#whatever it mean to provide content for him💖 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-phantoms-kiss · 7 months ago

Text

I am sorry pt. 2

John Wick x Fem!Reader

Part 1 💖Some mention of Kevin Lomax 💖 2K

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

it has been 3 years since I stepped out of this place and swore never to come back. 3 years since I left a life I’d known all my life. 3 years since I had to learn to depend on someone else. Now it has been 3 days since I left my only home. 3 days since I was forced to learn to depend solely on my own. 3 days since I lost my love.

Now I stand here, outside the Continental with a suitcase in hand, contemplating on whether I should continue; on one hand, I would be provided with a temporary roof over my head, but on the other, there is a great chance that John would find me and order a ban on me. But I guess that is a risk I'll have to take otherwise I'll have to join King out on the streets and personally, the homeless style ain't my thing.

Upon entrance, a group of eyes falls on me, most in shock and some in displease. "Welcome back, Ms. Wilde, am I to assume that Mr. Wick will be joining us as well?" Charon spoke from behind the desk. "No, you are not. I'd like to meet with the manager please." "Of course, in the meantime, we will arrange your room, is your usual alright?" I simply nod, hand my suitcase to a nearby concierge, and head towards the lounge.

"It's nice to see you again Wilde, it has been quite a while since we have chatted." Winston pours me a drink as I sit on the comfy velvet of the couch. "Yes, far too long. I miss our old conversations. How have you been old man?" He chuckles a bit, "I've been alright. What about you? I doubt this is simply a visit." He could read me as if I were an open book, and to him I probably was. "I'd like to ask you for a favor Winston." I take a sip and he lets out a deep sigh. "Look, you know how much you matter to this hotel, but whatever is going on between you and John, I simply cannot partake." "I am not asking you to kill anyone, I'm simply asking you to let me stay here for a while and get a job. I'll take any sort of job, it doesn't have to be an assignment, I'm content with just being the maid." he looks relieved at my simple request. "Alright. From now on you will be the lead singer for our jazz performances, that is until you train to become an assassin again, I can't risk you dying on the first night back. I assume you told Charon to prepare your usual room?" I nod, "I'll send up a contract that states you will be an official employee for a month. if you have any questions or concerns call me. " "Thank you, Winston, truly, thank you." I take my leave.

Finally, a room that doesn't smell like cheap cologne and sweat. This room was basically a second home, and for a long time, it was my home. The shower was even better than expected, the mattress is softer than I remember it, and the view, god, how I've longed for this view of the city. I still remember the first time I stepped into this room, I'd never seen anything as luxurious as this room, the bathroom alone was bigger than my bedroom at my old apartment, and this living room covered both my apartment and my neighbors. I simply sat, on the same bed I am sitting on now. I recall thinking "If this is what being an assassin gets you, I am more than willing to avert my eyes for a few seconds just to get to sleep here." Knock Knock. This must be it, John must've found me, what will I say to him? Should I slap him in the face? No! What if he's come to apologize? What if he came to drop off the rest of my belongings? Am I to run into his arms like a helpless maid? No! What if I am too cold and he thinks I'm not worth the chase? Knock Knock. "I'm coming!"

I dramatically open the door, and give the biggest puppy eyes I could possibly muster while looking down at the floor for an ever greater effect. "Ms. Wilde, I am here to drop off the contract. Is everything alright you look quite ill." "Oh, hello, no, I mean yes... I am fine... are there any messages for me?" Charon looks confused now, and I feel incredibly embarrassed, "Ah yes," So he did know I was here! "The manager asked me to hand you this card, he'd like for you to buy appropriate clothing tomorrow." Wow, he truly could read me like a book! "Perfect! Thank you!" He nodded and walked away to resume his other tasks. He truly didn't care about me... that's alright, if I were him I wouldn't either.

"It's time for breakfast! Come on, it's time to get up sleepy head!" His voice was soft and gentle as it always was, and there was a soft scent of pancakes that I could barely make out through my sleepy state. "Just five more minutes love." As I haphazardly roll on my sides, he chuckles lightly, except, it's not his usual pitch, it's higher, shorter. "Ms. Wilde, it is 11am, you may want to consider waking up sometime soon." Ms. Wilde? John never calls me by my last name, let alone at 11am, 11am?!

I jolt up from the bed and fully awaken to see a tray with coffee and pancakes on the small round dining table, and on my nightstand, the clock shows 5 minutes past 11. I'm unsure who left this food here, but truly they were sent from the gods. The aroma pulled me closer to the food, forcing me to start the day.

Most of the day was spent in various shopping centers trying to make up for all the clothes I'd left back at our house. His house. This would be the last shop of the evening before heading back to the hotel. Now I must try on this dress before being able to check out. The dress was stunning, tight fitting, yet modest, it was enough to catch a stranger's attention. "How much?" I quickly turn towards the voice, it was a young man, quite handsome, "I'm sorry?" "The dress, you look splendid in it, I'll pay for it." "Oh no, It's far too expensive I couldn't let you do that, but thank you." Boy when was the last time I received such a compliment, I hate to admit that it made me blush, "It wasn't a request. You can pay me back by taking me to dinner." He's got a confident smirk, "I am flattered, but, I must decline. I just got out of a relationship and am not ready." He nods and hands me a card, "I understand, just give me a call if you ever want to talk." He stands up and signals for a worker to come, "Excuse me miss, please baggage that dress and anything else she desires." He hands her his credit card and she walks away, "You really don't have to!" I move towards him, I can't just let him splurge on me so easily! "Non-sense, I can and so I must. I must go back to my job now, have a nice day." and before I could retaliate he takes back his Credit Card, from the employee who had just returned, and walks out the doors. I can't even chase after him as in this dress. The employee is now helping me out of the dress with the biggest smile I've ever seen, "He's awfully nice for a stranger isn't he?" She's got a southern accent, "Nice isn't the right word, trusting is better suited." She just chuckles at my response.

"I am assuming your shopping spree went well?" Winston asks as he sees me walking into the hotel. A concierge is behind me carrying all sorts of bags and boxes. "Yes, you seem to be correct. I met the strangest man not too long ago, he bought me a dress without even looking at the tag. Isn't it charming, the great lengths men will go to just to get a date? Of course, I rejected him several times but he kept insisting, even without the promise of dinner. I remember when John was like that..." He smiled, walking with me towards the elevator. "Well, for both our sakes I hope the dress was worth it because we have an important guest tonight." "We have important guests every night" "He's a businessman." "Ah, that kind of important, well, I must get ready then. Thank you for the money." He smiles and walks away, his hands behind his back.

After what felt like an eternity I am finally ready, my makeup is done, my hair is up in a vampy hairdo, the romantic olive dress on from earlier, and my simple Mary Jane. Now it's simply time to warm up a bit, review my songs, and go down and perform. Though I've done harder things it's nerve-racking performing once to an audience again, I'm so used to it only being John. I wonder if he'll come, I know he probably won't, and even if he does he's sure to ignore me, I just hope that maybe he'll come and say he's sorry. But that is silly and dumb and would never happen so I should get going now before I'm late.

It's now about to strike 11, and I've just finished my last song, thankfully things went on without a hitch and I can finally go back to my room and sleep. "Ah, Ms. Wilde, would you do us the honor of joining us?" Winston spoke from a booth, the booth was seemingly empty aside from him, he must be imagining things. "Of course! Where's the important guest?" I take a seat across from Winston, "He went to the restroom he'll be right back." He offers me a glass and pours whisky into it. We talk for a few minutes as we wait for his associate to come back. "Sorry for the wait, now where were we?" The man from the shop smiles at Winston and sits beside me, a slightly shocked reaction. "How lovely of you to join us! You know, when I asked you out to dinner earlier I meant us two alone, but, I'll take what I can get." He grins taking a sip from his glass, "Ha ha, very funny. I'm the singer for the Jazz band." "Oh evidently so, I don't doubt it for a minute. You sound as wonderful as you look, and I didn't think anything could come so close." It's obvious he's just being playful but the look that Winston gives me says otherwise. We introduced ourselves to each other formally and resumed talking about business. He was as every bit kind as he seemed, quite funny too. "Well Mister Lomax, it was lovely meeting you, and once again, I owe you one for this dress." "It was my pleasure, Miss Wilde. Until we see each other again." he gave a slight bow and promptly walked towards the exit. Looking back to wave goodbye he bumped into someone and quickly apologized. Had it been someone else they would have simply kept walking, but of course, that is not the way life goes and so it had to be the one and only John Wick with whom he'd bumped into.

Well... surely this won't bite me in the ass. Yeah right, maybe in another universe, in this one John is looking at me more so irritated than when I last saw him, and I didn't think that'd be possible. Tonight would be a long night.

