#fic fair 2024

[chibikyuzo]

Calico Skies - Chapter 1 - chibiKyuzo - Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

This is my story on AO3. This is one of two stories, both in progress, that I have published there. This is the one I bother to have edited. I love this story but apparently shameless smut gets more attention, because my other work has more hits and kudos. Not that this fiction doesn't have mature themes.

Read whichever you like or both. Thanks.

[dewitty1]

Fic Recs Wrap Up November 2024 ✩°｡⋆(ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

After the Rain Falls by shinigami714 @shinigami714

After the events of the war, all Harry wants to do is forget. For everything to return to normal. But things never were normal for him, and the war left many marks on him not so easily forgotten. When he receives a surprising offer to return to Hogwarts in a continuing education program, Harry jumps at the chance, and despite his best efforts to deal with his problems alone, discovers along the way that quite often, two minds are greater than one. Rec Post

we have heard on high by oflights @oflights

Reeling from the fallout of a bad breakup, Harry decides to find out who his soulmate is. The bad news: it’s Draco Malfoy. The good news: Malfoy doesn’t seem to know they’re soulmates. The worst news: Harry might be falling for him anyway. Rec Post

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Moonflower_Rose @moonflower-rose

One summer evening, Harry Potter vanished in the middle of dinner with his friends. Four days later he came back. Sort of. Draco Malfoy is on the case. Rec Post

The Unplottable Time Conundrum by Writcraft @writcraft

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated. Rec Post

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well!(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭. * ･ ｡ﾟ☆

Come As You Are written by  its_the_allure @its-the-allure, art by ItsPhantasmagoria @itsphantasmagoria

When Harry Potter visits a sexy internet chatroom site, he does so with the hope of answering a niggling question: Am I interested in men? He finds more than he anticipated when he stumbles upon a free strip show starring a very familiar person. Just what is Draco Malfoy doing on a Muggle pay-per-view site? And when did he get so fucking fit? Rec Post

You're on Your Own, Kid by bluefay @thesleepiesthufflepuff

In August of 1998, Draco leaves behind everything he’s ever known. With the help of two middle-aged lesbians, a Muggle bookshop, and a new best friend, Draco’s future is finally looking up. That is, until Harry Potter wanders back into his life a year later, undoing everything Draco has worked towards. Or, a tale about healing, forgiveness, and living for no one but yourself.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading! xoxo Carey  (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

[thewhiteraven2020]

Fair Game Week Day 6: Secrets/Confessions

Based on Chapter 13 of @faultyparagonfiction’s Jigsaws and Pieces We Made To Fit one of my favorite fics of all time!!

[meyerlansky]

chapters: 1/1 fandom: Masters of the Air (TV 2024) rating: Not Rated warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings relationships: Gale "Buck" Cleven/John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, Curtis Biddick/John Clarence "Bucky" Egan characters: John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, Gale "Buck" Cleven additional Tags: Whumptober, Whumptober 2024, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Canon Compliant, Unrequited Love, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Concussions, Memory Loss, Grief/Mourning, Men Crying, Stalag Luft III (Masters of the Air), POV Gale "Buck" Cleven Series: Part 2 of whunktober 2024 summary:

Bucky collapses after he gets out of processing. Brady's there to help Gale get him back to the hut, but it’s slow-going, Bucky’s knees wobbling under him as he squints against the weak sunlight like it’s bright enough to hurt.

[randomfoggytiger]

"Every Day It's Like Halloween"

Fictober, Day 1

Thanks for @thescullyphile for the prompt: Our stalwart heroes, Mulder and Scully, transported via X-File circumstance, through time to Ye Olde Yeares. What shall our chevaliers find? Perhaps a Monster calles, or they Witnesse the Stone Henge? 'Tis for thine mind to puzzle.

It didn't quite go that direction; but I gotta follow the Muse. ;)))

*-*-*-*-*

Mulder wouldn’t be surprised if his pupils were blown.

Flat on his back, he tried to focus on his breathing as the sky tilted and twirled inconsistently. There were voices blending in surprise or panic around him-- blending being the operative word, he couldn’t make out what they were saying-- and someone’s shadow was dipping over his head. Another second and he expected Scully to come into view. 

“Mulder!” And there she was, brows pinched, eyes alarmed. A sprig of fake green poked him in the eye as the contraption holding her tiny knot of hair lost its hold and fell to pieces. She was, he noted vaguely, a vision in luminous layers of pearl and silver gauze. She smelt like smoke, and salt, and roasted pig flesh. 

Oh, he remembered. Ren Faire. 

*-*-*-*-*

The case had sounded promising: California visitors disappearing behind the polyester and plastic reconstruction of Medieval times. Skinner, he'd decided, likely wouldn't comment on yet another trip to the West Coast, having turned an increasingly blind eye to their largely fruitless missions and sun tans and deepening smile lines. 

“He seems,” Scully concluded, trying to tame a grin, unsuccessfully, “happy.” 

“Hm,” Mulder nodded, engrossed with Scully’s battle. “He's definitely more… engaged with our reports lately.”

“Well, stripper video game assassins are probably… intriguing, on some level.” She still held a grudge against Jade Afterglow’s double. He caught her stealing away with his thinnest pair of sunglasses, once, to recreate the stare down in her bathroom mirror. She caught him conspicuously packing those sunglasses, twice, for this trip. (He’d made sure she’d noticed.)  

“It'll give him something to say to the premiere reporters.” 

Scully tried to hide her curiosity there, as well, looking up to read his face carefully. “That’s still a few weeks away.” 

He shrugged, mildly amused at the prospect of their boss preening and strutting around Wayne Federman like a Hollywood would-be. “Jealous you’ll have to share the honor of screentime with Skinman?” 

“Once was enough-- Bill’s never gotten over the humiliation.” There was that smile again, in spite of her annoyance at L.A.’s tendency to tape everything. Charlie’s “You and Mulder created job opportunities for werewolves” helped make her older brother’s bluster bearable…that, and the fact both silently agreed to add the tape to Mulder’s collection.   

Passing over a few tempting quips, he settled on, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

*-*-*-*-*

"Quite a bit," Scully reminded him, later.

The disappearances had taken a dramatic turn by the time Mulder submitted their travel request: a senator’s daughter had vanished; and the local authorities were suddenly as interested in the case as their pensions required. Skinner took their paperwork and theory seriously-- too seriously, they concluded-- roping them into an undercover operation. Vendors and attendees raucously greeted and laughed and sang in the sunshine while Mulder and Scully sweated through layers of cheaply bought performance clothes, she supplying water on the hour and he buying cloths to wipe the sweat off her arms and neck. 

As far afield as Mulder floated, he came hurrying back. 

“Don’t split up, Agents,” the top-down had warned, “they found one of the bodies this morning. A real gruesome way to go. Pattern suggests the killer targets red-haired guests.” And while the suggestion was improbable, given their methods, neither wanted to take any chances.

*-*-*-*-*

Scully wandered off to relieve herself before Mulder clocked a duck-and-dodge attempt. Someone-- male, above-average height, broad shoulders, shaved head-- was popping from one outlier tent to another, long poker in hand, occasionally twisting behind the flaps to avoid detection. He notified the team just as the man charged, closing in on Scully with sickening speed. 

“Scullay!” The ground flew past and the scenery blurred, partner and pursuant becoming his only focus. 

“Mul--” she managed to yell, briefly, before whipping out her gun and ordering,” Stop! FBI!” 

The suspect did; but Mulder watched as his shoulders straightened, knew the last yard was going to be recklessly crossed, regardless. “FBI-- hands in the air!” he echoed, racing onto the scene, weapon raised. 

There was an explosion of movement so disorienting that he had to piece the events together afterwards. The assailant was leaping at him, the poker was above his head, Scully was yelling, shots were fired, the team was swarming around, and darkness was swiftly descending.

*-*-*-*-*

When he woke, the sun was still punishing, the scenery still blurred, and Scully still his only focus. 

“Mulder, are you all right? Don’t move,” she discouraged, holding his head steady with one hand while her other fingers prodded around for injury. 

“Did he get me?” His question was answered, swiftly and abruptly, when she landed on the sorest part of his skull. “Ow.” 

“Sorry. We’re going to have to get that x-rayed, I think. Paramedics should be here, soon.” 

Her eyes were too sorrowful, too regretful. He chanced a smile and a friendly poke to her leg. “This time, you ditched me.”

Scully snorted, as he hoped she would. “No one expects to be followed to the bathroom, Mulder.” Squinting at their surroundings, she added, “Or to the woods, in this case.” 

“You don’t have historic luck when it comes to bathrooms, though, Scully.” 

“Liver eating mutants and elegies aside, Mulder,” she huffed, massaging the ache radiating across his forehead, “I don’t seem to have much luck hanging around you at all.” 

“Mm,” he agreed, fighting sleep. “Won’t Skinner be pleased?”

*-*-*-*-*

Time stretched on lazily after Ronald Ferris was led away in handcuffs; and still, the paramedics did not come. His partner was turning snappish, glaring at nosy busybodies and pushing the officers to call in the ambulance if they had to. The moment called for, Mulder muzzily concluded, a distraction.

"Y'know, Scully." He let the statement hang, knowing it wouldn't be long until his partner bit.

"What, Mulder?"

"This is our first ren faire together."

"No," she insisted, inflexibly argumentative, "it is not."

"No? How do you figure?"

She sighed, looked down at him with that smile, and squeezed her eyes shut. "Mulder, I know what--"

"We're here, Scully. What other proof do you need?"

"Fine." Sitting back more comfortably, face relaxing, she let her protests drop. "This isn't our first ren faire because we weren't properly dressed. We didn't bob for apples, or...." Blowing through her lips, she tried to recall the events of that morning. "We didn't eat leg of lamb, or try roasted beef, or wash down vendor desserts with seasonal drinks, or. Or participate in the games. We didn't get to compete against each other. You didn't battle someone else for my honor."

Mulder made a little noise, looked upward where he presumed his bump was; and watched Scully's eyes soften.

"Well," she amended, "you did participate a little. It probably wouldn't count, though."

"It feels like it counts."

Nodding, Scully clutched his hand with her free one, rubbed his thumb tenderly with her own. "Then it counts to me."

*-*-*-*-*

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober24.

[rose-of-oz]

OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE 2024 — Day Twenty-Nine: Couple’s Costume

Show us what matching costume your oc and their love interest would wear! Peanut Butter & Jelly? Morticia & Gomez? Bert & Ernie?

