile cheekily over your glass of wine, swirling the sparkling contents around the cup’s curves. “That true?” Stars help me if it is, I don’t know if he can get any sexier.

The evening air is crisp and warm, a mild sea-breeze rustling the hem of your dress under the table. The scene laid out around you is so terribly romantic you have to pinch yourself a few times to make sure it’s not all part of the best dream you’ve ever had. Tables for two are scattered over a stone patio overlooking the sunsetted ocean, with glowing candles in their centerpieces and string lights criss-crossed overhead illuminating the space with soft light. 

Boba lets out an exasperated sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Of course she did. Don’t believe everything she says about me, she loves to tell a good story.”

“Avoiding the question, are we?”

“Sure you don’t want any dessert?”

“Aww, come on Boba, pleeease? Please tell me,” you whine playfully, sticking out your bottom lip for extra effect. He hadn’t denied you anything yet tonight—and you intend on keeping it that way. 

He sighs, resigned to his fate. “You’re going to be the death me, you know that, princess?” You squeal a pleased sound and lean in conspiratorially on both your elbows, eager to hear his answer. Tossing his napkin from his lap onto the table, he leans against the back of his chair and props his arm up, gazing at you over the candlelight. “I’ll tell you, but you have to answer a question of mine if I do. Deal?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you nod, blinking your eyes down to his crotch and back up to his face slowly so he’s sure to notice. “Yeah, we have a deal. Spill it.”

True to his word, Boba recounts what you’re sure is a heavily abridged version of his life before becoming a teacher. He was born on a rainy little island called Kamino and lost his father young. While his father was a Mandalorian, Boba himself didn’t necessarily consider himself to be one, hinting that he hadn’t felt the most welcome by his father’s people when he visited the island of Mandalore before it’d been nearly wiped off the face of the earth. 

Alone in the Mandalorian diaspora, Boba had turned to what he knew best to make his way in the world: fighting. Working protection gigs, “recovering property” (which no doubt was not entirely legal), and retrieving missing or abducted persons, he made a name for himself in that world as the best since his old man. It was also how he met Fennec, who apparently was one of the best espionage mercs money could buy, and why he had a ridiculous amount of money for a college professor.

“So why did you go into teaching then?” you ask, pushing your now empty glass aside. “Kind of an interesting choice considering your… previous profession.”

“Didn’t plan on it.” Boba drains the rest of his glass and sets it next to yours. “After one too many close calls, though, I knew I couldn't continue that life. All of that wasn’t-isn’t the legacy I want to leave behind. The death of my father and his heritage might have been out of my control, but I will not let it be in vain. So I took what I knew, learned what I didn’t, and started teaching in Mandalorian studies.”

You two sit in silence for a while, watching the tide roll in under the silver gleam of the moon. “Thank you for sharing.” Your voice is almost a whisper, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. He would've been so proud to see the person you’ve become, I’m sure of it.”

Boba tilts his head to the side, studying you as if you’ve said the most interesting thing the world has ever heard. “Thank you… that’s kind of you to say,” he answers quietly, as if he doesn’t quite believe you himself. The careful look in his eye makes you wonder what other secret burdens the handsome professor bears in silence. Even more so, it makes you want to shoulder some of it, or at least provide him some sort of relief.

The table off to your right bursts into hoots of laughter and the dusky spell between you is broken. You blink the haze out of your eyes and Boba clears his throat. 

“Time to pay up, sweetheart. It’s my turn to ask you a question,” he smiles, his white teeth catching the flickering candlelight. The faraway solemnity in his eyes is replaced with dark heat.

“Go right ahead, I’m all yours,” you grin back, “ask away.”

Signaling your server for the check with two fingers, Boba leans forward, taking your hand in his large one. “Tell me, little princess, am I dropping you back at yours after this, or are you coming home with me?” 

—Endnotes: I don’t know anything about cars, I just know that Audi is a fancy car brand, at least in the US. Don’t judge me 😭. Also I guess this is a coastal university. I don't have a name for the school yet though, what do y'all think?

Part II>

[livingdreams97]

Emily Junk - "The New Bella." (Part 2)

Emily Junk x fem! reader/oc

Summary: Emily is a newcomer to Barden College and her dream is to be a part of the group acapella the Barden Bellas. She entered the house of the acapella group in order to fulfill her dream, but she ended up falling in love and living an experience that she had never imagined.

Words: 2.392

PREVIOUS /// NEXT

Masterlist

You POV

We've been at the Treblemakers party for a while and Beca still hasn't come home from work. Which means that Chloe is asking me every time she sees me about her and if she has responded to any my messages.