#john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick #keanu reeves #keanu my beloved #kevin lomax #keanu reeves x reader #fanfic

27 notes · View notes

daimyosprincess · 2 years ago

Text

PART V: PREFACE

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

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

—SUMMARY: You make sure Professor Fett knows just how much he means to you.

—WORD COUNT: 8.6k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, use of restraints (reader's hands are bound), creampie, lots of pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, choking, use of a vibrator, pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tiniest bit of breeding kink, Daddy kink 🤭, lil bit of angst when Boba has some bad dreams

We've got some new chapter warnings this time, so be sure to mind them. As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations are at the end.

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: We're back baybee and better than ever! Part V will conclude Volume I of Ex Libris, but fear not: your fav professor/librarian duo will be back for more sexy escapades (and fEeLiNgS) in the future in Volume 2 💚🖤

A big thank you to @agirlnamejacq and @rexxdjarin for betaing this series, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Boba Fett is a man of exquisite extremes: a simple man when it comes to himself, his personal effects minimal but well made, but quite the opposite when it comes to you. After he had a taste of spoiling you rotten on your date to the poppy fields, he couldn’t get enough, no matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to spend any money on you. You so much as glanced at something for too long and you’d find it tucked away somewhere for you to find, wrapped in a ribbon. You didn’t mind, not one bit, but you don’t want him to think that he had to keep doing it to keep you happy—just him by himself is enough to last you till the end of your days.

“Boba, you don’t have to keep doing this, really, I-”

“Princess, what’s the point of all my money sitting in the bank if I can’t spend it how I like?”

“But… I love you without all that.”

“I know you do, cyar’ika, I know. Now that we’ve got that established, let me spoil you like I want to, like you deserve.”

You gave in willingly after that conversation, allowing him to buy you all the little trinkets and sparkly jewelry your heart desired. One of his favorite things to do, you’d found, was to tuck his black credit card in your purse and send you to the mall with Selena, placing a kiss on your forehead and a slap on the ass as you went out the door. In return, you’d put on a little fashion show for him when you returned, ending with you in whatever risque lingerie you purchased for him to rip off and devour you whole.

You currently have on one of the sets he hadn’t gotten the chance to tear off your body, a blush rose pair of elegant satin and lace that’s delightfully comfortable and smooth against your skin. As you consider your dress choices for the evening ahead, you can feel the way Boba is admiring you from across his bedroom while he’s buttoning up his cream-colored shirt. “Which one do you think,” you ask, turning and holding up the two choices, “the green or the blue one?”

Adjusting his collar down flat with practiced skill, he smirks. “Which one will be easier to get into later tonight?”

Even after all the filth that’s come out of his mouth, his flirting can still make you flush like a schoolgirl. “Boba!”

“What?” he shrugs with a rakish smile, “I’m asking for… research purposes.”

You can’t help but laugh, the man did have a sense of humor when he wanted to. “Well if you bend me over and pull them up, they should be about the same,” you respond, biting your lip and wiggling your eyebrows. You picked these dresses precisely because they provided easy access: what Boba doesn’t yet know is that you have a little surprise that has nothing to do with your dress, and everything to do with him.

He crosses the room in a few strides and stops in front of you, letting his gaze travel down your body with lush attention before flicking between the two options you held. “Hmm, the green one, I think. Green looks good on you,” he hums, leaning in to press a slow kiss to your lips.

“Looks good on you, too,” you mumble, deepening the kiss. Boba had shown you his father’s armor, now his, that he carefully unpacked and mounted on a stand in his study. The reverence with which he handled each piece was a poignant reminder of the grief buried deep within his ribs and the pride he took in being his father’s son. You felt honored that he trusted you to share that part of himself; even in the short time you’ve known him, it’s readily apparent that he is a private person when it comes to his past.

When his roughened hands slide down to grab your ass, you reluctantly break the kiss. “We’re gonna be late if you keep that up…”

“Oh, I can make it quick, princess. Promise.” He trails kisses down the thin skin of your throat and kneads the plushness of your ass. “You know I’m a man of my word.”

Stepping back out of his reach, you give him a scolding smile. “I know you are. Now, help me with this thing.” Boba huffs, more as a show rather than actual annoyance, and does as you request, dutifully lacing up the ties of the sage green garment across your back. Once done, he sits in the armchair to put on his shoes while you slip on your jewelry—including the piece you’re going to surprise him with.

As you secure the anklet around your leg, you admire how the interlinking chain twinkles in the light. The jewelry soaks up the heat of your body quickly, sitting heavier and warmer as you imagine what the professor’s reaction will be; you know he has that protective streak in him, that desire to care for and nurture you in a way you suspect he never received himself. That, combined with the claim he so enjoys laying on you, filling you full of him and marking your skin with his mouth, hands, and hips, leaves no doubt in your mind that your little surprise will drive him wonderfully and perfectly insane.

Now that the time has come to set your plot in motion, it takes everything in you to school your giddy expression. Sinking onto the end of the bed, you lean back on your hands and lift your leg to wiggle your foot in his direction so he gets a look up your dress—which he takes, of course. “Can you help me with my shoes, handsome?” you simper, batting your lashes for extra effect.

Boba rolls his eyes, muttering how you’re spoiled rotten as he scoops up your heels and slides on the first one, balancing the ball of your foot on his abdomen. He fastens the straps with deft fingers, then takes the opportunity to press slow kisses up your calf, keeping his deep eyes locked on yours. It’s surprisingly sensual, warmth feathering out from your core and fluttering in your stomach. You bite your lip, enjoying his slow touches and he winks. Fuck, he’s so kriffing hot.

He sets your leg down and braces the other against him, this time trailing his lips down from your thigh to just above the straps of your shoe. Securing the straps, nods at your anklet. “Mmm, what have we here?”

The gold piece looks even daintier against his thick fingers as he runs them across it.

You tilt your chin up just a bit as you watch his expression through heavy-lidded eyes. “Just a little something that reminded me of you. Thought I would wear it tonight.” Boba adjusts the jewelry around your ankle so he can examine the stylized letters adorning it. The anticipation of him seeing “Daddy’s Girl” dangling off you for anyone to see has restless energy lighting up your nerves.

A second later, Boba gasps, sucking in a sharp, sudden breath and his face snaps up to look at you; you’re as licentious and dusky as an old Hollywood star as you peer back at him. His grip becomes almost unbearably tight, but it feels so good that you hope it leaves a bruise to remember it by. His lips part but no sound comes out, every muscle in his body rigid. Something has come over him, something so visceral it strikes him to the core of his being.

This you know you’ll remember for the rest of your days, until the end of time even—you know you will. The time you made Boba Fett, the strongest, most unshakeable man you’ve ever met, break. Not crease or fold. Not snap. Break.

“Say it.” The words fall from his lip hoarse and cracked. A wild energy crackles and grows behind his glossy eyes.

You drag your hands closer to your body to push yourself up higher, and your heart rate picks up. You almost want to make this last forever. “Say… what?” you drawl, blinking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

One of his hands drops to your thigh, his fingers digging into the pillowy flesh there. A sizzle of air rushes from behind his teeth. “Say it. Say it right now.”

Heat is radiating off him so hot you can feel it, like a star burning itself into creation. The primal rawness of his desire, its baseness, permeates into your skin and makes his feverish desire become your own. You can’t deny him, not when it feels like his scalding becoming will remake you anew, too.

Blistering heat fills you from the inside out as his eyes bore into you. You lick your lips, savoring the last of the moment before this man shatters your whole world from the inside out in a glorious passion. “I’m… I’m Daddy’s girl.”

Tossing your adorned leg over his shoulder, Boba crashes into you, his lips searing a kiss onto your mouth that’s so hot your mind leaves your body for a few breathless seconds. You’re effectively folded in half by his crushing weight and it makes your muscles scream in the most delicious way. Boba curses into your open mouth as his hips grind what has to be a painfully hard erection into your ass.

“Fuck, ner cyare, tell me that’s what you want, tell me you want me to be-”

“I want you, want you to be my Daddy, Boba, please.” Hands balled in his shirt behind his neck, you gasp your answer with the breath from his lungs.

A string of coarse curses pour from his mouth. “Gedet’ye, sweet girl, let me have you. Let me show you just how good Daddy can make his babygirl feel.”

He’s a paradox of pleasure, impossibly dominant yet unbearably vulnerable in his need for you in this moment. He can see all of you and you can see all of him; it’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced, a culmination of the trust the two of you had been building between your hearts and in his bed. Hearing him say those words in that voice has you breaking into a million needy pieces, ready for him to put you back together again.