Arabella Larson & Noelle Perez (Percy Jackson) as a knight and a princess

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom,

@auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs,

@reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations,

@stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs,

@luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @oneirataxia-girl,

@arrthurpendragon, @surebrecs, @gabbysdawsons,

@dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @stelstellakidd,

@manyfandomocs, @lapinaquarelle, @partiallypearl, @welcometotheocverse,

@juliaswickcrs, @ocappreciationtag. (Also tagging @bibaybe.)

[verfound]

FIC: "Of Found Things and Mme. Stones" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

...who gave these fics the right to be a series? (They probably would have worked fine as chapters, but too late now. 😂)

Read on Ao3

Prompt 07: Street/Craft Fair

The Ring

Marinette gently, quietly closed the door behind her, turning back for one last look at Luka before she went.  She doubted the sound of the door closing would wake him: he had fallen asleep before they’d even made it up the stairs to their flat, and she’d had to hoist him over her shoulder and haul his lanky ass up four flights before reaching their front door.  That would have been fine, except Carlos – their older neighbor who lived across the hall, who still hadn’t fully warmed up to Luka thanks to his dyed hair and tattoos – had been leaving his own flat, and he had barked out a laugh at the sight.  Marinette had offered him a sheepish smile and tried to explain that it had been a really long couple of days, but Carlos just shook his head, patted Luka’s ass, and chuckled “Bienvenidos, mijo” on his way past.

Her idiot boy…fiancé had slept through the whole thing, which was a shame: it was the closest to approval he’d probably ever get from the old man.

(Carlos did adore him – about as much as his wife Manuela – but he still loved to give Luka grief about his appearance and being a rock star.  She supposed it was fine: Luka loved to give him grief about the amount of pizza he loved to eat.)

She had maneuvered Luka to their room as soon as she’d had their door open, and she’d dropped him on the mattress as gently as she could.  Still, he had groaned and mumbled something incoherent before reaching for her, and she had almost slipped into the bed with him – except she did still have some work that needed done, and he needed his rest.

Neither would get accomplished if she crawled in after him, she thought as she closed the door.  He was sprawled out in the center of their bed, her pillow hugged to his chest with his face buried in the damn thing, and that was exactly where he was going to stay until he actually slept.

…she could always wear him out again later.

. : .

Of course, as she would later learn, it had been a really long forty-eight hours leading up to the nine-hour flight from hell, and it was well into the next day before Luka actually stirred.

He had wandered his way out towards dinner time, but that had really only been to shuffle into the bathroom.  He’d found her before heading back to bed – just long enough to bend her back over the (thankfully off) stove with a deep kiss – but that hardly counted.  She still wasn’t sure he had actually been awake, no matter how thoroughly he’d kissed her.

He’d mumbled something incoherent when she’d climbed into bed that night, and she had barely had time to crawl under the covers before he’d wrapped himself around her.  He hadn’t woken, though, and he still wasn’t awake when she slipped back out of bed the next morning.

If she hadn’t been dealing with Couffaine sleeping habits for almost ten years now (first at sleepovers with Juleka and later with him), she might have worried.  But as long as he was still breathing, she figured he was fine and let him sleep.

Penny showed up at their front door early the next morning.  Marinette was still wearing her dressing gown when she knocked, her first cup of coffee still in hand.

“Guess what wasn’t actually in Barcelona,” Penny said by way of greeting when Marinette opened the door.  Her eyes widened as Penny patted the suitcase beside her.  “It was mislabeled and about to head to Hong Kong, but you’d be surprised how effective a crocodile can be in tracking down misplaced luggage.”

“Liar,” Marinette laughed, pulling her into a hug.  “More like how effective Jagged Stone’s irate wife can be in getting anything done.”

“Well, that, too,” Penny laughed, patting her back.  “But years of dealing with Fang doesn’t hurt.  Has he calmed down yet?”

“He’s still sleeping,” Marinette said, and Penny’s eyebrows lifted.  Marinette waved her in and wheeled the suitcase over to the dining area.  She lifted it onto the table and opened it, rooting through the front pockets until she found…she grinned when her fingers brushed against a small box.  “He was already exhausted, and losing this didn’t help.”

“Shouldn’t you let him find it first?” Penny asked, an eyebrow lifting as Marinette pulled the ring out and slipped it onto her finger.  She held her hand up, her smile growing as she finally saw it.  The pink opal burned just as brightly as it did in her memory.  “I’m fairly certain he’s supposed to ask you before you start wearing it.

“Oh, he’s not getting this off my finger any time soon,” Marinette laughed, grinning at her.  “If he wanted to surprise me, he shouldn’t have told me he lost it in the first place.”

“He was exhausted, Marinette,” Penny said, frowning.  “He didn’t know what he was saying.  You should give him this.  Let him do this properly.”

She gave her a pointed look, and Marinette sighed as she looked back at her hand.  She knew Penny was right, but…she really didn’t want to take it off.  She liked how it looked – how it felt – there.  Like it belonged.

…like she was always supposed to be Marinette Couffaine.

“Just for a little bit?” she asked, looking back at Penny.  “I’ll put it back before he wakes up.”

Penny shook her head, but she was smiling as she laid an arm across Marinette’s shoulders and puled her into a half hug.  She looked back at her hand, her smile warming as she studied the ring.

“It’s a lovely ring, Marinette,” she said.  “Very…you.”

“Lay off,” Marinette giggled, nudging her side.  She glanced down at Penny’s own hand, which sported a stone in the shape of a heart and the color of Penny’s hair.  It was ringed by black stones on a gunmetal band – not at all traditional, but very rock-n-roll and very ‘Rolling-Stone’, if Jagged did say so himself.  “Your ring is so much worse, and this is a family heirloom.”

“Really?” Penny asked, surprised.  “I knew Gina gave it to him – she met us in Rome – but he didn’t tell me the story.  I figured she had found it at some street fair or something.  Some…sorry, but it really does look like cheap costume jewelry.”

“I’m not offended, but only because your ring does, too,” Marinette giggled, sticking her tongue out at her.  She looked back at her nonna’s old ring, her smile softening.  “I promise you it’s one hundred percent genuine.  It was Nonna’s mother’s.  Nonna was just a baby when the war started – barely a year old – and her family had to flee Italy before things got really bad.  They didn’t make it back until Nonna was almost ten.  This ring was the only thing of value her mother was able to bring with them.”

“It’s a beautiful ring, Marinette,” Penny said softly, and Marinette nodded.  It was.  A round, pink opal sat in the center of the ring, ringed by tiny diamonds and flanked on either side by flowers made of pink quartz.  They were generic looking enough, but she had always liked to imagine they were cherry blossoms.  The whole thing sat on a gold band, and it had captivated Marinette since she was a little girl.

“Nonna always called me her Little Fairy, but I always thought she was the fairy,” she confessed.  “I didn’t understand how opals worked back then – I always thought it was fairy magic that made the stone burn like that, not opal fire.  She never bothered correcting me, either.”

Penny laughed, shaking her head.

“It’s very you,” she said.  “Luka was really excited when Gina offered.  He went through all the trouble of getting Tom and Sabine’s blessing – Jagged was pouting for weeks after that, by the way.  He couldn’t understand why Luka didn’t ask for his blessing, too.”

Marinette laughed at that, not surprised at all.

“Of course he was,” she said.  “What, do I need to ask him for Luka’s hand first, too?”

“It probably wouldn’t hurt,” Penny snickered.  “But you know how Luka is.  He’s not a planner.  I think part of him honestly didn’t think Tom would even say yes.”

“Dummy,” Marinette said, shaking her head.  “Like Papa would ever say no to him.”

“That boy is crazy for you, Marinette,” Penny said, squeezing her shoulders.  “He’s not above being completely irrational when it comes to you.  I’ve seen him put up with a lot on the road, between his father and the rest of the band, and sometimes I honestly think the only thing that truly scares him is the thought of losing you.  Even if he knows it will never happen…I don’t know.  It’s like…I don’t know if he saw something.  During an akuma attack, back in the day.  Maybe that breakup you two had when you were younger.  But he says things sometimes, like he’s all too aware of how things could be.  How fragile life really is.  I think it makes him hold on a bit tighter to how they are.”

Marinette bit her lip.  She wondered if Penny realized just how right she actually was.

“I gave him up once, Penny,” she said, brushing her thumb over the opal.  “I have no intention of doing so again.  He’s stuck with me.”  She looked back up at her, her grin coming back.  “And he’s going to have to pry this ring off my cold, dead finger.”

Penny laughed and leaned in to smack a kiss against her temple.

“And don’t you let him forget it,” she said.  She winked at her.  “After you let him get the proposal out, all right?  You know he had something big and romantic planned.”

“Luka?  Plan?” Marinette gasped, her eyes wide.  “How dare you accuse him of such a thing!  That’s my future husband you’re slandering, Mme. Stone!”

“Only because I have entirely too much experience wrangling his family, Mme. Stone,” Penny said with a roll of her eyes, but Marinette was too busy grinning at being called Mme. Stone to pick up on her tone.  Penny just smiled and shook her head, waving her off.  She told her to tell Luka to call her – she wanted him to rest up, but they still had work to do in the studio – and headed towards the door.  When Marinette was alone again, she turned back to her ring with a soft smile.

…street fair costume jewelry.  Tch.

(…she wasn’t going to think about it.  If not for the fact that Tom had known her great-grandmother and could confirm the truth…she wouldn’t put it past Gina Dupain to embellish a tale about smuggled wartime jewels just to entertain her little fairy.)

[lily-alphonse]

"Time After Time" by Lily Alphonse

Zelink Week 2024 Day 4: Enchantment

Rating: Teen

Words: 2,293 (ONGOING - WIP)

“Hear ye! Hear ye! All are welcome in the two thousand and twenty-fourth year to the Festival of Enchantment!”

Zelda is a burgeoning actress who has always dreamed of being one of the princesses on stage at the renaissance festival.

Link is a stuntman who travels the country doing odd gig work, but his favorite is always working the rennie circuit.

What will happen when their paths cross?

>>Read on AO3<<

ITS A RENFAIRE AU! RENFAIRE RENFAIRE RENFAIRE RRRRAAAAAAA (I'm excited) This is going to be a WIP! I don't expect it to be a longfic necessarily, I'm trying not to exceed 20k. But currently there is only 1 chapter up. Come on and sub it'll be a good time.

Created for Zelink Week 2024 @zelinkcommunity

Read Other Days Here

[maybege]

the entire comment is under a cut because i am on holiday and apparently in yapping mode lol

so fun fact about this piece: I was actually terrified of reading it because I knew that as soon as I read our dbf!Boba, I knew I would never want to look at a keyboard again unless I think it could even come close to the absolute perfection that you serve with Boba 🤌 But we all know me and The Horny always wins especially when it comes to your Boba (that and also your fics are like watching a favourite movie on a sunday, so i gotta take my time, make my tea, get the snacks and the blankets and so on (and i wanted to save it for my holiday lol))

Boba Fett was everything you ever wanted, wrapped up in a tight black t-shirt and well-fitted jeans. You never stood a chance.