Which I deny, saying I don't know anything and escaping the situation as quickly as possible. I just hope that Beca tells Chloe about the job sometime soon, because it's her first day at the production company and I can't take the stress of keeping the secret anymore.

Stacie: It seems like the new one is flirting already.- she says, shouting close to my ear because of the music, pointing to a place at the party with her finger.

I look amused at where she points, seeing Benji move very strangely and talking to the new Bella.

Amy: They would make a good couple, they are just as weird. - She laughs, joining our conversation.

Cynthia: I don't know.- she denies with a grimace on her lips. -I feel certain vibes from him, you know what I mean.- she comments with an amused smile.

Y/n: I think they would make a slightly awkward couple.- I laugh imagining it. -Besides the fact that we're talking about Benji, I doubt he could even tell her his name, much less ask her out without getting stuck every two words.- I assure them and they all laugh in agreement.

Stacie: You know that from experience, right? - she asks me amused, moving her eyebrows suggestively.

Y/n: Shut up.- I growled, embarrassed, hitting her on the arm. -That was the most uncomfortable moment of my life and I prefer to forget it completely.- I admit sincerely.

Amy: It's true, the weirdo asked little Mitchell out.- she remembers laughing, putting her arm around my shoulders and bringing me closer to her.

Y/n: Amyyyy! - I complain like a little girl when he continues with the topic.

Cynthia: That's why I'm gay.- she assures us proudly.

Stacie: I couldn't be gay.- he shakes his head. -I can't reduce the hunter's prey in half and there are times when a good cock cures everything.- she explains to us without any shame and we all look at her with some disgust.

Y/n: Stacie, too many details.- I say with a disgusted face.

Amy: As far as I know, little Mitchell here doesn't have a dick. - She reminds her with curiosity and amusement at the conversation.

Stacie: She don't need it.- she assures her winking at me. -Besides, the toys are there for a reason.- she comments amusedly and I open my eyes in surprise.

Amy: Wait, what? - she asks with surprise and trying to suppress a laugh, putting on her evil smile. -Does little Mitchell have a harness?- she asks, looking at me completely amused.

Y/n: No, no, no. - I deny quickly, getting out from under the blonde's arm and practically fleeing the place listening to the laughter of my aka-sisters.

I see Jesse sitting alone and decide to go with him. On the way I pick up a glass of pineapple with alcohol inside and take a sip, noticing the strong flavor of gin.

Y/n: I come to keep you company.- I tell him, when I sit next to him and he looks at me funny.

Jesse: To keep me company or to run away from the girls? - he asks me with amusement, pointing with his head where my friends are and where I came from.

Y/n: I can do both at the same time.- I reply amused, taking another sip of the drink.

Jesse: What was it this time? - He asks me, amused.

Y/n: They were embarrassing me.- I respond with a pout and crossing my arms.

Jesse: Were they messing with little Mitchell? - he asks, amused, hugging me by the shoulders. -Do you want me to take care of them?- he asks again, but this time with a fake Italian accent and feigning seriousness.

Y/n: After the competition, right now we need all the bellas.- I answer him and he bursts out laughing at my answer.

Beca: Hello! - she exclaims, appearing out of nowhere and scaring us.

Jesse: Hey, you've come.- he says while they kiss and I pretend to vomit.

Beca: Are you jealous? - she asks me amused. -Don't worry, I have kisses for you too.- she assures me, sitting on my lap and leaving several kisses on my face.

Y/n: Stop, stop, stop! - I exclaim, amused, trying to push her face away, while Jesse laughs at our attitude.

Jesse: Well, how was internship? - he asks when my sister stops still.

Beca: Very productive, yes, they are not up to fooling around.- she tells us, taking my glass from the small bar and taking a sip.

Jesse: Chloe asked where you were.- he tells her.

Y/n: Many times, I have been asked about you MANY times.- I say looking seriously at my sister.

Jesse: Why haven't you told her? - he asks his girlfriend, confused.

Beca: She's very busy with the competition and all that, it wasn't the right time.- she responds, moving her hands nervously.

You see, when I'm nervous or hiding something, I scratch my eyebrow and my sister gesticulates excessively with her hands. So it's very easy to tell when Beca is nervous or hiding something, because her hand movement during a conversation increases by 80%.

Y/n: Beca, you have to tell the girls, I can't hide it anymore and it's only been one day. - I plead to my sister, scratching my eyebrow for the first time all day and feeling some relief.

My sister, seeing my action, sighs with some guilt and grabs my hand so I don't scratch myself anymore.

Beca: I promise I'll tell her soon.- she assures me, placing a kiss on my right eyebrow and hugging me by the shoulders.