Fuck, how could I say no to that?

Looking directly into his blown out eyes, you give him the permission he needs. “Fuck me.”

You want to sear the sound that he makes at your confirmation into your brain forever. He shifts back, lowering your leg off him to quickly work himself out of his pants. Propped up on your elbows now, you can see how his thick cock is weeping and dripping with need, the velvety skin of his shaft so red it’s almost purple. You curse under your breath, your mouth and your pussy filling with moisture at the sight of him. He pumps himself a few times, a snarl tearing from his chest when you moan from watching.

Grabbing both your ankles, he yanks you down the bed, pushing the hem of your dress over your stomach and hitching your legs over his hips. “Shit, you’ve soaked right through those pretty little panties,” he groans, curling his fingers around the satin material and ripping it clean off your body, the stretch and snap of the fabric making you hiss. A deep moan escapes him at the vision of your glistening womanhood now on full display, and Boba pushes your thighs up to get an even better view.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a supernova, melting into his star; your every thought runs into the next and sensations bleed into one another—you’re totally lost to the pleasure of the moment. Boba bends to lick up a taste of your arousal when the words come rushing out of your mouth. “Fuck me, don’t wait, just fuck me. Split me open on your cock, Daddy, please.” You want to feel the size of him, so much of him that it’s all you can comprehend.

He stiffens, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. “Princess,” he grits out, his restraint taking visible effort for the first time, “d-don’t say things like that, not when… you know I have to prep you.”

You don’t care—you want him in you now, forcing himself through your tight walls and making you feel every kriffing inch of his cock. Slotting your hands under your knees, you spread yourself even wider in an open invitation to take what’s rightfully his and only his. “Pleaseeeee, please, sir, it’s all yours, please fuck me, give me your co-”

Boba’s hand slaps across your pussy, tearing a sharp moan from your chest and making you gush. “Enough!” he barks, “You know the rules. Or do you need to be reminded across my knee?”

The lasting sting radiating out from your clit and his imperious tone has your mind scrambling to right itself; you’re so kriffing turned on you can barely think. Apparently you take too long, because Boba’s left hand shoots around your neck and squeezes the thoughts right out of your head. “With behavior like this, I think you do need to be reminded of Daddy’s rules, little brat.”

Your eyes widen, his absolute authority has you trembling in anticipation. You hang on his every word even as your brain struggles to form a complete thought.

Boba lightens the pressure around your throat to allow you to speak. “Tell me the rules, and keep those legs open. Number one,” he commands, smacking your pussy, making you yelp.

“Honesty!”

He gives you another slap across your clit. This time you moan, the stinging sensation quickly turning into pleasure. “Number two.”

“Respect!”

After the third strike, he leaves his hand sitting on top of your searing lips. “Number three.” You answer correctly and he rubs his fingers over your clit, sending sparks shooting up your spine. “Four, last rule.”

Boba fingers begin to rub faster over your slick, swollen clit and you drag your mind to the answer, gasping, “No coming… without… permission!”

A pleased look settles on his handsome face and he releases your throat to caress your cheek with his knuckles. “That’s my good girl, so smart, did so well for me,” he praises in a tone sweeter than golden honey, “Daddy rewards his princess when she’s good, even more now that she’s his little girl. How do you like that, sweetheart? Come on, talk to me.” His fingers slow to a halt between your open thighs and he eases your legs back down on the bed.

You feel at an immediate loss without his touch, like everything is suddenly too much.

Rule number two, make sure your needs are met. “Can you hold me while we talk? Need to feel you, please.”

Boba’s eyes widen, concern flickering over his features as he scans for any additional discomfort. “Of course, babygirl. Wanna get undressed, too?” he asks, his hands rubbing your thighs to give you a point of contact as you consider his question.

Your unease stops rising enough for you to crack a smile. “We’re really not going to that play, are we?”

Chuckling, he smiles down at you. “No, princess, we are absolutely not.”

That established, Boba helps undo all the work of getting you into your evening attire—spending extra time kissing down your legs to remove your heels, his fingers playing with the anklet that led to the evening’s fun—and gets out of his. Tucking you into his side, skin to glorious skin, he pulls the covers over the both of you and begins rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “That better now?”

“Mmm hmm, so much better,” you confirm, burying your face into his warm chest. The rising tension in your own abates and your heartbeat slows back to normal.

“You want to keep going, princess? We can call it a night if you want to.”

You start kissing up his neck in answer, yours hand roaming up the inside of his thigh. “Yes, Daddy, I want to keep going. I wanna keep going until you’re coming dry,” you tease, biting down on his shoulder.

He gives your ass a swat. “Behave.”

“Yes, sir,” you giggle, resting your head back down on him and reigning in your wandering hands.

Boba strokes his thumb over your hip bone and you can tell he’s trying to find the words to say whatever he’s thinking about. After a couple moments, he asks in a low voice, “So you… really want that from me?”

You trace over the tattoos swirling over his pectoral with your fingertip. “Want what?”

“Your anklet… do you really want to be my girl?”

“I am your girl.” You smile to yourself at his sudden sheepishness; you know what he’s trying to ask but you want to hear him say it in that luscious voice of his. Is it selfish? Maybe, but you think you’re entitled to a little fun at his expense every now and again, especially when you’re about to let him fuck you into oblivion.

Boba grumbles at your insistence on being difficult, exhaling a long breath. “I mean, you want me to be… Daddy?”

As cute as it is to see your big bad dominant boyfriend have any doubt about your wish when you’re literally wearing jewelry that says so, the coals of your desire are starting to glow hot and ready in your belly. And he makes it sound even better than it already is with that voice. “Yes, Boba. I want you to be my Daddy,” you smile up at him with a peck to his jaw. The professor is a deeply caring man under the thick armor of his exterior. He craves an outlet for the tenderness the universe never allowed him just as you long for the safety the world so rarely afforded you.

“Oh babygirl,” he groans, pulling you into lap so you’re straddling him. He cups the back of your head, slotting your lips against his in a passionate kiss. “I’m… you’re… what made you want this?” he gasps into your mouth, his lips never leaving yours.

His growing desperation and the hard length of his cock twitching against your thigh has your hips rocking over his. “Well… when I first saw the anklet… I thought it would be a funny way… to rile you up. So I bought it… with your money of course.”

He chuckles, peppering kisses down your jaw to your neck. “I would hope so, princess.”

You pull him farther into you with a hand on the back of his head. “But the more I thought about it… the more I liked the idea-fuck, just like that.” Boba has taken your pebbled nipples between his fingers and is rolling them just perfectly. “I read some stuff about those kinds of relationships online and it just seemed right. You take such good care of me and I trust you with every bone in my body. And you’re just so… you. Knew it was what I wanted ahh-” He had pinched your nipples, making you keel into him with your back arched.

He grabs two handfuls of your hips and presses you flush against him, his lips seeking yours once more. When you’re sufficiently breathless, Boba pulls back with a soft smile. “Thank you, princess,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “That kind of trust you have in me, it… it means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hug him close, breathing in his scent feeling the beat of his heart against your own. Who knew love could be like this? Powerful and sweet; intense, yet soft. Unplanned but perfectly balanced.

“Now what do you want for your reward, pretty girl?”

It had seemed like a wonderful idea to ask Boba to tie you up and use the new vibrator you’d bought before he fucked you into next week, but now that you’re strung out and openly sobbing after your third orgasm of the night, you’re not sure so sure. Every nerve in your body is raw and burning, and you’re consumed by even the slightest physical sensation, down to Boba’s breath on your damp skin.

“Aww, look at you taking it so well, sweetheart,” he coos proudly, slowly dragging the toy up and down your folds, “You look so good like this, you know that, my pretty girl? I wish I could see you like this all the time. You’re so beautiful.”

All his sugary words only add to the thick haze of overstimulation shrouding your mind; you can’t do anything but whimper and moan as you convulse at the incessant vibrations buzzing on your clit. Even though he’s lowered the power several notches, you’re so kriffing sensitive that you’re crying from the overwhelming sensation of your unabating pleasure.

“Little princesses should be taken care of, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he promises, “Gotta make sure you’re nice and sensitive so you can feel every single inch of Daddy’s cock when he’s fucking you.”

His words cause the frayed string of your remaining sanity to snap. You wail at the thought of having him inside and out, rocking through your sopping cunt. “Oh, fuck, oh ffffuuuuck! I’m gonna-I’m-” you choke, desperately trying to get the words to form on your tongue that feels too big for your mouth, “P-please can I come? Wanna-wanna be good but it’s too f-fucking much, please!”