And neither did I. Sweet Jesus, the images this just conjured up in my brain are giving me very nsfw feelings and we aren't even in the nsfw passages yet.

ALSO THE FACT that he is saved as boba 🖤🧸🧋 ???? This has my entire heart. No three emojis could ever portray him as well as these three because hell yes. THE TEDDY BEAR?? MY HEART 🥺😭😫

“You scream any louder and you’ll have people come running. What would they think of a pretty young lady like you soaking an old man’s cock?”

I know this was just a tiny flashback to a taste of something more but I have to repeat myself. SWEET JESUS! This is so hot and works so well because Boba 🤝 (semi-)public sex is a combination that is just exactly what the world (me) needs.

“It’s not the same and you know it! There was no falling asleep with you, no lap to curl up in…” “No thigh to get off on?”

EXCUSE ME MAAM MS ZWEI HOW DARE YOU CALL ME OUT LIKE THIS?

“A filthy little princess for a dirty old man?”

… somebody called?

“Now don’t look at me like that, princess. I’m just helping you make better choices,” he grins, his smile sharp with intent. “That’s what daddies do, right?”

Indeed, that is what they do and I had a completly normal, average, subtle reaction to reading this line. No grinning, no squealing, no blushing at all. Completely normal. I am fine. Totally fine.

Also also also I want to highlight the entire following passage:

Boba presses his mouth to your temple, pulling you somehow even tighter into his warmth. “Babygirl, why on earth would you think there’s something wrong with you?” Because I’ve only ever wanted an older man who babies me even though I’m a grownass woman.  Because I think you fucking me in my childhood bedroom while I call you Daddy is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.  Because I’ll never love anyone else the way I love you but I’m still too scared to tell people about us.

This deserves not only to be written down in gold ink and framed (as does everything in this fic, lbr) but like. This just sums up how magnificent of a write you are?? We have the hotness, the spice, the teasing and the fun and it shifts so effortlessly into the deep, dark voids we all have inside us where sometimes, you are ashamed of your kink and you are scared that the person you love doesn't love you back and I am not crying, you are.

“Wanted to be taken care of, wanted to be fucked without having to think…”

Girl is a pillow princess and I have nothing but respect and admiration for her because samesies.

“You really want that, darling girl? You really want everyone to know you belong to me?”

Boba teasing about coming inside?????????

^real time footage of me lol

Anyway 12/10 this was absolute perfection and I’ll never ever be able to not think about this 🥲 you truly blessed us 🥵

WORTH THE RISK

—PAIRING: Dad's Friend!Boba Fett x F!Reader

—SUMMARY: Pushing your luck has its rewards.

—WORD COUNT: 10.8k

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

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, dad’s friend!Boba, reader has parents mentioned in the story, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), secret relationship, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, oral sex (m receiving), throat fucking, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), light choking, this is straight up filth y’all I’m not even joking, if the previous things are not your cup of tea this will not be the fic for you 🥴

Please let me know if I missed anything!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'll post this fic in a couple weeks! literally a month later here we are besties, the dad's friend Boba fic inspired by @maybege's post!! this fic ended up taking waaaay longer than I expected since the story took a turn I didn't plan for, but I'm really happy with how it turned out in the end! big shout out to Moss for betaing and all the besties who sent me incoherent emoji scrambles for my snippets along the way 💖 enjoy y'all!

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

Setting out the last of the dessert trays on your parents’ patio table, you swipe a hand over your forehead. A delightfully cool breeze ruffles the hem of your dress, signaling the coming summer evening and carrying the pleasant mixture of laughter and music from the backyard. Satisfied with the arrangement of treats, you look out over the party of family and friends gathered on the lawn: neighbors, coworkers, and family of all sorts gathered together for your parents’ annual cookout, which your father fondly calls the “Bar-bo-polooza” (and which your mother decidedly does not). 

Scanning the crowd, you spot her bouncing their neighbor’s baby girl on her hip while your father diligently lectures her partner on proper grilling techniques over his beer. A swarm of kids darts around the party in what appears to be a high stakes game of tag, while a gaggle of your aunties and Uncle Steven are clumped together in tight conversation over the latest gossip. A smile curls up your lips—nothing bridges the generational or cultural divide quite like a juicy piece of insider knowledge.

Giving the yard a final skim, you give up on locating your boyfriend and head for your chair by the fire pit. You’re no sooner settled when you feel your phone buzz.

<boba 🖤🧸🧋: Better give me those panties now, princess>

Your cheeks heat immediately reading Boba’s message. You still can’t see him from your seat, but you know wherever he is, he can certainly see you. Crossing your knees, you make sure your hem rides just high enough to still be considered appropriate for a family setting. Your phone vibrates again and your eyes dart to the new message on your screen.

<boba 🖤🧸🧋: I’m not going to ask twice>

A heated shiver snakes down your spine, pooling in the dampness already nestled between your thighs. Your plan to tease Boba to the edge of insanity is already taking its toll. 

Logically, you know you shouldn’t be riling him up like this at a family function, but you can’t seem to stop yourself after he’s been out of town. You’ve missed his bone deep comfort, his small touches, and the safety of his arms. Hell, you’ve even missed the smell of him, breathing in that balmy spiciness that’s all his own. 

Of course, you’ve also missed his keen knack for making you black out with pleasure. But who could possibly blame you for that? The man is nothing short of a god when it comes to making you feel good, so it’s not your fault you rubbed him half hard in the driveway or brushed up against him in your flirty new sundress during the party set up. Besides, you’d been an absolute angel in his absence: texting him that you remembered to take your meds, drank enough water every day, and not touched where you wanted him most just like he asked.

Really, you’d been a complete saint. You only texted him those two dirty pictures because he asked for them. If anything, Boba should be rewarding you for your restraint instead of making you survive this cookout aching and desperate before he took you home and made good on all his filthy promises. Just the thought of what he said he’d do has your thighs pressing together. So, with a sly grin sneaking over your lips, you tap out a response.

<Or what? You can’t do shit with all these people around, old man>

Adrenaline pumping hot in veins, you hit send and click of your screen. You make a show of stretching so your tits press together, sure Boba’s got a laser focus on you after that message. 

Feeling supremely pleased with yourself, you chuck your phone into the seat you’re saving for your cousin, Ari. You search for their telltale blue hair and catch it over by the drinks table. No surprise there, of course.

“My, my, my, such a dirty little mouth on such a pretty little girl.”

A hot shock of electricity shoots down your spine. Boba’s sinful voice races across your skin deceptively gentle, like a blade wrapped in dark velvet: sheathed, but no less dangerous. 

Your pulse jumps under the thin skin of your throat. You don’t need to look up to know you’re in treacherous waters. His tone alone tells you everything you need to know—your “good” deeds never went unpunished with him, especially when you acted like you could get away with them. Putting your most dazzlingly innocent smile, you turn your face up to him, acting like you’re making pleasant conversation. “Wanna find out how dirty it can get?”

The corner of his lips twitch up. “Careful, princess.” His umber eyes burn with the unspoken magnitude of his threat. “You already owe me those pink panties of yours… don’t make me add to that list.”

Something hot and dangerous spikes in your core. You can practically feel his lips on your overheated skin, the scrape of his teeth down your neck. Luckily for your rapidly evaporating self-control, however, you catch Ari waving at you and you signal at their saved seat. The reprieve gives you a moment to swallow back the well of desire pressing against your throat. You’re already playing a dangerous game with your relationship—you really shouldn’t be adding to it by tempting fate, or Boba, in your parents’ backyard.

After moving to town two years ago, Boba and your dad had become fast friends, bonding over their love of classic cars and good whiskey. Freshly cut in your former employer’s downsizing, you had come home just after they had started spending weekends drinking and working on the old Chevy in your dad’s garage. It was over for you the second you saw him: broad shoulders, tanned, and impossibly gorgeous, Boba Fett was everything you ever wanted, wrapped up in a tight black t-shirt and well-fitted jeans. You never stood a chance.

For a torturous year you danced around your simmering mutual attraction, months filled with “accidental” touches and excuses to see each other more than strictly necessary for a daughter and her father’s friend. He gave you rides when your poor 2003 Toyota finally met its end, helped you move in with Ari, and even let you drunkenly cry on his shoulder at last summer’s cookout when you were sure your life was a failure. You really fell for him then. Hard.

Always teasing you with winks and flirty smiles, things finally came to a head at your parents’ New Year's Eve party. Scrabbling down the stairs for the countdown, you’d crashed right into him, his arms wrapping around your waist to halt your fall. By the time the voices outside yelled “Happy New Year,” you already had your hands (and mouths) all over each other.

The instant chemistry between you has only become more explosive since. In the almost six months of your relationship, you’ve orgasmed harder, louder, and more often than you thought was possible for a human being. But more importantly, you’ve also grown and learned a lot about yourself, with Boba coaxing you to embrace your needs without shame, both sexual and not. Mentally, you’re in a much better place than you were after you were let go from your dream job; and physically, well… you’ve never been more satisfied.

Of course, you’re not nearly ready to reveal all this to your parents. 

Boba has respected your choice to keep your relationship a secret, despite his desire to claim you as his own every time your mother introduced you to some nice boy from her temp agency. Her mentioning that she invited “Kevin from Jimenez Landscaping” today is partially what made you decide on wearing the particular little sundress you had on. Not for him of course, but to drive Boba wild while you humored your mom and talked to the guy. The rest of your scheme—putting your hand down Boba’s pants behind his truck and digging yourself into a very deep hole over text—had been more or less spur of the moment.

Staring up at him now, dead serious with little patience left for mercy, has your insides twisting in tight, needy knots. Boba is a man of his word and not above leaving you unfulfilled when he thought you deserved it. Maker did he know how to make you squirm.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, doing your best to tamp down the need leaking into your voice. “I swear I’ll take them off when Ari gets back.” 

You might be a brat but you’re not stupid: you know when you’ve flown too close to the sun. 

He smiles then, smug and shining, leaning down to plant what appeared to be an unoffending, fatherly kiss on the crown of your head. “That’s more like it. Not so hard to be a good girl, now is it, darling?” 

The sensual rasp of his whisper calls forth memories of love made sweet and long, making your stomach flip and tighten. Praying for the heat to leave your face, you clench your thighs together to ward them off.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Your head snaps up to see Ari’s freckled face plastered with a sardonic expression. Your confidant since childhood, your cousin is the only person who knows about your relationship—and isn’t afraid to give you shit about it.  

