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daimyosprincess · 1 year

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EX LIBRIS I

PART I: FOREWORD

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

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

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

—WORD COUNT: 6.4k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, references to sexual themes, age gap (reader is mid-twenties, Boba is late forties), reader described as having hair, alcohol consumption by reader and others, GRATUITOUS flirting (like a ridiculous amount)

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

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Part II>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really, it's no problem, I don't-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep, these panties don’t stand a chance.

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

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

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

“Avoiding the question, are we?”

“Sure you don’t want any dessert?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part II>

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burninglights · 8 months

Text

seeing some of you getting snotty about people not having first aid kits & first aid training without advising people on what they should have/what they should know is doing my nut in. without further ado:

First Aid Kits (what should be in yours)

If you’re going to uni/moving out of home, you really ought to have a first aid kit. Small first aid kits are fairly inexpensive and come with basic first aid supplies.

Included in my first aid kit is:

1 card of paracetamol tablets

1 card of ibuprofen tablets

A length of gauze bandage

1 tube of topical antiseptic (I use Savlon or Germolene)

1 tube arnica/bruise cream

30x plasters, assorted sizes

5x long strip plasters

10x antiseptic wipes

3x individually sealed small sterile gauze pads (7cm x 7.5cm)

4 sterile small adhesive dressings (7cm x 5.3cm)

it’s a good idea to also have an emergency card in your first aid kit, with the contact details for your next of kin and any health conditions written on it. They usually come as part of first aid kits anyway, and have a little clear plastic pocket to keep them in.

Also, remember to replenish whatever you use from your kit, and to keep an eye on expiration dates of medications/ointments.

Medication management

If you’re on medication long term (antipsychotics, antidepressants, statins, anticonvulsants, immunosuppressants, insulin etc.) you should have a two week overlap period; where possible, you should order a refill of your medication two weeks before your current supply runs out, so that if there are supply issues, you’re not going to be left hanging.

I’m aware this might not be possible for Americans owing to insurance and reassessment (I’m UK based, and just have to refill by filling out a form available in my GP’s office) and for those on controlled medications (opiates, methadone treatment for addiction, ADHD meds etc).

If you have medication that only requires use in emergent circumstances (ie. an EpiPen or an asthma inhaler), keep track of the expiration dates, and order a refill of your medication ahead of time. Better to have an extra inhaler knocking about for a couple of weeks than to really need one and not have it.

First Aid for Dummies & How to Get First Aid Training

Aif you’re ‘fresh out the womb’ new to first aid, or live somewhere where medical care is inaccessible, I highly recommend Where There Is No Doctor by David Werner and Carol Thuman, which gives step by step guides from scratches, scrapes and rashes up to emergent wound care. It’s not an exaggeration to say that that book kept me and my siblings alive for the first few years of our existencewhen we lived on the edge of the Kalahari 120 miles from the nearest hospital.

few bits and pieces of first aid I’ve picked up, both from training and being the world’s clumsiest son of a bitch:

Z-wrapping for wrists and ankles, especially if you’re prone to sprains. I don’t know how to explain this in a coherent way, so I’ve linked a video of how to do it.

For deep cuts or wounds that bleed a lot, you need to apply pressure and elevate the injury above the heart. It takes a nearly comically small amount of blood loss to become life threatening (blood loss equivalent to half a coke can is considered life threatening in adults) - if the blood is bright red, spurting/gushing, and the blood loss is uncontrolled, or if you have a clotting condition like haemophilia, you need to get to an urgent care centre yesterday. Call 999/911, maintain hard pressure over the wound, and keep the person calm and talking.

If someone has been stabbed an the knife is still in situ, for the love of God do not pull out the knife, or let them pull out the knife. It’s impossible to know what’s been hit without imaging, the knife acts as a seal in the wound; haemorrhage or massive internal injury are not situations you want to be dealing with outside of an acute trauma care setting. Call 999/911 immediately, and keep the injured person calm.

Learn how to recognise the signs of overdose. I went to a Midlands uni that had a reputation as a party uni, and hearing through the grapevine about ODs on nights out wasn’t uncommon. Narcan/Naloxone is a controlled substance in the UK so can’t be bought OTC, but I know it’s available to buy OTC in some parts of America and Canada. If you can, please consider carrying naloxone. If you witness an OD, call 999/911 immediately, and try to keep the person alert. If you have it, administer Narcan.

Don’t fuck with sepsis or meningitis. These diseases move fast, and can turn you into a past participle in as little as 12 hours. Get your MenACWY vaccine, know the symptoms, and call 999/911 immediately if you have the symptoms, especially if there’s been an outbreak in your area or you’ve had close contact with someone who is infected.

If you get bitten by a wild animal, (fox, bat, dog, raccoon…whatever) flushing the wound with water and then getting to A&E needs to become your number one priority. Tetanus, rabies and capnocytophaga infection are no joke: you need boosters/antibodies and antibiotics as a matter of urgency.

Finally, don’t be a hero. You are not John Wick. If someone is injured in an actively dangerous location or situation, the only thing you ought to do is call 999.

You really and truly don’t need to be able to pull a Hawkeye Pierce; the whole point of first aid is that it’s the first line of aid, and gets you to A&E or Minor Injuries so that you can receive professional medical attention.

That said, having a first aid training is incredibly valuable, both because you never know when some fuck shit is about to happen, and because by law most workplaces are supposed to have at least one first aider on staff, so it gives your CV an edge.

In the UK, the St. John Ambulance Trust offers workplace first aid certification, annual refreshers, sports first aid training, AED use & CPR certification and mental health first aid training.

You can also get personal first aid training for adults, children and babies with the British Red Cross for the cost of £37.50, as well as certified workplace first aid certification from £165.

The British Heart Foundation offer CPR training for free via their RevivR program; it takes 15 minutes, and can be used for workplace certification.

#em.txt #first aid #life skills #the fact some of you man were shouting at people for not having *tournequets* at home is a madness.#I’m begging you to pattern up and teach people the basics before you get on ur high horse and bust out the fucking Whiskey #68Whiskey ‘first aid in a war zone’ shit #remember most people don’t get taught this in schools. have some compassion abeg.#usual disclaimer of ‘lab based medicine training; not squishy actively bleeding people medical training’ applies #adventures in biomed #em’s unfortunate childhood comes in clutch yet again lmfao #medicine #street medicine #survival #resources

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