“That’s my good girl, go ahead, go ahead and come for Daddy,” he permits, “I wanna hear you scream.” He pushes the vibrator more firmly against you so no matter how much you shake and squirm you can’t escape its boundless energy.

Too much, too much, feels so good, too much, FUCK! You explode with ragged pleasure, your nerves raked to shreds, the overbearing sensation ripping through your wound-up insides like some sort of demon of desire.

When Boba removes the toy from your clit it almost makes you scream again, the sudden loss of contact shocking your senses like you’d been dunked in ice-cold water. “Shh shh shh,” he soothes, the tender pride in his voice caressing over your harsh angles, “I’ve got you, that’s a good girl, there you go.” He continues to coo over you, rubbing your overwrought muscles loose from their tensed state. He doesn’t untie you though.

“You did so good for me, little one, I’m so proud of you,” he praises, ”coming four times for me. That’s a new record, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Parting your lower lips, he brushes his fingers through the unbelievable amount of wetness there. You shudder and whimper as you press your thighs together in an attempt to stop the agonizing friction of his fingers against your aching clit. Boba tsks, slapping his free hand down on the meat of your thigh, making you squeal and jump at the stinging strike. “Ah ah ah, you don’t decide when you’re done, princess, you don’t get that choice. Only I decide when you’ve had enough.”

“B-but it’s s-so m-much,” you sniffle, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks as you pull against the restraints that have your hands fastened to the headboard—the only thing tethering you to this universe.

He rubs his large, warm hands up and down your ribcage in slow strokes. “Aww, I know, pretty baby, but you want to be good for Daddy, don’t you?” Dipping down, Boba plants soft kisses up the valley of your breasts and neck and over your chin, finally landing on your quivering lips. You bob your head, a broken hum from your throat confirming your sentiment. “That’s my girl, my sweet little angel. Now open up those legs nice and wide for me, let me see that pretty pussy.”

With another sniffle, you crack your legs apart against your body’s instincts, feeling so exposed yet totally safe with him. You know down to the depths of your soul that he would only ever care for you. That in his bed, you’re perfect, adored, and safe, you’re the center of his universe. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you if you asked and no amount of pleasure he wouldn’t bring you.

Humming in enjoyment of what his work wrought, Boba shifts down the bed to layer wet kisses over the expanse of your slicked thighs and puffy folds. He stops to lick and suck your arousal up with his tongue while he mumbles about how delicious you taste just for him. The fog of your orgasms clears just enough for desire to start to spark again between your thighs at his wet tongue and salacious praise.

You want him inside you, no, need him inside you, painting your insides with his mark and sweating curses into your skin. You crave the way he’s stripped bare by your body and the pleasure it brings him, those precious few moments where he can shed the weight of his pain and be lost in you. “Daddy, please, want you inside me, want you to fuck me,” you whine, arching up with an offer of your body, “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

Boba groans at your request, his dark eyes fluttering shut as he bites down into your thigh. “You’re so good to me, cyare, so, so good to me…” He rests his forehead on your soft belly for a moment, looping his arms around you and holding you close for a handful of heartbeats. He then slides up your body to release you from your bindings. “Let Daddy hear you beg for his cock one more time, pretty baby. Let me hear it one more time and give you just what you want, just what you need.”

You do as you’re told, pleading and simpering while you watch how Boba begins to crack under his desire, his arousal glowing through his fissures like magma beneath a volcano. Maker, how you want to feel the tectonic power of him, the unforgiving slate of his hips and the obsidian points of his lust-blown eyes, to drown in his primordial pleasure. Digging your nails into his back you tell him so, panting your desires into his ear until he finally erupts.

Snarling, he tosses your legs over his shoulders and buries himself into you in one smooth, frictionless motion. He sets a harried pace that has your anklet swinging right next to his face with every thrust of his powerful hips. And true to his word, you can feel every single goddamn inch of him pounding into you; you swear you can see the brink of ecstasy’s insanity on the horizon, brought closer by every ridge and vein of his thick cock sliding in and out of you.

Boba’s fucking you straight through the mattress, pinning you underneath his massive bulk and forcing the air from your lungs with every stroke—it’s almost violent and you fucking love it. Seeing him lose control, burn through his restraint, has you clenching around his length as it pumps inside of you.

“Fuck, princess, baby, I’m not going to last long,” he growls, pressing his lips into you calf, “You’re so karking hot and wet and tight. I’ll never get tired of-shit-of fucking this perfect cunt.” His fierce pace of his snapping hips begins to falter and you know he’s close, your swollen walls sucking him into your velvet heat over and over as your own mind begins to dissolve.

You feel too hot for your own skin in the best possible way. Boba’s a wreck and it’s making you insane. “D-don’t,” you plead, ragged and fucked out, “j-just come in me, please.” The wet sound of skin slapping and his dick shucking into your soaked pussy is all you can hear.

“N-no, want you to… fuck, I want you to come too, you’re so perfect… so fucking good to me, I want you t-to come with me-”

“Daddy, please,” you whimper, what’s left of your mind knowing it would shatter the remainder of his restraint, “Oh, please, Daddy! Daddy please come inside me, I want you so bad. Want to ache and feel you dripping out me all fucking night!”

Boba makes a primal sound that has to be both a curse and prayer, his face contorting in the shape of pure pleasure as his muscles ripple and lock, his hot release pumping into your insides with a sweet heat. He bites into your ankle, just below where your jewelry hangs and his fingers carve bruises into your soft flesh.

You’re marked with him in every conceivable way—the thought of truly being his inside and out has another orgasm slamming into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs as you cry out in unexpected ecstasy. You can feel his spend spilling out around his cock as he continues fucking into you. It ratchets you even higher, making your pleasure feel like an epoch of its own, unending and rapturous as it burns you alive. “F-fuck, Boba, I can’t stop-I can’t stop coming!”

“D-don’t you dare stop, don’t you fucking dare… ner mesh’la cyare you feel so karking good I’m going to lose my fucking mind…” Boba’s rough rasp is utterly wrecked and only prolongs your pleasure; so long you’re afraid you won’t be able to make your mind fit back in your body it’s so full of him.

His hips don’t stop rutting into you as his head drops to your shoulder, moving on their own accord. You shiver and moan into one another as the pulsing waves of overstimulation wash though you. “C-can’t s-stop, babygirl, can’t stop. You feel s-so good,” he pants in a thin, strained voice, his hands running over every piece of you that they can.

In your blissed out existence, your only marker for the passage of time is the feeling of his length beginning to swell and harden inside you, the erotic sensation making your fluttering hole clench tight around him. He groans and starts rubbing your clit with shaking fingers and you contort with the overwhelming pleasure, pulling his hardened cock even deeper into your ruined cunt. Boba begins to push deeper and faster inside you, the very idea of him fucking you again making you throb around him. You know you’re too far gone to come again, but you want nothing more in the whole galaxy than to feel him fill you up when he’s already dripping out of your pussy.

Weakly moving your hips to match his thrusts, you mewl into his ear, intent on giving him all the pretty sounds you can to push him over the edge. You could break him like this, but all you want to do is heal him in whatever way you can, to give him everything he has given you. So when you get your next idea, you don't think twice about it: slinging your arm around his neck, you beg him to fuck you like he’s gonna be a real daddy, beg him to fuck his load so deep that it takes.

A groan rips out of his chest like his spirit is tearing free and he snaps his hips so far into you he might have ended up in your guts if he hadn’t knocked into your cervix first. The sharp pain doesn’t even matter, intense and harsh as it is, because Boba is fucking coming. Inside. You. Again. The wet sound of him pounding a second load of his seed into you to the point of overstimulation for both of you is sin itself, nearly drowning out the sound of his ragged curses, your broken moans, and both your haggard breathing.

When he finally collapses on top of you heaving and sweat-slicked, you’re smiling, your face soaked with the tears running down your cheeks and temples from the intensity of the night’s pleasure. Eventually, he pulls you on top of him, careful to slot your legs between his own instead of straddling his hips so you’re comfortable. He kisses the tears from your lashes and whispers how kriffing naughty and dirty you are for begging him to knock you up; you just giggle and praise the Maker for birth control.

After a quick shower that’s more or less the two of you wrapped in one another under the hot water, you’re curled into him under crisp sheets with him just as the sun finishes setting, painting the walls in carmine light. You’re both out before the moon even rises.

The next day you’re sore, incredibly sore, as in every-damn-step-you-take sore. You don’t mind, not really, not when the previous night’s pleasure and its reminder make you dizzy to think about. You do, however, milk it for all it’s worth, insisting that your handsome professor baby and coddle you to the point of ridiculousness. Your plans for a day out quickly turn into a day in, snuggled under blankets with him and take-out food.