“Of course not,” Boba answers breezily, patting your shoulder, “we were just commenting on how perfect the weather turned out.”

Ari scoffs, dropping down next to you. “Yeah, sure. If anyone else here actually had eyes, they would see right through the two of you.”

You grin and accept the offered lemonade. “What? Can a young lady and a handsome older gentleman not talk at a party?” 

Boba’s hand squeezes your shoulder in a silent warning to behave. Still glowing with his praise of “good girl” echoing in your ears, you opt to stay so.

“Last I checked, they can,” Ari gestures back and forth between you. “It’s just the ‘fuck me’ eyes that make it totally obvious you’re screwing.”

“I myself prefer the term ‘making love’ over ‘screwing,’” Boba chuckles.

Ari immediately makes retching noises, their face screwing up in disgust. “Making love?! What are you, like a thousand years old?” They hold up a hand. “You know what, never mind, I don’t even want to think about that more than I already have to.”

Despite your cousin’s reaction, his words bloom heat in your stomach. As good as Boba is at straight up fucking, he also loves you so tenderly and slowly some nights it nearly brings you to tears. With sweet kisses wrapped in praise and gentle touches laced with assurances that you were his and he was yours, he crafted a devotion more sincere and pure than you thought your heart could hold.

Ari elbows you, pulling you back to reality. “Now unless you got tea to add to this conversation, sir, I’m gonna need you to beat it. Me and your girlfriend have some important information to discuss. Auntie is three margaritas deep and just told me some very interesting things about her divorce.”

Boba’s fingers drift across the nape of your neck in a subtle reminder of delicious possession. He makes a show of sighing in exaggerated defeat and comes around your chair. Sticking out his hand, he nods. “Ari.”

“Fett.” They shake and Boba heads over to where your dad is flipping burgers on the grill. Somehow even his walk made you thrum with electricity.

When he’s out of earshot, Ari whispers behind their drink. “Finally. Now, she said that she was the one who instigated the divorce…”

It’s not until you head inside to pee that you remember your promise to Boba.

<boba 🖤🧸🧋: Clock’s ticking, princess. Panties. Now.> Received 6 minutes ago

Shit. You groan and throw your head back on your shoulders. Why is there always a line when you want to use the bathroom? Especially when you need to get your panties off before your boyfriend reaches up your dress and rips them off for you?

When the door finally opens, you rush in. Clicking the lock, you immediately yank off your underwear, taking the briefest moment to admire them. Pink, cute, and soaked in the middle, you feel deliciously dirty holding up the scrap of fabric in the mirror to snap a pic.

<All yours 😘> 1 image attached

The urge to run and take another picture in his truck is extremely tempting, but a knock on the door has you rushing to finish up. 

Boba’s waiting for you when you step outside, looking handsome as sin as he leans against the deck railing. As casually as you can with a naked cunt and a pair of panties balled in your fist, you slip next to him and press them into his large hand. Maker, the sight of him stuffing the illicit garment into his pocket should absolutely not be as fucking hot as it is.

Seeing the scrunched look on your face, he chuffs a quiet laugh. “I can smell how wet you are, babygirl. Something’s got you all worked up, huh?” His tone is molasses, thick with self-satisfaction. ��Brats do always love it when the consequences of their actions catch up to them.”

In an attempt to diffuse his pride, you pout and cross your arms over your chest. “I thought you said I was your good girl.” 

He flashes you that jaw-dropping smile of his. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

Before you can get any more hot and bothered, you see your mother approaching with a gangly young man in tow. You curse under your breath; you’d forgotten about Kevin-from-Jimenez-Lanscaping. 

Boba snorts. “Speaking of consequences…”

Suddenly you’re very aware that you’re going to have to make polite small talk with your mother and a stranger with your panties stuffed in your secret-boyfriend-who-makes-you-scream-with-pleasure’s pocket. 

You’re also aware that it turns you on an embarrassing amount. Fortunately (or not), you don’t have much time to contemplate the extent of that particular depravity before Kevin and your mom stop in front of you. 

“There you are!” she exclaims happily. “Kevin, this is my daughter I’ve been telling you all about.” The young man smiles and shakes your hand politely and your mom turns to the older man. “And this is Boba Fett, our neighbor and family friend.” She drops her voice conspiratorially. “Now he’s very protective of her, so be careful. Even worse than her father.”

Boba bares his teeth in a sharp-toothed smile, gripping the younger man’s offered hand harder than necessary for the brief shake. The act of possessiveness has your blood boiling even hotter as the poor boy’s eyes widen in surprise. After a couple minutes of tedious conversation that’s mainly Boba glaring over your shoulder, Kevin excuses himself, thanking your mother for inviting him and apologizing for having to leave so soon. 

Watching him dart for his car, she levels a scolding tone at your boyfriend. “How is my daughter supposed to find someone when you stare murder at every single person I bring over?”

Unrepentant, he shrugs and smiles. Your shared secret dances on his lips. “I just want what’s best for her. Surely you can’t blame me for that.” Seeing your mother still unconvinced, he throws an arm around her shoulders and plants a kiss on her cheek. 

He sneaks a wink at you and you make a show of rolling your eyes even as your insides warm at his attention. Morally, you’re sure it’s wrong to enjoy this deception so thoroughly, but in this moment you don’t care; it lights some infernal fire inside you that burns hotter than any desire you’ve ever had.

“I hate to say it, but Boba’s right,” you play along. She still looks skeptical and he looks entirely too smug, so you elaborate. “I mean, what good is a guy that’s too chicken to even have a conversation with this grandpa?”

She bursts into a round of laughter that wipes away the previous exasperation from her face. “Oh, be nice to Boba,” she admonishes, lightly smacking your shoulder. “He’s no older than your father.”

A grin splits your face. “Gosh, you’re right, Mom! Boba’s only what, twice my age? I should really have more respect for my elders.” The words barely leave your mouth before Boba turns out his solo cup of ice water out over your head. Shocked with the sudden cold pouring down your face and neck, you instantly resort to tattling and finger pointing.

“No, ma’am, don’t come crying to me!” she manages through a peal of laughter. “You earned that one fair and square!”

Boba is positively dripping with his own self-satisfaction. “Sure did,” he brandishes a double-edged smile, paternally crossing his arms over his chest, “And I hope you learned your lesson, young lady.”

Your skin burns so hot you can feel the rivulets of water trickling down your neck heat up. Memories of your tits pushed up against the chilled hood of Boba’s truck flash across the backs of your eyes—you had complained you were cold after a skinny-dip in the lake and he wasted no time in warming you back up.

“Careful, princess,” he panted damply against your neck. “You scream any louder and you’ll have people come running. What would they think of a pretty young lady like you soaking an old man’s cock?”

It’s a miracle that you don’t immediately buckle when you catch his hand digging into his pocket to fist your panties. Keeping your eyes decidedly off him, you rush through an excuse to go up to your room to change. Before you can scurry off, however, he catches your elbow. 

“Here, take this.” Boba pulls off his overshirt and wraps it around your shoulders. “Can’t have you catching a cold, now can we?” Your mom nods approvingly before she’s pulled away by another guest. Once she’s out of earshot, he drops his voice low. “Go inside and meet me in the garage. I’m going around front.”

Even as you repress an excited shiver, your heart warms in your chest at Boba’s caution. He never made you feel bad for wanting to keep things private and always structured your affairs so you were never seen going or leaving together. And although you look forward to the day you’ll be ready to hold his hand and steal kisses in front of the world, sneaking around in the meantime did add an extra layer of excitement to your sex. 

Sandals slapping wet against the tiled floor, you race across the kitchen to yank open the door to the garage. Thick, sun-warmed air hits your face with a pleasant staleness, smelling of cardboard and motor oil. The quietness of the space clashes with the clamor of excitement pumping through your veins. Sweeping your eyes from one side to the other, a frown weighs on your lips when Boba is nowhere to be seen. 

No sooner does the displeasure darken your expression than you’re scooped up into a pair of strong arms and whirled around. 

Familiar lips and a suede voice swiftly gentle your startled yelp. “Quiet now, darling,” Boba purrs, practically preening with the pleasure of your surprise, “you don’t want to get us caught now do you?”

Your gleeful giggles of realization are smothered by his barrage of kisses, each one an intoxicating mix of passion and urgency. Boba hooks your legs around his waist, not caring about the water soaking into him as he walks you deeper into the garage.

The intense press of need pushing against your chest melts under his touch, releasing your lungs and draining to pool in your thrumming core. It’s been so long, too long, without him, your body surviving on the mere scraps memory could provide you—nothing in comparison to the sustenance of the man himself. Having him back in your arms, his marred skin beneath your fingertips, his thick torso filling the empty space between your legs… it unhooks the final thorns of discontent left from his absence. 

A wave of relief washes away the tenseness of separation, leaving you pliable and radiant once more; the release has Boba’s lips parting in a gratified groan at the satisfaction of being your sanctuary. You take the greedy opportunity to lick your way into his mouth to savor the way his taste fills yours. Lost to the sensation of your tongue sliding along his, a hiss escapes your lips when the back of your thighs hit the freezer’s lid. 

The chill dissipates quickly in the glow of Boba’s urgent heat. “Fuck I missed you, babygirl,” he pants against your pulse, “Even if you’ve been a karking terror all afternoon.”

“S’not my fault,” you slur, dragging your teeth across the tan skin of his throat, “missed you too much.” His salt seeps into the warmth of your mouth, spurring memories of late nights pressed together under a quivering lake water moon. Seeking that passionate warmth, your heels dig into Boba’s thighs to press him deeper into your eager desire.

Unyielding and unrushed as ever, he pulls back, refusing to let you usurp his control. Bereft, a whine flies from your throat and you keel towards him in a desperate arch. 

Boba catches your cheek in his palm and sharply angles your face to his. Pure dominance radiates off him in the unwavering set of his shoulders and the gleam in his eye, their darkness glinting like two sable jewels in the dim light. His raw power, sanctified by his restraint and your willing submission, shimmers in the air between your bodies—the ephemeral calm before his storm’s consequences. 

He knows that disquieting stillness of his never failed to draw your desire. Without a word, his free hand disappears into his pocket to free your panties.

“Mmm, is that the problem?” His strong fingers dig into your cheeks and he turns your head towards the dangling bit of bows and lace. You can feel how the visual evidence of your arousal affects him. He presses the damp fabric against his nose, sucking in a ragged breath. “Your needy little cunt making you act out?”

Your answer comes out more as a whoosh of air than a word, your insides twisting with the searing heat in his tone. “Noooo…” 

“So you’re just a naughty brat then?” 