Y/n: By the way, we have a new member.- I told my sister, hugging her around the waist.

Beca: But the dean said that we can't do auditions.- she comments with confusion.

Y/n: Apparently she is an heiress and we are obliged to let them audition or something like that. - I explain, shrugging my shoulders since I do not understand the situation myself.

Beca: Okay.- she says, shrugging her shoulders like me and changing the subject.

The three of us talked about everything for a bit, before getting up and joining the rest of the people on the dance floor.

Emily POV

We meet at the car show, where the Bellas are supposed to perform and because of Amy's issue with the president, they gave it to a German group.

Flo: Explain to me again what we do at a car show? - she asks with confusion in front of me on the mechanical stairs.

Chloe: There is a reason and it is very obvious: study the competition. - she answers seriously her.

Emily: Knowing who we are facing will help us win. - I support the co-captain of the group by understanding her point of view.

Chloe: Okay, let's find out where those tour stealers are.- she says confidently, when we reach the end of the stairs. -Stacie!- she calls her when she sees where our aka-sister is.

When we get off the stairs, we all notice Stacie who is perched on the hood of a red car posing and some guys are taking photos of her.

Beca: Don't be a cock-warmer.- she says amusingly to our partner.

Amy: Stacie!- she exclaims, approaching her and causing her to get up from the car. -I bet that made you horny Y/n.- she accuses her evilly.

Y/n: Oh my god! - She exclaims, hitting her forehead in embarrassment and begins to walk faster and  away from the group.

I just watch as she gets ahead of everyone, feeling how breakfast stirs in my stomach at the blonde's comment and knowing that the two have some kind of relationship.

When we get to the performance room, I don't realize that I am between the two Mitchells.

During the performance, I can't help but focus on the warmth radiating from the body to my right and the smell of pear with something floral that I can't make out.

Emily. You smell very good.- I whisper to her without thinking, opening my eyes mortified and she looks at me with confusion.

Y/n: Excuse me?- she asks, approaching me.

Emily: That they seem good.- I say quickly, feeling my heart beating wildly and my hands starting to sweat.

Y/n: Yes, they are.- she nods agreeing with me and returning her attention to the performance.

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding, trying to calm the fast beating of my heart and wiping the sweat from my hands against my pants.

I take a deep breath, focusing on the performance and trying not to think about the interaction I just had with my bandmate.

When the performance ends, we applaud politely and look at each other without really knowing what to do. None of us imagined that they were going to be so good and that they were so synchronized.

Kommisar: The Bellas of Barden, have you come to see us? - she asks us when they approach us. -Is it because you are a little... as they say to American children? .... in heat - she says and I open my eyes surprised at the comment.

Chloe: We're not in heat. - She denies with her lips together.

Kommisar: We should thank you for giving us this tour, you know, with your clumsy inaptitude.- she tells us seriously. -Should we send them something, something like a fruit basket?.- she asks the boy next to him.

Pieter: Yum yum.- nods agreeing.

Kommisar: Or would you prefer some sweets? - she asks us this time with a smile.

Beca: Hey, we haven't come to fight with you, we just wanted to see you before the championship where we're going to crush you.- she assures the Germans with a smile.

Kommisar: You? - she asks, approaching the brunette co-captain. -Are you going to crush us?- she asks, amused, remaining a few centimeters away from her.

Beca: Well yes.- she answers, moving in her place with some nervousness.

Kommisar: What little thing, like an elf or is it a fairy, a little fairy? - she asks before saying something in her language to one of her companions.

Pieter: Troll.- he responds with a strong accent to whatever she is asking.

Kommisar: That's it, you're like a troll.- she says and I feel how they gently pull me aside.

Beca: And you are physically perfect, and I don't like you at all.- she assures her and we all look at her confused.

Kommisar: Thank you.- she thanks you with a smile.

Y/n: What you really are is a poorly educated bully. - She responds to her sister's insult by placing herself in front of the blonde, who looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

Kommisar: And you are? - she asks with a more defensive posture.

Y/n: I'm the one who will kick your German ass if you insult her again.- she assures her seriously and I can't help but bite my lip at her authoritarian tone of voice.

Chloe: You don't scare us, because when we step on stage we're going to rock it. - she assures them with a smile, changing the subject and trying to lighten the tension in the atmosphere.

Pieter: With what? - he asks sarcastically. -Showing flabby Abby's rabbit.- he says, looking at the blonde with disgust.

Amy: That's not my name. She denies something uncomfortable.

Pieter: I don't know your name, but I can improvise.- he assures her with amusement. -Malena the whale, Lisa the plump one, the bale cow...- he begins and with each name I can see Y/n's body tense up more.