Boba himself is utterly infatuated by you and the entire situation, the pride of fucking you so deep and good that you nest the next day—in addition to setting his own personal record in recovery time—mixed with the almost bashful remorse of causing you a lasting discomfort. You don’t think there’s been a second where he wasn’t massaging or rubbing out some muscle in your body the entire day. Maybe heaven really is a place on earth.

No one calls at 1:27 in the morning unless there’s a problem. Ragged anxiety scratches down your nerves, pricking your skin and pumping awful heat into your blood. Boba’s name stares up at you from your phone screen as it continues to ring, its light too harsh for your sleep-adjusted eyes. Forcing a path through your thorny dread, you yank your phone off its charger and drag your finger across the screen to answer the call. “B-boba? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You don’t mean for your voice to come out as distressed as it does. But no one calls at 1:27 unless there’s a problem.

The familiar deep voice of your professor on the other end attempts to assure you. “Easy, princess. Everything’s alright.” There’s a long pause that keeps your heart from settling back down from your throat to its place in your chest. “I’m sorry to wake you, I just… I needed to hear your voice.”

The uncharacteristic hesitancy and tightness in his tone makes your stomach churn; things are definitely not alright. Spiked adrenaline starts to flood your system, making sweat bead across your skin as you stumble out of the bed towards your closet to find real clothes. I have to be ready to help him, go to him. “Boba, baby, tell me what’s wrong,” you coax, yanking a hoodie on while you consciously attempt to keep him from clamming up, even as your own anxiety claws up your ribs.

There’s a couple breath’s worth of leaden silence that is far too heavy for the few seconds it lasts. “I-I shouldn’t have bothered you so late, princess, I’m sorry…” He sounds ragged, like he’s still trying to catch his breath after losing it.

“No, no, it’s okay.” You’re doing your best to keep your voice calm despite the fact every alarm bell in your head is screaming at full volume. “Just tell me what’s wrong, Boba, tell me, baby.” You’ve never called him that before—baby—but it feels right, feels soft and comforting in this moment. You might not know what’s wrong, but you do know he needs comfort.

A heavy sigh crackles through your phone speaker; you can almost imagine how Boba’s brows are furrowed together, his handsome face creased in a stormy expression as he searches his depths for the right words to say. You know you have to be patient, give him the time he needs, but you’re so anxious you’re pacing the distance between your bed and closet, chewing your lip.

When he finally speaks again it’s like it’s been ages since you last heard his voice, its sound like a balm on your mind. “The dreams are back, and I don’t always sleep well… you always make it better, I just needed to hear your voice, know that you’re safe.” The torment in his beautiful voice is like a vice around your heart; it makes you ache all the way down to the dust in your bones at the prospect of him suffering so greatly. You know he has his demons, the ghosts of his past that you sometimes catch flashes of like haints in the mirror of his eyes. He hadn’t yet acknowledged them and you haven’t pressed, aware that he needs a wide berth around his inner self.

But now? He’s reaching out a hand and you’re going to do everything in power to pull him from the rapids roiling inside him. “I’m safe, baby, I’m okay,” you soothe, chucking your phone between your face and shoulder so you can pull on a pair of leggings, “Tell me what you need.”

“I’m fine now, cyar’ika, really. I’m sorry for waking you up, just get some rest for me, babygirl.” Boba’s voice is beginning to steel over and you can tell he’s closing in around himself.

I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s wrong. You have to take a firmer approach.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you declare sternly, planting a hand on your hip even though he can’t see you, “No one calls at 1:30 in the morning if everything’s ‘fine.’ I’m coming over. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You’re wide awake and your body is itching for action: you can’t rest knowing the man you love is in so much pain he actually allowed it to be seen.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, “I don’t want you on the roads at this hour.”

You already have your purse in hand. “Then you better start talking, or I’ll be knocking on your door.” You shake your keys loudly so he can hear—sometimes you have to threaten the man for his own good.

He groans and falls silent and you can tell he’s reached his limit for words—you have to tread very carefully to keep him from shutting down completely. He needs action, touch, something physical to soothe his soul, immaterial words did very little for him. “Hey,” you try gently, your voice softening, “Why don’t you come over here. You always sleep better with me, yeah? And that way you can make sure I stay put.”

After a moment of consideration, Boba grunts out an affirmative. “I do sleep better with you…”

“Then get over here,” you urge, “the light’s on.”

“I’ve already disturbed you enough, little one, it’s-”

“Boba Fett, since when have I ever passed up the chance to have you in my bed?” you interrupt. The nerve of this man, I swear.

Your exasperated question garners you a weary chuckle from the professor. “I’ll give you that, princess.” He sighs and you can hear that he runs a hand over his face. “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”

Your heart clenches at the genuine concern in his voice. If only he would care for his own wellbeing as much as he does for mine. “It will be the exact opposite of trouble,” you promise, “I sleep better with you, too.” It’s the truth, his solid warmth next to permitted you a sleep you didn’t even know people could get.

Boba finally acquiesces at your assurances and says he’ll be over as soon as he packs some clothes. Satisfied, you flick on a lamp and wrap yourself in a blanket on your couch to wait for him. Now that relief is starting to cool off your shock, your eyelids begin to droop at the late hour. You’re determined to stay awake until he arrives, however; you open one of the games on your phone and half-play it until a message notification pings with Boba letting you know he’s pulled up. A minute later, there’s a knock on your door and you pick up your blanketed self to let him in.

You’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that fits snug across his broad chest. As good as he looks though, it’s all overshadowed by the slump in his proud shoulders, the darkness shadowed under his deep eyes, and the weariness creased in his face. He manages a tired smile when he sees you. “Hey, princess.”

Relief rolls through you when you see him whole and breathing on your doorstep. Wrapping your arms around his thick frame, you just hold him close for a moment. He sags just the slightest bit under your touch, leaning into you and inhaling in your scent. You would carry the weight of a mountain for him if it meant he could find some solace in your arms. “Let’s get you to bed, professor,” you whisper with a chaste kiss on his lips.

Whether it’s the dark hour of night or the promise of your body beside him, Boba is pliant, allowing you to pull him over the threshold and down the hall into your bedroom. You take his shirt for the next day and hang it up and stow his bag away for the morning. He’s practically carved from stone the way he stiffly stands, his only movement coming from his fists clenching and uncurling at his sides as he watches you with a fraught, lost expression.

Catching the tumult in his eyes, you reach out and snag his hand, pulling him down to the bed beside you. You can see the tension held in his shoulders and corded in his neck, the amount of vulnerability he’s allowing beginning to take its toll. You don’t overwhelm him with words, you just quietly pull the blankets over his body and him into your chest. For being built like a brick wall, Boba is surprisingly pliable underneath your hands as you guide his head under your chin. His arms wrap around you after a moment, tightly pressing him to you as if you are the only thing keeping his head above the water.

You find yourself humming some nonsense tune you remember from your childhood as you stroke over the back of his head and neck with gentle fingers. One by one, you feel his muscles start to relax where he’s pressed against the line of your body; his breathing slows and evens and his strong heartbeat thumps easier against your chest. You don’t know how long you stay like this, in the warm and peaceful dark, and it doesn’t matter. This is a turning point, a moment of revelation in your relationship with the Mandalorian professor, that happens in silence. Words are unnecessary when the understanding itself is so palpable.

You are not alone Boba Fett, you care for me and I care for you. Your strength is commendable, impossible even, but that is not what binds me to you. No, it is your heart, that thing you claim is just a scarred-over place between your ribs. I will hold it close to mine, protect it in my own chest as you clear the past out of the spot where yours belongs. There is no rush, no time too long for me, my love. You are mine and I am yours.

You aren’t sure if Boba is even still awake until you feel his lips move against your collarbone in a hushed tone. “I love you.”

It’s a whisper of a thing, wrapped in the safety of the night between the warmth of your bodies—he hadn’t said those words since that first night you were together. You never needed him to, although it’s music to your ears, when his actions spoke far louder than his words.

“I know,” you sigh, brushing your lips over his scarred skin, “I love you, too. All of you.”

His admission and your affirmation seem to unhook the last of the pain from his chest and he settles into your body, content to melt back into your shared slumber. Looking at him before you shut your eyes, you wonder if the sun ever gets to appreciate its own light and warmth, or if it’s doomed to the cold vacuum of space without ever knowing the life it gives.

It might have been all a dream were it not for the gentle hand caressing your cheek the next morning, waking you to the world of the living. Haloed by the sun beginning to peek through your windows is the man you held in arms through his storm, radiant and beautiful as ever as he rumbles out your name. “Time to wake up, cyar’ika.”