You want to protest that you’re nothing but innocent but your throat is too tight with the thrill of his wrath. He balls the frilly underwear into his fist. “Shame. I was thinking about taking mercy on you for your good behavior while I was gone.” He cuts his eyes back to you, smirking. “Too bad brats don’t get that privilege.”

You jolt, panic locking your ankles at the small of his back in an attempt to keep him close. “No! No! That’s not what I meant!” you cry, your voice taunt with distress.   

A dangerous chuckle sounds in his throat. You’d shown your desperation, giving him the easy advantage. “Better start explaining then, princess. Or else I’m just gonna come all over these pink panties and you’ll get nothing.”

You blink up at him with pitiful eyes and a swollen-lipped pout. “It’s because I missed you,” you simper, tracing a finger down his chest. “Seven days is a long time. Too long.” 

Even through the haze of your shared arousal, Boba resists temptation. “Too long? Babygirl, we talked on the phone every night.”

He lets you press your face into the crook of his shoulder and your fingers begin to loop into the soft cotton of his shirt. “It’s not the same and you know it! There was no falling asleep with you, no lap to curl up in…”

“No thigh to get off on?”

You squeak when he pinches your ass, the subconscious roll of your hips halting.

“As cute and sincere as you may be, my darling girl, you still have a debt to settle for your behavior today.”

That’s fair, reasonable even. You had pushed him further than you yourself would have been able to stand. You slip your fingers under his shirt hem to graze your nails over the dark hair trailing into his jeans. “What if I gave you a little apology?” you offer with a fluttering of lashes. “Show you how sorry I am?” 

Boba’s breath hitches but he turns up his chin like he’s uninclined to accept your offer. “You really think a handy is gonna cut it after everything this afternoon?” 

The fevered dream from his absence flares white-hot in your mind. Grabbing his belt buckle, you haul your hips forward to press your slick folds against his bulge. “Not even if that apology is you fucking me into the mattress in my childhood bedroom?” 

Boba curses, his hips bucking into yours.

“Not even if it’s you ruining me in the room where I learned to touch myself? Where I’d cry out into the pillow thinking about what it would feel like to have a real man fuck me instead of stupid, silly boys? Not even then?”

“Princess-”

“I’ve been fantasizing about it for a while, you know… what it would be like to bury my face in those cute flower sheets while you fuck my tight little cunt till I’m sore. Had to take a cold shower while you were gone just to keep my hands off myself.”

In a burst of strength, he forces you flat back against the freezer. “Enough,” he hisses through locked teeth. “For Maker’s sake, enough.”

Despite his protests, he’s rutting his twitching cock into the slick mess at your apex. You grin into his kiss—you’ve got him right where you want him. 

“Awww, pleeeease?” you whine, sticking your bottom lip out. “Pretty please… Daddy?”

The sound that scrapes up from him is so utterly depraved that for a second, you think he might’ve come in his pants.

“Fuck, you’re… you’re…”

“A filthy little princess for a dirty old man?”

Boba pushes his hand over your mouth. “You… you have ten seconds to get in your room before I’m fucking you where you stand. And I don’t give a karking shit who sees. Do you understand me?”

“So, apology accepted?”

“One.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Two.”

“Okay, okay! I’m going!”

“Three.”

You’re flat out running for the kitchen door, wrenching it open without checking if someone is behind it. Luckily, your path is clear as you fly up the stairs up to your room. The lavender paint and neat rows of school awards are nothing but a pastel blur when you fling yourself onto the twin bed. Quickly positioning yourself, you hike your dress up around your hips so you’re completely on display. 

At this point, you don’t even care about the danger; you drop your hand between your legs and delve two fingers between your wet folds. The friction burns delightfully after days without so much as a finger to your clit. The relief is so sweet you have to bite down on your neckline to halt the sounds of delight from spilling out. Imagining just how much better it’ll be when Boba gets his hands on you has you bucking under your fingers.

“Just can’t help yourself, can you, little brat?”

It’s no use snatching back your hand—he’s seen your transgression and is all too ready to add it to your growing list. Grabbing your wrist, he wrenches you up off the bed and whirls you around so your back digs into the door. 

“Oh, babygirl,” he husks in a low, cruel voice. “You’re so fucked.”

He’s pressed so far into you the damp fabric of your dress burns, absorbing his overwhelming heat. Pure, wanton desire floods your brain, drowning any hope of sanity until all that remains is him.

Boba yanks down the ruffled sleeve covering your shoulder and sinks in his teeth, groaning when you buck against him. “But that’s what you like isn’t it? You like it when I put you in your place, when I treat you rough.” His large hand snakes up your chest to grab your throat.  

“Yes-yes, Daddy!” you gasp, writhing with prickling pleasure when he greedily palms your breast. 

He grunts, his hips thrusting into you. “You think calling me that will get you out of trouble?”

“I mean being in my old room… seems kinda fitting, doesn’t it-oh!”

Boba shoves his hand over your mouth. “Now don’t look at me like that, princess. I’m just helping you make better choices,” he grins, his smile sharp with intent. “That’s what daddies do, right?”

Fuck that should not make your clit throb like it does. Just when your knees start to tremble from the sweet friction he’s smoothing over your nipples, he tears himself away. Your cry of displeasure is choked off by a squeeze of his hand. With big, shining eyes, you blink pitifully up at him in a bid for more.

“Don’t bother with the kitten eyes, darling. It won’t save you… and neither will anything else you say.” He rubs his thumb gently over your pulse point, a jarring contrast to the pressure on your throat. “After your little attitude this afternoon, you’re going to have to earn the right to speak.”

Boba just tuts when you pout, a wicked flush of darkness shadowing his expression. “Brats don’t get what they want, especially not such disrespectful ones.” Licking his lips, his voice sinks even deeper. “Still think I can’t do shit with all these people around?”

When you don’t answer, he releases his grip on your neck to run his fingers up your skull and jerk your head back. Taking his time, he kisses you, devouring you until you’re fighting for air. “Little princess, I can do whatever I want to you no matter who’s around, do you understand that? Do you?” 

Your answer is nothing more than a pitiful waver but he takes it all the same. “Good. Now take the dress off before I tear it off. I’m gonna fuck that pretty throat until I’m satisfied you’ve learned some respect.”

You’re out of the offending garment before he even has time to unfasten his belt. Despite the heat in your veins, goosebumps blossom across your skin, heightened by the moisture from your dress. When Boba sees you rubbing away the chill, he smirks and snaps you to his chest. “Looks like you need some warming up…” 

Sliding his hands over your ass, he hikes you up into his arms with a puff, chuckling at your small sound of surprise. When he lowers you gently onto your bed, you wriggle into the position you know he wants: laid out on your back with your head hanging off the edge, ready for atonement. 

It feels almost like relief. This was the reason you tested Boba’s patience with your antics and attitude; you crave the way he gives you no choice but to comply, the thrill of a fantastical danger shaping you into something vulnerable and eager to please.

The fire in his eyes dampens some as he caresses a hand over your cheek. You lean into his palm, nuzzling into the soft gesture. “Look at me, babygirl,” he prompts gently. When your eyes drift up to his, a smile warms his face. “I know you like it rough and I’m going to give it to you, but I need you to promise to mind your body, okay? Let me feel your three taps to stop.”

As you’d practiced many times, you reach up and slap your palm against his thick thigh. His white smile gets even bigger and he bends to plant a quick kiss on your forehead. You glow with his affection. “Boba?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you grab a towel for me to lay on? I’m going to soak a spot on the sheets if you keep talking like that.” 

A devil’s grin stretches across his bronze features. “Stay right there and don’t move,” he instructs, his voice already husked smoke, “or I will make you only watch while I jack off with those panties.” 

If he’d waited a second before darting to the adjoining bathroom, he would’ve seen the way your slicked entrance clenched at his threat.

For a fleeting moment you consider sneaking a hand to your peaked nipples, but the threat of him making you watch and not touch is far too distressing to test. Before you can get too tempted otherwise, Boba strides back into the bedroom with a towel in hand. Without a word spoken between you, he bends and you hook your arms around his neck so he can lift you and lay the towel down.

Boba hums in appreciation when you stretch back out before him, biting back your longing under his gaze. He lets his belt loose and his pants slide down his thighs, finally revealing the gorgeous image of his thick cock. Flushed rosy with want and beautifully slicked with desire, it bobs against his belly full and ready for your touch. 

He steps back so you’re forced to crane your neck to see him. The baneful fire has returned to his dark eyes. He pumps his length once and your mouth waters in anticipation. “Hope you don’t think I’m going easy on you just because you finally decided to behave.”

You shake your head. 

“No talking and no hands, understood?” 

Now you shake your up and down. You know far better of him than to disobey.

“Good. Now we don’t have much time before someone comes looking for you, little princess, so open up that mouth and make Daddy proud.”

Thank the Maker for that towel.

Tilting your head back to make your throat one smooth channel, you stick out your tongue wide and ready. Just seeing the way his expression darkens with desire at your obedience has fresh slick wetting your thighs. Hell, your obedience turns you on. Not just any man could make you want to give yourself over to him and you’re sure there are next to none who could possibly deserve it. 

Boba steps forward, cupping your cheek in his rough palm and dragging the slippery head of his length over your lips, coating them in his arousal. You stay still, enjoying his taste and gentle attention; he would tell you when he wanted more.

When he rocks forward to let your tongue slide down the vein that runs the underside of his cock, you claw your fingers into the floral sheets beneath you. Your heart pounds against your ribs and your lungs bellow more air into your chest. He’s so close yet so far from where you want him. Spit begins to dribble from the corners of your mouth and your jaw twinges from its wide angle, heightening your need for him even more.

Boba continues his leisurely pace across your tongue, rumbling a few low, pleasured sounds. He notices your frustration—he always notices everything—and chooses to ignore it. It’s a lenient punishment in light of your behavior but it doesn’t make the waiting any easier or your cunt any less desperate.

The whine that escapes from you when he lets his head graze your front teeth is so small it’s almost silent, but he hears it all the same. “Mmm, is there a problem, darling? Something the matter?” The slow drag of him doesn’t stop. 

You flick your tongue over his frenulum in a wordless response. Although you can’t see him, you know his pretty brown eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Aaah hah hah,” he chuckles through a groan, “is this not enough for my princess? Is getting her tongue used while she’s naked on her pretty pink bed not enough for her?”

Again, since he hasn’t given you permission to speak yet, you stretch your head up to capture the head of his cock between your coated lips, lightly suckling his sensitive tip. When he doesn’t stop you, you let your tongue snake up to lick the pearled drop from his slit. 

A faint tremor runs through him, making his length thrum in your mouth. Boba curses and stoops to lay a hand on your throat. No pressure or grip to it, just his hand resting over the exposed column of your neck. 

“Swallow.”