Amy: My name is fat Amy and I have salchichem like you for breakfast. - She says, approaching him in a threatening manner.

Pieter: Your team is like a chicken coop without a rooster, and without a rooster you are poor untied chicks who, as soon as a rooster crows, another rooster crows at them. - he says with that horrible accent.

Kommisar: Girls, follow my advice, don't try to beat us: you can't, we're better. - she assures us with an evil smile, staring at Y/n. -And now I have to go rest my neck, it hurts to look at you from above.- she says, looking this time at Beca with superiority.

I see how Y/n is about to jump on her, so I grab her arm and pull her hard towards me, avoiding any type of altercation.

Beca: Okay, just because you make me feel sexually confused doesn't mean you scare me! We have nothing to lose! Literally nothing! - she exclaims, moving her hands and watching them go. -Aka-fidersen bastards.- she says goodbye, moving her hands above her head.

Chloe: Leave it.- she asks her friend, placing a hand on her arm.

Beca: Oh what's wrong with me? I can't control my hands.- she growls nervously, brushing her hair out of her face.

Once the Germans have disappeared, the atmosphere relaxes a little and I realize that my hand is still gripping Y/n's arm.

I let go immediately, feeling the heat flooding my face and my heart starting to beat fast again.

Chloe: Okay, after this whatever it was.- she says referring to Beca, moving her hand around the brunette. -It's time to get our act together and rehearse until we bleed if necessary.- she says intensely and I look at her surprised.

Amy: Don't get too extreme redhead. - she stops her with a hand in the air. -I already have plans for today.- she tells her, raising an eyebrow.

Ashley/Jessica: Us too.- they say at the same time with one hand in the air.

Stacie: I'm meeting a boy for a class project.- she comments, looking at her nails.

Cynthia: And what is the job? About anatomy.- she asks letting out a laugh.

Stacie: Anyway, I'm leaving.- she says goodbye to everyone. -See you all at home!- she exclaims when he walks away from the group.

I watch her walk away, not understanding how she prefers to go with a boy when she has Y/n. That is, from an objective point of view and not at all personal, I would choose her.

Because I don't know what the boy will be like, but between the eyes full of life, the perfect happy smile, the silky long hair, the abs, the butt, the way she dresses and her personality, I will stay with Y/n a hundred times.

But all this from an objective point of view, I don't like girls and she is also my groupmate. But just because I don't like girls doesn't mean I can't appreciate them.

[archangel-1]

[henreyettah]

Belated Christmas art! Of the girls!🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

[camelliagwerm]

Oh British FemRook has a northern lilt to her voice like I hoped she would!!

[braddourifscareertrajectory]

i may or may not have swapped my rook's voice like 15 hours into the game lol

[schinkennudeln]

If you enjoy fem Snowbaz please consider checking out my fic Bachelor of Love, an AU were Simone and Baz both study law at university!

Chapter two will be post VERY soon!!

[rthornewrites]

a recording of me reading one of my posts

[biohazard-inevitable]

Okay show pitch:

A magical girl group that all has different types of cats that fit their personalities like the calm collected gal gets a sleek black cat and the rowdy rambunctious one gets an orange cat etc etc and they’re all girl cats except for one of the main girls who’s cat is a boy cat but its written off cause shes generally seen as “the tomboy one” has a suit in their transformation sequence and generally gets more and more masc over the show until eventually theres a whole episode about him coming out as trans and he still gets to be a part of the group but hes a magical boy now and everyone accepts him and everything and the cat makes sense now and fits who he is even better now that hes transitioned please i want this to be a thing so bad

[comesitintheclover]

I’m so sad I totally missed most of Carry On Sapphic Week :,( </3 HOWEVER! I’ve been working on a fem!snowbaz animatic all week, so here’s a taste of it :)))! <3

I love love love genderflipping carry on and exploring and dissecting what it could affect. And I love fem!simon and fem!baz so dearly 💗💖💕💞💓💘

I’m so excited to check out what other people have made! @carry-on-sapphic-week

[hiskillingjar]

i know lawrence has the craziest and most illegal pronouns

[dixie444]

Dixie doesn't like Pitchea, but he's always bothering her. Pitchea is very much in love with Dixie. And there is no love for Dixie ever, she will never fall in love, she is in the multiverse...

(I know this because I corresponded with Pitchea... I'm not happy about this turn of events, I wanted hatred...)

[anikikakookala]

FemShep/Vakarian? i legit think thats my only like set-in-stone het ship for RPG games

Okay, FUCKERS, it’s time to expose yourselves for the FILTHY SINNERS you are and put your favorite hetero ship in the tags!!