He truly is a sight he is to behold as the morning sun lights up his brown eyes like warm honey and skates across his bronze skin… Maker, you wouldn’t mind waking up like this everyday. “‘Morning,” you mumble back, smiling sleepily up at him as you rub the haze from your eyes. The aroma of fresh bread and savory cheese wafts golden and delightful under your nose. “What smells so good?”

“Breakfast, of course.” Boba flashes you a smile that might as well be liquid sunlight with the way it beams and he reaches down to retrieve a box loaded with pastries from the Cuban bakery down the street. Squealing with happy surprise, you nearly crush the box between your bodies and you lurch forward to throw your arms around his neck. “Careful, princess,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, “Got some coffee, too.”

You accept the travel up he presses into your hand and the strong smell of the island roast floods your senses. Savoring the first sip, you make a sound of delight at the rich flavor. “How’d you know how I like my coffee?” you tease.

He smirks at you. “You informed me quite early on exactly how you like your coffee.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “it’s just how I like my men.” When Boba cocks a brow, you grin with the joke on your lips. “Strong, sweet, and full of cream.”

Boba groans at your words, shaking his head with chagrin written across his face. “What am I going to do with you, my little princess?”

Checking the time on your phone, you pat the spot next to you. “Well, you can come back to bed and eat these with me. We have time.”

He obliges you, slipping back under the covers and letting you snuggle up against him as the pair of you tuck into the delicious pastries. After you both have had your fill of the savory danishes, Boba moves to get out of the bed to start getting ready for the work day ahead.

“Wait,” you call out to him. He stops, turning back to face you and tilting his head as he waits for you to speak. “I need you to promise me something.”

You know he needs things said plainly. You can’t assume he understands you’ll care for him just as he cares for you, that he’ll acknowledge his feelings and let you be the support he needs when everything comes crashing down.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “Name it, princess.”

You take his face gently between your palms, pulling him back close. Brushing your thumbs over his lips, you search his deep brown eyes. “I know last night was not a one-time occurance. You don’t have to tell me everything or even anything, really, but I do need you to reach out when you’re hurting. You don’t have to face your pain alone. Not anymore.”

His expression clouds over, his walls threatening to go up. “Sweetheart, it’s fi-”

“If you say ‘it’s fine’ I won’t let you near my pussy until after the school year ends.” Boba groans and clicks his jaw shut. “Imagine if I didn’t let you take care of me when I’m hurting or if I didn’t let you help me when I needed it.” Seeing his displeasure with the thought, you continue, “That’s what it’s like for me when you bottle everything up and pretend it’s all ‘fine.’ I need you to promise you’ll tell me when you need help. We don’t have to talk, you don’t have to explain yourself, just tell me what you need in the moment.”

For the first time in your life since you’ve known him, Boba Fett looks afraid. As painful and wrong as it feels, you’re immeasurably grateful that he’s allowing you in to help. “What if… I don’t know what that is,” he finally croaks, unable to meet your eyes.

It breaks your heart to see him like this, so lost in his own mind that he can’t see a way out. “Then just tell me that, my love, and we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone, Boba. Not now and not every again,” you murmur, brushing a kiss on his lips. You give your words time to sink down through the depths of him, past all his doubts and uncertainty to settle into his heart. “Can you promise me that?”

The rise and fall of his chest is his only movement as he mulls over your words—shifting one’s universe takes time. Eventually, Boba lays his hand over yours and turns his face to the side to press a kiss into your palm. “For you, ner kar’ta, I will try.”

“And that’s all I’ll ever ask of you,” you promise.

The morning eventually carries on, both of you going about your routines in pleasant harmony. Boba takes great joy in picking just what bra and panties you’ll wear for the day when you ask him to, and even greater joy in putting them on you. You yourself quite enjoy buttoning up his crisp blue shirt across his wide chest, especially when he lifts you on your dresser as he kisses the breath from your lungs. You don’t know if it’s the new layer of your relationship or the air of domesticity surrounding the morning, but you swear you’ve never been more in love with Boba than you are right now.

“We’re gonna be late, professor,” you gasp as he kisses down the column of your neck.

“Mmm, they won’t miss us…” he rumbles, grabbing the meat of your ass and pulling you to the edge of the dresser so you can wrap your legs around his torso, “My first class isn’t until ten o’clock.”

Biting down hard on your lip in an attempt to focus your restraint, you shoot back, “Yes, but my first meeting is at 9:30 and I need to answer emails first.”

Grumbling, Boba shakes his head. “Tsk tsk tsk, when did you get so responsible?”

“When you started calling me your good girl,” you answer with a cheeky grin, “Gotta live up to my name.”

“Oh now she wants to be good,” he chuffs, leaning back to look at you with a smile turning up his mouth.

You nip at his plush bottom lip, wiggling in his embrace. “I’m your babygirl, your sweet little angel, remember?”

He snorts. “When you want to be.” Running a hand down your leg, he pulls your knee over his hip so he can feel that your anklet is on. “Still Daddy’s girl?”

Linking your arms around his neck you pull him flush with your chest, you ghost your lips over his. He is yours and you are his, forever.

“Always.”

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

gedet’ye - please

(ner) kar'ta - (my) heart

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

#well folks it's been a wild ride and i enjoyed every minute of it with y'all!!#i am truly grateful for all the enthusiasm and support everyone has for this series 😭#please feel free to send me ex libris thots/thoughts 💕#zwei writes #fanfic #ex libris fic #boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fanfic #boba fett smut #boba fett fanfiction #professor!boba fett #professor boba fett #professor au #star wars fanfiction

117 notes · View notes

prof-president · 2 months ago

Text

i think it’s important for himejoshis to create yuri like fujoshi create yaoi, that being to be entirely delusional and somewhat ignore canonicity in favor of headcanon. and also a healthy dose of Projection.

the downside here is that i physically cannot write abt akimberly i cannot put my headcanons and ideas into words. but, to summarize: kimberly is absolutely not normal, she is just slightly more normal than jamie and luke. this girl was a pure math major and solves ciphers for fun.

i think you need an actual taste of what pure math is because she is not doing any computations or algebra. this girl does proofs and topology and theory of numbers—this is not some fun equation shit this is the reason why those equations do what they do. i cannot stress enough how batshit insane mathheads are, and i say this as someone who likes math because being good with numbers gives you that. math lovers occupy an entirely different dimension because math makes sense beyond numbers.

anyways, this is all to justify that kimberly is extremely silly and only typically isn’t because she doesn’t have as severe adhd and a homoerotic rival. yet.

aki is fucked up for reasons that are obvious, but i do want to address her relationship with fang. mainly, how she wouldn’t be able to be with anyone else bc she’s in love w fang, obsessively.

first of all…fang is 🏳️‍🌈👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨👨‍❤️‍👨💅💅✨💖, like it’s not even subtle. he’s just a gay villain henchman in every stereotypical sense. and from the official art, it seems aki’s attraction is wholly one sided, but it is still attraction.

of course, then we get into headcanon about this attraction because considering her backstory, it may just be a twisted sort of obsession and need for validation that’s interpreted through sexual and romantic attraction. what all this boils down to is i don’t think aki is “supposed to be with fang” and i don’t even think that a romantic interpretation is the only valid one. it could be that fang is just her drag mother and she really is just plainly obsessed for his approval and attention, but not looking for much else. think nanami from revolutionary girl utena and touga sort of dynamic.

also, outfit 3 is gay asf. ergo, kimberly is into weird shit and lesbian, aki is the weird shit and bi/lesbian, therefore akim

anyways, i wanted to elaborate on what i think about luke and jamie because i don’t really draw luke. it’s not that i dislike him, it’s more so i tend to draw things i don’t see very often, and there is a lot of luke content so i just draw him less by proxy.

but i do think sometimes there’s a bit of a jump in luke and jamie’s dynamic from enemies to friends/lovers—not much in between. i’m not terribly interested in drawing lukejamie myself, but i hope to provide some in between friendship headcanon art/comics at some point. for now, the headcanons!

luke and jamie are like guinea pigs jockeying for power. what this means is that if they are alone with no barrier between them, they will fight and scrap and try to kill each other for territory. but, as soon as something is put between them, they immediately forget any ill will and fixate on the new thing instead. as soon as that new thing leaves of becomes boring, they immediately start fighting again.

basically, they’re two bitches with severe adhd and just focus on whatever’s most exciting or pressing to them. and that includes working together, which i imagine they do seamlessly. like, they can get alone perfectly fine and normal as if they’re best friends and not even realize it as long as they have something else to focus on.

in this case, it’s “what the actual fuck are you doing kimmy” but that’s neither here nor there. they’re very similar in beliefs and mindset, so it’s rather easy to forget the more negative parts of their rivalry if they have a shared goal or person to annoy.

using my 5d chess brain (kimberly = next chun li, aki = next juri; kimberly x aki) i created the worst kind of yuri.

unfortunately, for most sapphics i know—and it does not matter how sane they appear on the surface—if they got into a relationship w an older dom woman who may or may not’ve tried to kill them at some point they would still follow her to the ends of the earth and then some. guy’s wisdom is infinite, if defeatist.