His simple command races through you like a spark up a gunpowder trail, igniting the tinder of aching pleasure between your thighs. Reflexively your body snaps to follow his order, your jaw closing and your muscles pushing him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth. 

“Fffff- that’s it, babygirl. Juuuust like that… let me feel how good you take me.” 

The jagged sound of his enjoyment shoots bright seams of glittering ecstasy into your veins. Conscious of the lack of permission to touch him, you dig your heels into the mattress to push further up his shaft, sucking in a final deep breath before letting his girth slide down your waiting throat. 

The next seconds dissolve into a filmy timelessness where every single one of your senses are his—your every sensation and fiber belonging to Boba. Your breath, your sense of smell and taste, sense of direction, everything is all in his control, all his to direct and decide. Even as the need for air burns through your ribs, you feel impossibly free, weightless and perfect within his care.

Retreating into that protected soft space of submission, your mind goes blissfully blank, your sole happiness being Boba’s grunts of pleasure as he pumps his cock down your throat. Sweat slicks your skin and hungry breath claws at your lungs but they’re none of your concern, all you have to worry about is keeping your jaw open. Though it had taken some time to learn to get there, now you rejoice in finding this quiet place within his storm, relishing the way you fall out of time and into his world. Even with the strain and weight of him pressing down onto you, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

After some wonderful, unknown period of time, air hisses through Boba’s teeth as he retracts from your warmth. Still blinded by submission, you gasp in big bubbles of air, blinking against the tears of exertion pricking your eyes.

You feel the muted thump of him dropping to his knees near your head. His thumbs are brushing away the salty trails as he cradles your head like a fragile flower against the wind, a smile blooming radiant on your damp face.  “Baby… my darling girl,” he pants through seeded kisses, “you did so good for me, took it all… can you believe it? Almost couldn’t stop myself from coming down that perfect throat.”

You’re still hazy, drifting through the fog of your accomplishment, but you manage to pull apart your wet lashes to see his beaming smile. Its luminance turns up your own lips. “I… I did?”

Before now, you’d never managed to get the last thick inch of his cock down your throat—though not for the lack of trying. As oxygen flushes through your system, your head clears. “See,” you croak, buoyed by your success, “doing it in my old bedroom was a good idea.” 

Genuine mirth crinkle up his eyes. “You haven’t seen anything yet, princess.” Boba turns and scoops you into arms, pressing you close to take in your scent. “I still gotta make you scream into the sheets, remember?” he murmurs against your temple.

You happily slide against him, relishing the way he fits perfectly against you. “Pretty sure I said ‘screamed into my pillow.’”

He snorts, caressing his hand along your jaw. “How about I make you do both?”

Taking your wild giggle as confirmation, he flips you onto your back to hover over you. You bite your bottom lip against your laughter as he trails tickling kisses down your neck and over your sternum, your breath hitching when he latches onto a pert nipple.

“Tell me…” he rasps through his mouth’s divine suction, “tell me how you would touch yourself.”

The great, crested wave of fire that crashes through ignites your limbs, making you jerk like a puppet on tangled strings. You never felt ashamed with Boba, he has always been your safety, your refuge; he’d wiped more tears than you’d let anyone else ever see and you’d twisted fantasies into his ear that would make the devil blush. But telling him how you rutted into your hand, sweating and barely keeping in your breathy sounds as you tried desperately to understand why boys your age never turned you on suddenly felt absurdly embarrassing.

He must have felt you stiffen under him because he prompts you again. 

“I, um… I mean…” Why was this so embarrassing? It’s not like he didn’t know you were into the more seasoned male age range. Sucking in a steadying breath, you realize he’s stopped his ministrations to observe you with a keen eye.

It only makes your unforeseen shame bruise darker. You force a chuckle from your gut. “Sheesh, you know how to get a girl to blush, don’t you?” Your words are too high and paper thin—your façade not remotely convincing, not even to yourself.

Boba’s eyes flick over your strained expression, his lips pressing into a thin line before he bows his head to place a small kiss on your stomach. “We can talk about this now, or we can talk about it later,” is all he says. It’s all he has to.

You blow out a weighted breath. His way of making you confront life while still giving you a degree of choice could be as infuriating as it was liberating. If you talk about it now you likely won’t have time for the down and dirty you’ve been craving all week (and, at this point, might shrivel up and die without), but the thought of soldiering on in this cold shadow of shame is utterly unappealing. 

Maker, you’re a buzzkill. 

Boba slaps a smack against your hip and you yip at the sharp sensation. “No apologizing,” he warns. “Just answer the question, princess. Don’t worry about anything else.” His palm opens to rub away the lingering sting.

Feeling your anxiety swarm like wasps, you try to sink back into your warm mental refuge where things were easier. Try as you might, however, your brain refuses to release itself from its nervous confines to slip into that softer shape.

It had been so terribly confusing back then. Watching your friends swoon over boys in your grade or just above, you tried to see what they saw in them: the supposedly hot guys on the basketball team with their burgeoning height or the apparently dreamy, mysterious poet laureate of your high school. You never understood what they saw in these lanky, acne covered boys or why they would cry so profusely over them. A real partner wouldn’t make you cry, you’d thought, he would take care of you, show you the love you were told you deserve.

But oh how you had wanted to understand, to have a believable answer when the subject of crushes came up at the lunch table or someone’s sleepover. Everyone else did. 

You only made the mistake of saying the school’s head coach was hot once—the grossed out looks and “old enough to be our dad” comments made sure of that. Eventually you settled on the safe choice of the football team captain for your obligatory answer whenever the subject came up. Even though it wasn’t true, the pressure was off then.

When you went to college, things didn’t change, no matter how much you hoped they would. You thought maybe it was just the boys at your school you weren’t attracted to, that maybe you were normal after all. 

Tears lodge in your throat at the memory of the guys you’d fucked trying to fix what was surely broken inside you, the nights you spent wishing it wasn’t the kind eyes and visible signs of life experience that drew you to the men you desired. Trying to pursue the older guys at bars and social events never ended well for you either; their kindness always dried up when you didn’t want to go back to their place immediately, followed by cutting comments about “daddy issues” and all the mean things that came with them.

Finding Boba, finding acceptance had been a taste of heaven. A golden slice of peace, the vindication that you weren’t some freak or wrong to want a partner who cherished and cared for you. Your stomach drops at the thought of that pure, devoted love. He gave you all of that, asking for nothing in return but your happiness, and you can’t even bring yourself to claim your relationship in public.

Shame curls in on you like leaden weights. He deserves so much better than you. Someone who isn’t afraid to tell the world they love him and proudly walks at his side—not some scared girl who can’t even bring herself to face her own parents. The wound you thought had long healed rips open inside you, spilling its tainted blood into your heart and a scalding brine down your cheeks. 

Before the first sob can sound from your chest, you’re pressed tightly into Boba’s front, held fast by thick, warm arms that stall your rising grief. A watery stream of words tumble out of you all at once. “Back then, it was-I thought-and I couldn’t, I mean I tried-”

“Shhh, baby, just breathe. It’s okay, everything’s alright… yeah, just like that, princess, that’s my good girl.”

His gentle touch and storm soothed voice has your sobs ebbing under his care. “I-is there something wrong with me?” you whisper in a fragile voice. 

Boba presses his mouth to your temple, pulling you somehow even tighter into his warmth. “Babygirl, why on earth would you think there’s something wrong with you?”

Because I’ve only ever wanted an older man who babies me even though I’m a grownass woman. 

Because I think you fucking me in my childhood bedroom while I call you Daddy is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. 

Because I’ll never love anyone else the way I love you but I’m still too scared to tell people about us.

You’re vaguely aware of being pulled under covers and tucked in tight to his side. Despite the furnace warmth of him and the blanket, you can’t seem to stop shivering against some inner cold. Piece by patient piece, Boba pulls out your discontent, wiping away new tears and kissing the old ones from your lashes. Somewhere in the back of your mind you register the darkening sky outside your window but he assures you Ari’s got your absence covered.

Tracing his roughened fingertips up and down your spine, he tilts up your chin to kiss your forehead. “Darling girl, why did you never say anything? That’s all too heavy to have to deal with by yourself. Especially when I’m here to help.”

Why did you? You’d shared so much of your other burdens—your disillusion after losing your dream job, your struggle coping with your life not following your set mental timeline—why had you kept all this to yourself?

“I don’t know…” you whisper, letting your pointer finger trace along the collarbone of his newly revealed chest. “I guess I felt like… like even though what I like isn’t normal, that being with you would make those bad feelings go away… and you make me so happy I thought maybe they would disappear if I never looked for them.” Hearing these half-baked assumptions out loud makes you hide your face in his shoulder. You feel like an idiot. No, worse. An idiot who’s wasted all her sneak-away time crying instead of getting railed by her boyfriend.

Boba makes a sympathetic sound, squeezing you closer to him. “I want you to listen to me, princess. Really listen. Number one, no keeping things from me that hurt you or make you upset. If you need to cry the whole thing out or scream about it until you’re hoarse, that’s fine as long as you tell me. Understood?”

You make a noise of agreement and borrow deeper into his hold. He allows you his comfort for a few more moments before gently unfurling you to run his thumb across your cheek.

“Number two. There’s no such thing as normal. Not a fucking thing. You like what you like just like everyone else likes what they like. Being attracted to handsome men like myself is not anything different than having a preference for blondes or brunettes, yeah?” He kisses you on the tip of your nose and you can’t help but smile up at him. “Besides, you wouldn’t find anything wrong with me being attracted to special princesses who have dirty little mouths and dirtier minds, would you?” 

Heat rises to your cheeks. “As long as I’m the special princess,” you mumble into his palm, suddenly self-conscious under his attention even as you revel in it. Maker, how do you still want him to pound you into the mattress after an emotional breakdown? All his patient love seems to only make you hornier now that your tears have been shed and your fears have been voiced.

“Always.” Boba chuckles and chucks up your chin for a kiss. When you slip your tongue into his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, he pulls back just far enough to murmur, “Still needy, darling?”

How could you not be? Your need for him feels different now, though. Not so much more or less intense but an entirely different kind altogether, like a fire that burns just as hot but with a different fuel than its predecessor. Treading carefully around this new flame, you hold a tentative hand out to test its heat. “We don’t… if the mood isn’t right, we don’t have to… and we’ve been gone for too long already-”

Boba drags his hot mouth over your jaw, positioning you beneath him. “Then a couple more minutes isn’t going to change that, now is it, babygirl?”

You frown even as your hips seek his. “But the whole ‘sexy fantasy’ thing is kinda ruined.”

Taking your hand in his large one, he draws it down his chest and over his stomach until you feel the hardness of his arousal filling your palm. “Does it feel ruined to you?”