…and the full image!

#my notes #street fighter #sf6 #as a side note i quite dislike capcom’s choice of luke = next ryu and jamie = next ken because it just absolutely does not fit #and ryu and ken already have their ‘next generation’ counterparts in sakura and sean so overriding those two just feels like such a cop out #plus and this is my opinion luke and jamie are sooooo much more like guy and cody that i feel they’re supposed to be their counterparts #kimberly is guy’s protege but she is not guys spiritual successor #like guy and cody were both metro city born and raised growing up as violent street punks only to later become heroic #guy is actually more like luke since both ‘tame’ their more punkish side through formal training #while jamie and cody are both depressed assholes that like to get under peoples skin just for the fuck if it #anyways those are some more thoughts i think jamie and luke also annoy cody and shit on him for his past mistakes #mostly because it’s funny to me for some grownass 40 yro man to get clowned on by 20 something’s

110 notes · View notes

klutzyroses · 2 years ago

Text

Late Hours

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Napoleon x Fem!Reader

Tags: NSFW, female reader, penetration, office affair, dominant Napo, sub reader, implied fem!masturbation

Word Count: 3335

Summary: Y/N never expected to be the type to start a relationship with her boss. But how can she help it when her sexy manager keeps pulling her in with his charm? It really can't be helped sometimes...

Tagging @kissmetwicekissmedeadly , for putting this in my head...💖

“This. Isn’t. Fair!”

Is the predominant thought on Y/N’s mind as she remains staring down her computer, but not focusing on the content it holds. The young lady had a relatively decent little life. She had an enviable job, a cute little apartment, financial independence, a relatively happy life. So…why was she glaring at her computer, begging for it to engulf and transport her into a digital world of numbers and equations? Honestly, because it would be better than the predicament she was facing in the real world.

No, it wasn’t about documents or deadlines. If only. It was much, much worse than that. This was a 5”8, dark haired problem, one that couldn’t be ignored. Her fingers tap away at her keyboard, her eyes fixated on the screen for dear life, anything to avoid acknowledging the presence of her undoing. But his smooth, captivating voice made her pause unwillingly, giving up on whatever she was supposed to be doing and surreptitiously glance at the source of the musical voice and her current despair. And there he was, standing so confident, yet so laid back that the staff he is addressing is relaxed as well. And that was common of him, that’s why everyone on this floor enjoyed working here.

When Y/N had first arrived for her interview for this job, she had been told that she would be working in a particular department, managed by a “Napoleon Bonaparte”. She had expected a scary, mean grump in his forties…she was soon met with a surprise, when she met him. His good looks and his approachable disposition were both relieving and off putting. He couldn’t be much older than she was, he was like a model from a magazine, and that alone made her feel like she was at the start of an adult romance novel. The ones surrounding an employee starting a whirlwind affair with her attractive boss. How cliché, she had thought at the time, telling herself she was not that type of girl, she knew boundaries, she was more responsible, she had more sense than that.

...Apparently she did not. Considering the situation she found herself in a month into her employment, she was that type of girl. Napoleon Bonaparte was not a bad boss, oh no. He was charming and genuine and put everyone at ease, every member of the staff had nothing but admiration and praise for him. Women loved him and men couldn’t even hate him because he was just such an effortless charmer. Who didn’t like him? Well, right now, she didn’t. And not because of him, but because of the many soaked, ruined panties she has had to get rid of during the nights he invaded her dreams. His viridian eyes glowing in the dark, his strong physique pressing her against the bed, his deep smooth voice lulling and cooing in her ear before going down on her until she cries…

“Isn't he dreamy?” The quiet gushing of her coworker provides her with a fairly superficial distraction from her thoughts. Superficial, because there was no doubt she was speaking of their handsome manager. Feigning disinterest, she gave a half hearted response.

“Yes…I guess so. Though I wouldn’t say he’s dreamy.” Her surprised colleague gave her a curious look.

“Oh? Then what would you say he is?”

Genuine, a friend, a natural leader. Sexy, enticing, forbidden, alluring, seductive. A man. That’s what she would say he was. “Dreamy” didn’t do him justice. Kind, gentlemanly, charismatic, hot, successful, friendly, essentially every woman’s fantasy…but men like him weren't supposed to actually exist. They’re supposed to be fictional, figments of the female imagination. Yet he exists and he is everything a woman could want and more. And he certainly knew how to treat a woman. But she would never divulge why she knew that firsthand. Her silence is met with the giggles of her colleague.

“You’re probably the only one here able to resist that man you know.” While Y/N answered with a playful smile, she knew it was a lie. The “slip up” that took place but two nights ago had very much shown she could not resist him.

She hadn’t understood what she was thinking then. At all. Perhaps it was the solitude of the elevator, the ambiance of the lighting, or the close proximity to his body allowing his intoxicating scent to wash over her. Like an aphrodisiac, he rendered her helpless to stop herself from pressing herself to him, from wrapping her arms around his neck, with a whisper of his name on her soft lips before they were pressed against his. His mouth fit perfectly against hers, molding them closer together as the man’s hands found home within her hips, grasping them firmly. She simply leaned more into him, her fingers threading through midnight hair as white bangs brushed her eyelids, her lips being parted by his tongue to catch her own in a sensual dance. She finds herself completely lost to reason and sense, to the potential consequences, merely enjoying this stolen, forbidden moment with her-

The sudden sound of the elevator opening had been like ice water drenched on her. Her employer. She had just kissed her employer. She had hurriedly apologized and left in a panic before Mr Bonaparte could even respond. And she hasn’t spoken to, or even gone to his office since. That had been two nights ago, and she had reports she had been due to give him yesterday, yet she could not, for the life of her, bring herself to face him. Why? To get sacked? That would honestly be the best case scenario, she’d be lucky if she only got fired. She knew she could not keep this up forever. She has only avoided him this long because he has been so busy. But eventually he would catch up with her. After all, she works for the man!

“You know, Mr Bonaparte keeps looking over at you.” Her heart pauses and picks up again at double time, because the truth was, she could feel it. Her body could feel those jade orbs pinned onto her, no matter how much she tries to avoid it, she could feel his eyes on her. She could sense the heat in his eyes, she could sense her core starting to boil and simmer. He would probably punish her for the late documents she was supposed to give him…or for being a bad girl. Was this the time to be aroused? Of course not, but here she was, starting to get wet just from having her boss look in her direction. It just wasn’t fair.

“L/N.” The silky voice behind her made her back straighten as her lips purse from surprise, and the suppressed squeal she had almost released just then. She meets her colleague’s eyes, who looks flustered all of a sudden and seems to try and appear invisible in the moment. With all the composure she could muster, she turns in her seat and looks into the face of her employer. He seemed normal enough, he didn’t seem to be particularly aggravated or combative. Not that he ever did, he never seemed to show anger in the time she worked under him.

“Yes, Mr Bonaparte, what can I do for you?” She swears there is a flash in his eyes and she almost reconsiders her choice of words. But he speaks again before the beauty can recant her question.

“Meet me in my office after your shift. I need to talk to you.” That’s all he says, leaving no room for argument as he takes his leave. When Y/N’s colleague looks at her, she is met with excessive tears streaming down her pretty face onto the desk in waterfalls as her big sad eyes stare forward in despair, low sobs and whimpers almost inaudible to her.

“Y/N…? Are you oka-?”

“I’m g-going to get fired!”

💋~~

When she came into the dimly lit office, the floor was largely empty as other employees left to enjoy their nights, while she was mentally preparing to find a new job.

“You’re avoiding me.” Was the first thing he said and the last thing she expected him to say. Surely, he knew why she was avoiding him…or was it arrogant to simply assume that, given she had come onto him. She knows what's coming. This was about the kiss. The kiss that had set her alight, that had her melting from the inside, unable to take it but still craving for more. A kiss that she did not regret, regardless of the situation she was in. She knows she would have done it again, though she shouldn’t be thinking about that now. She needs to save her skin right now.