Rock hard and fire hot, he leaks into your fingers. Your stomach clenches. Not too distant memories burn bright and vivid behind your eyes: recollections of impossible fullness, banished thoughts, and the generous stretch to accommodate him. 

“Tell me,” he commands, knowing his firm tone always had you melting like silvery mercury in his palm. “Does it feel like I don’t want to be buried in your sweet cunt? Ruining your ‘innocence’ all over again like you want me to so badly?”

His roughness, the obvious tint of desire in licking up his neck and cheeks all have their intended effect: you succumbing to your desires within the paradise of his control. “N-no, it feels like-fuck-it feels like I want you inside me,” you pant, desperate and breathy. You arch up in offering and he bows his head to enjoy the fruits of your desire.

Sliding a hand down your waist, his fingers trail torturously close to your wet heat only to skim over it with the barest of touch. “How did you imagine it back then?” The crackling weight in his voice sinks through your skin to light in your core. “Soft and sweet? Gentle nothings whispered in your ear as you came apart?” 

Without warning, he slaps at the wet flesh between your thighs and covers it with his broad hand, claiming it for himself. Perfect nettles of pain flash across your mind and you jerk against his hold. “Or did you want something a little rougher? Want a man who knew how to treat this pussy like it was all his?”

You can’t help it now. The fire he coached is burning you from the inside out, blossoming from you with slips of petaled flame. “A-all yours,” you manage thickly, twisting against him for more. “Wanted to be taken care of, wanted to be fucked without having to think…”

“Yeah, I know, baby, they didn’t know how to touch you, did they?” Two of his thick fingers push past your lower lips to slide through the slick seam there. Trailing over your slit for a languorous second, the pad of his middle finger circles your swollen hood. “They didn’t know how to rub that cute little clit so you screamed, huh?”

“Not at all,” you sob, your voice quivering as you shake from the electric sensation of his fingers. “Never knew, never knew-”

Boba smothers the rest of your pathetic sounds in a kiss that pushes deep into your pillows. “Awww, my poor princess,” he croons. “So achy and needy with no one to help. No wonder you were all over me that first time, whining and riding my dick like you would die without it.”

Never mind that he had been equally out of his mind, pounding into you that night like a man possessed with adoration. 

He notches a finger at your fluttering opening, ringing it around your flushed entrance just to see you squirm to get him deeper. “Remember how you begged me to fuck you, princess? How you didn’t even want to wait for me to stretch out your tight cunt?” Sinking in an effortless finger, he dips to lap up the beads of sweat from the hollow of your throat.

By the time he’s pressing in the blunt head of his cock, you’re face down and ass up, shimmying your hips back onto his length through a babble of pleas. “Please, Boba, please I want it deep, so fuckin’ deep I cry.”

Huffing out a breath that curls over the dampness of your spine, Boba grips the back of your neck to snap that first delicious thrust into you. Your broken sob is muffled by the rucked bedding, matching the slap of skin in a salacious accompaniment. Never one to do things in half measures, he digs a hand into your hip, anchoring your body to drive into you harder. He hits that divine spot that you didn’t even know existed before him.

The air whooshes from both your lungs in a blurred haze of ecstasy. “Shit, baby,” Boba squeezes your nape, “I’ll always give it to you… always, darling girl. Anything you want, I’m always yours, forever.”

You know it with every breath in your body and hair on your head—Boba loves you with every fiber of his being and he never hid that fact from you. From the way he looks after your safety to the care he takes just to see you flash a simple smile, you never had to wonder if he loved you the way you love him, not even for a second. 

The realization happens suddenly then, tipping your axes so you could center on the one truth that had orbited just out of your consciousness: Boba is worth the risk. He always has been. No matter what you might lose or gain by sharing your relationship, he would always be worth the risk.

You swirl with dazzling vibrancy, this epiphany developing in full splendor within you. “Yes-yes-yes!” you repeat mindlessly, flinging an arm back to search for his tethering touch. His hand disappears from your hip to intertwine with yours. Face crushed into the rose covered sheets of your old bed, breath tearing into your lungs as soon as it’s knocked out again, you smile. It had all led to this: all those years wondering if you were somehow broken, all those loves lost trying to fix what didn’t need repair, that one New Year’s night when you stopped denying what you truly wanted—all of it, everything, had been worth the risk.

Boba pulls on your hand, forcing you to arc farther back so that last sweet, solid inch of him is finally able to press into you. “Ffffffff-that’s it, that’s fuckin’ it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “You’re better than heaven, babygirl, you know that? Sweeter than anything I’ve ever had.”

You want to tell him the same but your head is filled with hot, sparkling clouds of stardust and your throat is tight with cresting pleasure. “Yes, Daddy, yes!”

“Shit, you calling me… say it again. Say it again and don’t fucking stop.”

You’re chanting now, watching how the room around you shrinks to a pinpoint as you draw higher and higher with him. The prick of light and the chorus of your glass-thin cries shake with impending explosion when he drags his blunt nails down your back, swelling over your hip to find your throbbing center. “Is it as good as you imagined?” he husks, his own voice leaden with delicious strain. “Getting fucked into the mattress you dreamed on?”  

Each snap of his hips sends your clit skating over his calloused fingertips. “Better, so much better!” Crushing your eyes closed, you surrender to the scorching wave waiting to take you. “Please, Daddy! Please fill me up so everyone knows I’m yours!”

Boba jerks forward, breaking the pattern of his thrusts to fold over your back. His sweat dampened skin melds to yours and fuses you into one splendid being. His hand travels from your shoulder to clasp around your throat. “You really want that, darling girl? You really want everyone to know you belong to me?”

Your answer doesn’t waver, solidified by your new-found conviction. “As long as they know you’re mine, too.” 

Muscles rippling to lock at your affirmation, Boba’s head drops to your shoulder. The groan that heaves from his chest rattles through your bones like a welcome spirit charged with animating the last gasps of your union. “C-come for me then,” he chuffs in your ear with his last dregs of restraint. “Come for me so they know what you fucking do to me.”

Would he ever truly know how easy, how intrinsic to your being coming apart for him is? How your world had only ever been ordered by his particular equation, even before your eyes first met? Unraveling to be respun with his thread is your very nature, and you would always yearn to be in his weave, stitched and re-stitched by his expert hand. His fingers press tight against the glowing center of pleasure at your core and you burst into a glorious, unbound tapestry of light. Undulant patterns of pleasure flow through your every inch, anointing your entire body in golden thread from the crown of your head down to each individual toe.

Feeling the hot claim he spills inside you is the final beautiful detail in your joint creation. These final fleeting moments where it feels like your very souls mesh together are always your favorite; Boba’s guard comes down and you rise to catch him, your usual roles reversing as he burrows into your warmth. “Always, baby. Always yours,” he promises, his voice thick and sweet as honey.

Echoing his sentiment in utter bliss, you tighten your grip on his hand, joy taking flight when he does the same. Content and at peace, the pair of you roll so you’re pressed flush together, still joined in the middle when your limbs re-tangle. Boba pushes your hair back from where it had stuck your forehead and plants a kiss in your hair. 

You’re happy to smooth your palms over the scarred bronze of his chest to rest them lazily around his neck, his heartbeat jumping under your touch. How could you not realize this, that he, is worth more to you than any fallout from revealing your relationship? Was this not what you shed all those tears for, what you wished for every single time you tried to fit into another man’s mold? 

A resplendent joy feathers out in your chest, floating down your arms, then your legs with soft announcement. “Boba?”

His finger traces up your spine. “Yes, my princess?” His voice is dense as goose down and packed with comfort. 

You swirl your own shape into his skin. “I meant it, you know. I want… I want everyone to know we’re together. I don’t want it to be a secret anymore.”

He goes silent, his only sound the movement of air in and out of his lungs. Even as you know he always takes time to consider his next move, your pulse still ticks up with a spate of nerves. The lines on your spine continue and you do your best to temper your unease as the long moments inch by. 

Eventually, a rumble reverberates in his chest. Your ears prick up.

“You don’t have to do that, babygirl, not before you’re ready. Just because it slipped out in the heat of the moment doesn’t mean it has to be set in stone.” Boba shifts to wrap his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly closer. “I know there are more risks for you than me in our relationship.”

You hate the far off note of despair in his voice. You hate the way he sounds like he’s resigned himself to a truth that isn’t at all what it has to be. “No,” you sit up on your elbow to cup his cheek, “there’s not. Not in any way that matters to me. You’re-”

“Princess, it’s okay, I-”

You silence him with a kiss, suddenly feeling like you have to get the next words out of your body before they explode. “You’re worth the risk, Boba. You always will be. Every single day since I met you, you have done nothing but prove that to me.” Your pace picks up as your truth spreads its wings. “I was afraid before, not of being with you but of what others would think about my preferences. I didn’t want them to judge me and think I was only with you because I have “daddy issues” or whatever, not because I love you more than I thought people could. And I know my parents will be shocked but all they want is what’s best for me, and you’re what’s best for me. I know this now—and I’m not ashamed of it.”

As quickly as you started, you run out of steam. No longer inflated with the sense of frantic urgency you had before, you sag back down onto his chest. A quiet second flicks by, then Boba’s grabbing you, hauling you up into his arms to kiss you like a man desperate to live. He says nothing, his lips working against yours in fervent passion but you can feel the sentiment he doesn’t speak. Each pass of his tongue and nip of his teeth communicate more than any words could: his joy in your self-realization, the excitement of proclaiming your love to the world at long last. Your only wish is that you could have given him this sooner.

When he finally lets you break for air, his handsome face is lit up with a smile more radiant than any sun. Whispering your name with a reverence of only the truly devoted, he brushes his nose over yours. “Babygirl, I… I’m so proud of you. You never cease to amaze me.”  He sweeps his lips over yours again. “I love you. Always have, always will.”

Besides his love, Boba’s greatest gift is his forthrightness. You never have to guess with him and now, no one else will have to either. They’ll know where his loyalties lay. 

“That’s a good thing,” you tease into a quick kiss. “Because all my aunties, and uncle Stephen, are going to be very jealous that you’re off the market.”

Boba chuckles in that bone-deep way that always makes you warm all over. “I didn’t realize I was in such high demand.”

You push yourself up on his chest. “Oh, don’t lie to me, Boba Fett. I’ve seen the way you flirt and wink at them. They eat it up and you know it!” 

Sitting up with you, he grins. “Just being polite, princess. You’re not jealous, are you?”

Maker, how could you ever be jealous of anyone after the sex you’d just had?

“Oh, not at all. Because at the end of the night, you’re coming home with me.” You smirk up at him. “Speaking of which, we better get back out there before those same aunties start tearing the house up looking for you.”

“Only if you promise not to clean up and put these panties back on for me, darling girl,” he counters with a devilish smirk of his own.

Giggling, you bite your lip. “Anything for you, Daddy.”

He’s worth the risk.  

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

perchance you also write for patrick zweig 🥹👉🏼👈🏽

This was not on my 2024 fic bingo card

......but i'm intrigued

[dewitty1]

Fic Recs Wrap Up October 2024ꐑ(ꐌ◡ꐌꐐ)࿐࿔࿓ཥ•̬͡•ོཤ(((༼•̫͡•༽)))←～（o ｀▽´ )oΨ

In Another Life (I Would Make You Stay) by aboutmalfoy

Seven years out from the war, Hermione comes to Harry with a way to undo the lasting damage done to the Wizarding World, and save those once lost. The catch is, only Harry will remember anything differently. When Harry wakes up in the world where Voldemort never came to be, he’ll have to navigate the life he never lived as if he’d been there all along. Except, a version of Harry was there all along—and he may not be so easily overridden. (Rec Post)

White Horses by JStevens

They say there are no white horses—those that we think of as white are really just a faded deceitful gray. And if there are no white horses, certainly there are no true heroes who will come riding in on one to save us from all our pain. After learning of the prophecy that will change his future, Harry returns to Hogwarts School for sixth year and finds that not everyone is who he thought they were. It seems that he is not. Definitely Draco Malfoy is not. As he tries to find a path to the end of his time at Hogwarts, he will have to grapple with questions of who to trust and who to love while navigating a world full of threats. This is a story of how we sometimes deceive ourselves and others, but hopefully find something true in the end. (Rec Post)

Recursion by Tessa Crowley (tessacrowley) @tessacrowley

A process is recursive when it defines or contains itself; e.g., the Fibonacci sequence, which determines the next number as the sum of the previous two. But not all recursive processes are mathematical. Recursion can happen in a temporal context when, for instance, the powerful magical force that is true love drags you back in time so it can create itself, endangering the fate of the Wizarding World—not to mention the very fabric of space and time—along the way. ( Rec Post)

To have a Home by Aulophobia

Not quite a decade after the war, Draco Malfoy was happy with his quiet little Muggle life in Oxford. He had a small group of friends from the university he’d attended, and colleagues from the law firm where he worked as a solicitor. He played folk music on his violin around the city. And he volunteered to provide legal services getting mostly idiot teenagers out of trouble with the law. His life was full. He had no contact with the magical world, and all was the way he liked it. And the feeling of emptiness in his chest, the feeling some part of him was missing, was at least better than the alternative. Or at least it was until the last few months when he kept getting called down to the police station to get Harry Potter out of trouble. Indecent exposure and possession was one thing, but the latest charge was for murder. OR Harry and Draco find each other again after the war in Oxford, a completely non-magical city. Together they solve the mystery of the city which hates all wizards but them. (Rec Post)

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well!(ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ━☆ﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･.*･｡ﾟ*:・ﾟ✧

Trade My Heart For Honey by MyNameIsThunder @thunderfiction

A witch who thinks she’s a Seer, a Seer who thinks she’s a witch, a former nemesis-turned-something-turned-acquaintance who thinks they could be friends, and a Scottish village full of Muggles who think this is as much their business as the fair folk in the woods. Draco is going to prove them all wrong. (So so good, and it's for me?!?!? ♡✧( ु•⌄• )💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖)

Change the Ending by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair H/D Muggle Fair 2024

When Draco gets hit by a curse that makes him essentially allergic to magic, Harry takes him in as a favour to Ron and Kingsley to teach him how to survive without it while they wait for a cure.

In the Fight for Someone's Heart, the Best Armour is Armani by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair H/D Muggle Fair 2024

Harry is a famous actor. Draco is his stylist, who can't help but fall in love with him.

[ART & FIC] Starry, Silver Anchor by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair H/D Muggle Fair 2024

Although no one can see it, Harry’s struggling and barely holding on. When he's given a chance, he asks for his deepest desire: for the war to never happen.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ HI! I'm back! I hope y'all didn't miss me too much! Please enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading! xoxo Carey  (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

[bartlebybarkin]

precisely 8:31 PM EST. the new year will soon be upon us...

[3-frogs-in-a-trench-coat]

Selfshiptober Day 5 - All Dressed Up/Blade

(Note: I don't remember where I found this divider from. If anyone knows the creator, please feel free to comment below and tell me, so I can give credit.)

"Are you ready?" Phoenix asked, grinning as they twisted their head side to side, looking at each partner.

The throuple stood at the entrance of a Ren Faire. An event that Phoenix has been wanting to show their partners for a long time.

They were all dressed up for the occasion. Phoenix was in a light tan, loose fitting tunic with a green colored cloak. Faux leather gauntlets on each arm. Dark brown knee high boots with baggy Renaissance styled pants, being held up by a faux leather belt that had handmade (fake) potion bottles hanging from one side.

Aza, standing to Phoenix's left, was wearing a high necked, form fitting tank top with baggy Renaissance styled pants, and a hooded cloak that hung loosely from his shoulder. A pair of belts with pouches which hung loosely on his waist and faux leather shoulder armor on his other shoulder, seemed to be the only items on him that broke through the shades of black that mainly made up the majority of the outfit. According to Phoenix, this outfit was one that a "Past DnD thief character that they had, used to wear. Which they thought might suit Aza for the occasion."

Thimble on Phoenix's right, was only wearing a simple outfit of Phoenix's.

Based off of another role-playing character of Phoenix, this outfit depicted what their character would often wear. A simple tunic with baggy medieval pants, leather wraps that would wrap around the feet into the form of a shoe, distressed looking arm wraps, and a loose belt attached at the waist.

Phoenix had insisted that Thimble wear this outfit, due to its lightweight appearance and, in Phoenix's words, "They thought the style would look cute in Thimble." (They were pleased to find out they were right.)

The throuple proceeded to walk around the event. Roleplaying with other event-goers and merchants, tasting the food and drinks, and watching some of the acts.

At one point the throuple ended up buying 2 walking sticks. One which was lightly stained and twisted to a spiral shape with the top ending into a makeshift cane handle for Aza, and one which was carved with an intertwining plant design which Phoenix gave to Thimble.

Honestly, Phoenix was ashamed to admit that they rushed everyone to the faire earlier that day. And as a result, had forgotten to remember to bring their canes. The throuple had ended up needing that extra support, so the young bard offered to buy their partners a walking stick each, hoping it would suffice. Throughout the day, Thimble and Phoenix would disagree on who'd use the walking stick, as Phoenix's painful knees were starting to bother them. Aza had originally offered theirs, but Phoenix refused to accept. Thimble refused to accept this, and would make Phoenix take turns with them throughout the rest of the day, with Aza's acceptance.

A few hours into the event, the throuple decided to stop and watch a reenactment of a medieval joust play out in the middle of the faire. Horses were adorned in medieval garb, as were the riders atop them. Armor shining under the sun and and dust lightly being kicked up into the air from the horse's hooves.

Cheering ensued as the joust started. Ending in a mix of gasps and more cheers as people lightly discussed the results.

To Phoenix, it had ended way too soon. But spending that small break from walking and getting caught up in the action with their partners, made them more than happy.

The throuple decided to end that part of the day with drinks, before walking around the rest of the area to look at items for sale and get caught up in the atmosphere around them.

There was one particular booth which seemed to interest Phoenix. It was ran by a self proclaimed black smith. Who of which seemed to be busy making a blade within her stall.

They watched for several minutes as she would flatten the metal and shake it into a decorative sword. Stopping midway as she noticed the throuple's presence. Smiling at them, she straightened her back with a stretch, before greeting the 3 of them with a warm welcome and showing her wares.

One of which had particularly interested Phoenix.

It was a decorative cutlass, with a handle mixed in hues of light green and gold. It was a pretty simple sword compared to some of the others on display, but something about its simplicity seemed to draw Phoenix in.

Noticing them take interest in it, the merchant sat it down and offered to let Phoenix get a closer look.

They were allowed to hold it and show both partners, who were standing off to one side.

Phoenix ended up purchasing it, but not before the woman offered to etch something into the blade at no extra cost.

(She claimed that she could tell Phoenix was interested in her blade, which was actually one of the first ones she had made for this event. And would be more than happy to add on to the young bard's joy today.)

Immediately after hearing this, Phoenix knew what to do. On one side they asked for the name "Thimble" to be etched into the blade, and on the other side, "Aza."

After paying for and walking off with the newly etched sword, (which was also very kindly wrapped by the merchant, to protect it and others while walking around the faire.), Phoenix grinned as they gently patted the sword. With their partners' names on it, it will serve as a constant reminder of how Aza and Thimble will always give them the strength they need to get through anything that may come their way.

Now a few more hours into the day, the throuple decided to leave. Picking up dinner and spending the rest of the day discussing what they enjoyed about the ren faire, and eating their food.

Aza would end up helping Phoenix hang up the sword on the livingroom wall. And as the bard passed by it on their way to bed that night, they would stop to admire it. Smiling as their heart and mind were overcome with love and joy from their partners. They were lucky to have them. And they couldn't wait to see what else life would bring them.

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[just-spacetrash]

🦾

[daimyosprincess]

MAY I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

good fucking BYE everybody I am deceased, perished, left the earth, in the grave, May has killed me in a targeted attack RIP

“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.”

how DARE you!!!!!! this is a personal attack on me specifically!!!!!!!!

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.

TATTOOS???!?!?!!! THIS A TARGETED ATTACK I'M TELLING YOU!!!!!

“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.”

daddy sorry daddy sorry daddy sor- PLEASEEEEEEEEEEE

May bestie you really outdid yourself this time 😮‍💨😮‍💨 I don't know if I'm gonna be able to financially, spiritually, or sexually recover from these 900 words 😩 also I feel like we are mentally connected because this Boba is the EXACT Boba that has been in my brain nonstop since I wrote Worth the Risk and I NEED MORE THANK YOU MA'AM I LOVE YOU

so uh, enjoy roughly 900 words of pure football coach!boba filth under the cut.

some warnings: d*ddy kink, overstimulation, consensual somnophilia, age gap, dom!boba, sub!fem!reader, modern au, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight verbal degradation

for some context: this snippet is based on this idea, set in this universe where boba is a retire footballplayer and now acts as head coach for whatever football team paz plays for

“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

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

[etoiline]

Chapter Two of taste your lips and feel your skin is up!

In which Cal, Bode, and Merrin venture into a warehouse that has more than a few surprises waiting for them.

Week 2 of Aug-kissed 2024 prompts used: hand kiss, trail of kisses, gentle peck

Look for chapter 3 next Tuesday!