“I haven’t, Mr Bonaparte, you’re incredibly busy and I also had a lot of work so…”

“You don’t really think I’d believe that, nunuche?” She is not really fluent in French, but that sounded like name calling. She supposed she deserved that… though it doesn't feel as demeaning as it probably should've felt. It almost felt intimate, like a pet name. But she shouldn’t be thinking such fanciful thoughts when she was in the middle of getting fired. All she could now is own up and hope for some kind of leniency.

“Mr Bonaparte I…I don’t know what to say I just…I’m sorry.” Just the slightest hint of a crack gave her hidden anxiety away. The quiet footsteps of her employer stopped in front of her as she averted her gaze. She is overtaken by that scent once again once again bringing that heat in her stomach.

“You should be. I’ve been trying to get you alone and to myself since that night.” Confused by the…interesting wording of that statement, the lady looks up to ask him, only to find him mere inches from her face, causing her to instinctively step back…into the wall. No sooner did she realize she was against the wall did she then notice that she was caged in by strong arms planted on either side of her, leaving her unable, and secretly unwilling, to escape. The lights of the city shining through the glass encase him in a cool light, a light he seems to be shielding her from. His eyes seem almost darkened, as though the jade had not been polished, its color muted but its light ever so vibrant with undeniable, unadulterated desire. She can only gaze back at him, as though paralyzed by the intensity of his eyes, her legs frozen, yet liable to buckle at any given moment.

“You ran away before I could get to have you, you know. I can’t say I liked that.” His light smirk almost made her heart and insides catch fire, fire as intense as the one that seems to have come alive in him. And it was a most contagious fire indeed as she felt it spread through her, which was probably what compelled her to find her voice in that moment.

“I only ran away because I knew I would beg you to take me right in that elevator, to pin against the nearest surface and pound me into oblivion…” She trails off, her voice weakening, with both need and doubt. What was she saying? That’s not what she meant to say…But it was the truth, so she couldn’t stop now, she supposed. She could only sink with her ship at this point.

“Can’t you see…how much my body craves you? How much it aches and feens for you? Just seeing you everyday gets me soaked every night…you can see that now, don’t you?”

Why was she telling him all this? She doesn’t have that answer to that but it was out now, there was no taking it back. She could only pray that her next line of employment will not have an irresistible boss too-Was he…chuckling? Was he laughing at her now? Her face morphs into a pout of embarrassment and indignation.

“Don’t laugh!”

“S…sorry, I c…can’t stop right now you’re just…you really are…” He lowers his head as his shoulders shook, keeping her captive still against the wall until his chuckles die down. When he raises his head again, those jade eyes seem to be almost glowing with a hungry light, directed straight at her. His lips are curved in a lustful smirk, spelling without words the many things he could do to her with that mouth.

“Come here.” Her hand is suddenly taken into his larger one as he lifts it to his lips. He presses a kiss to each knuckle, maintaining unabashed eye contact with her as their fingers intertwine, like the locked fingers of smitten lovers. It brings a soft warmth into her heart, making it raise, yet her entire being feels soothed, calmed. It felt less like lustful infatuation and more like something deeper…more meaningful.

“You know…I never got those filled out reports from you, Y/N…You’re falling behind.” Why was he mentioning that now? Where was this coming from? She doesn’t have enough time to ponder that before she is pulled away from the wall and guided to his desk, where a moderately modest pile of paperwork rested. She barely manages to place her hands away from the papers as he bends her over his desk, pulling her hips back to an embarrassingly provocative position in front of him.

“M…Mr Bonaparte!”

“Shh, listen to me, Y/N. You have work to do…And I expect you to finish it.” His voice sounds heavy and heated in her ear, making that burning sensation boil almost unbearably, the feeling of his chest against her back is enough to make her lose her senses, her clothing suddenly feeling less and less necessary.

“...What do you want me to do sir?” When did her voice become so sultry? So wanton and compliant? She wasn’t sure but it seems to have an effect on Napoleon. His low growl resounds into her being as he guides her hand to take the pen by her presumed “workload” as he keeps her in her position, her luscious behind straining against the inside of her skirt, the tempting outlines clear for his eyes to enjoy.

“You’re going to take this pen. And you're going to approve and sign off on these documents in front of you. And you’re going to do it now.” His hips brush against her backside, making her gasp when she feels the…evidence of his arousal on her.

“Is that clear…ma nunuche?” The whispered question is accompanied by her skirt being unzipped and slowly pulled down. Her answer was an obvious one as she swallowed.

“Yes sir…”

💋~~

“A…ahhh haaa!”

She could barely catch her breath as she forcibly keeps her hand as straight as she can on the important document. Reading through it was challenging enough, thinking of the coherent, necessary sentences needed was another thing. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t understand the words in front of her, as she would any other day. It was just that it was a little difficult to focus on figures and contracts when her gorgeous, charming boss was pounding into her from behind while she did it.

“H…haaa…Mr…Bonaparte…sir..!” Her whines were enough to make him chuckle as he nipped at her ear. She pauses to arch closer to him when a particularly hard thrust sends her reeling.

“I didn’t tell you to stop nunuche. I made myself very clear.” A hard squeeze of her plush backside has her shaking her head clear and resume her work. Or at least attempt to resume it.

“Y…yes sir, I’m sorry sir…mmmm~” Her terribly disheveled state was of no consequence to her. Her previously neat hair was now loose and fallen into her flushed face, her blouse opened, the air brushing her exposed breasts and tickling her hardened nipples. To say she was a mess, would be an understatement, but he isn’t doing much better. While he was more dressed than she, his opened, ruffled shirt barely stayed on his broad shoulders whilst his pants hung loosely on his hips, just enough to allow him to rock into her, his hands gripping her hips. Both were blushed a fierce red, panting as the sounds of their passion filled the room, or rather, the entire floor, with her increasingly loud moans echoing through the walls. Who knew who could still be there, but that was not a concern for either of them. Not a big enough concern for them to stop their tryst at any rate.

“I…I…please…too good, nyaa~” Her pleas of ecstasy only urge him further as the pen falls out of her hand completely, unable to go any further with her task as his masterful hand plays with a sensitive nipple.

“Can’t even finish one little document, mon coeur?” He clicks his tongue playfully as his hand moves from her nipple, down her bare stomach and lower still.

“Guess I just have to go even harder on you.” The sudden incessant rubbing on her clit induces a cry of both pleasure and torment. The deliciously rough torture is far more than the woman could take. She didn't think she could take anymore, but clearly, Napoleon felt differently. His free hand reached even lower than his other, caressing the soft skin of her inner thigh, before he, without warning, grasps under her knee and lifts her leg off the ground, leading her to balance herself entirely on the desk as he delves even deeper inside her burning heat. She shrieks, feeling something inside her get hit full force, making her see stars.

“Mr Bonaparrrrte!!” He smirks and repeats his merciless movements, feeling her writhe and scream as he watches her, his viridian eyes half lidded and the most satisfied of smirks on his handsome visage.

“There you go, ma petite…Give into me…” His cooing in her ear made her almost dizzy as she felt the dam about to break.

“I…I…mmm….Kyaaaa!” She couldn’t even get the words out but she didn’t need to. He could feel the way she tightened around him, how her body quaked and trembled. He slowly reaches round and grasps her chin, turning her towards him to meet his eyes. Glowing jade meets sparkling orbs before he captures her lips into a fierce, heart melting kiss. He caresses her cheek, his tenderness against her lips at odds with the rough thrusts of his lower body against hers. It's a passionate, wholehearted kiss, one that fills both with a sentiment just a tad deeper than that of an employer and his employee. Just a tad.

When she at last comes apart, he is not far behind, supporting her with his arm around waist as she bears the weight of both their climaxes, her cries lost into his kiss. And through it all, he never lets her go. He only breaks the kiss when he has ridden them both out, thoroughly out of breath as he slumps down into his desk chair, taking the flustered and heavily spent beauty with him as he shifts her more comfortably on him. She tries to calm her racing heart, as her bangs stuck to her forehead slightly, her body flushed and fatigued but she was all smiles as she listened to the rhythmic heartbeat of Napoleon’s heart. Her damp bangs are moved to press a peck to her forehead as she glances up to him.

“Are you okay, nunuche?”

“Mm. Yes, I’m just fine. Perfect…actually.” He moves her to press his forehead to hers as they lock eyes. He is inscrutable for a brief moment before a slightly boyish smile, with a gleam of lustful mischief lights in his eyes.

“Good, because from now on, I’m going to need you to put in a bit more overtime from now on." He pulls her closer to his chest as her soft cheeks heat up, as the meaning of his words dawn on her.

"You understand, don’t you, ma petite?”

🌸

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp napoleon #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikemen napoleon #ikevamp smut

96 notes · View notes