#in this house we respect the two sws: sex work and star wars

[zinzinina]

sam omg congrats !!!! i’m so proud of you!!!

could i get “Are you going to cum without me even touching you?” (i don’t remember the number oop) with thrawn or jango?

Hi Cait! Thank you so much, my friend! And thank you for all of your support and kindness, it really means the world to me! I’m sorry it took me a while to get to your request; I’m verrry slowly working my way through a huge backlog of them. I really, really hope you end up liking what I put together for your prompt, it’s a little bit different but it just felt appropriate for Jango x

Pairing: Jango Fett x f!Reader Word Count: 1.1k Rating: Explict 18+ Warnings: Depictions of sex work (live solo sexual performance), vaginal fingering, male masturbation, voyeurism, dirty talk, I think that’s it!

“Fuck, girl.”

His lips barely move over his bared teeth as he hisses the words. He palms himself roughly over the fabric of his pants, gaze fixed to you with an almost dangerous-looking intensity. And he is dangerous. This much is obvious. Not just because of the silver armour piled beside the padded bench, dim red light catching the telltale curves of a blaster. 

No, the danger is in the deep rasp of his voice. The easy way he sits, knees spread wide. The dark shadow at his softly rounded jaw; giving him a vaguely boyish impression despite the line carved between his brows.

You reach behind your back with one hand, slowly shifting your weight to your other hip as you ease the bralette over your arms. His lip curls up into a snarl, another low curse barely audible as his gaze rakes your bare breasts, your exposed nipples standing stiff.

Pinching the garment between your fingertips, you drop it lightly on the floor between you. You can’t resist lowering your voice, your tone honey-sweet. “None of the other girls wanted to take you, you know.” His dark eyes follow your hand as you drag it up the inside of your own thigh. You let your spread fingertips brush the edge of the flimsy fabric barely covering your pussy, not bothering to conceal your own shiver. You thought you’d been desensitised to any nerves. But this man... he’s making your head rush with silly, half-formed fantasies. He’s watching you like he could eat you alive.

“That right?”

“Mm. Too scary. That’s why you got stuck with me. I was the only brave one.”

He doesn’t smile at this. Bounty hunters rarely have a good sense of humour. And you’d be willing to bet your entire night’s takings that this man hunts. There’s no other reasonable explanation for the helmet he’d refused to remove until safely ensconced in the private room. Not with a face as gorgeous as that. You step backward, until your thighs hit the edge of the small round table that doubles as a stage, and you perch on the edge. Swinging a pointed toe, you arch your back, bracing your hands behind you and pushing your chest out.

“Sounds like it’s my lucky day.” He’s unselfconscious as he leans back, unfastening his pants and easing his cock out. The club permits this; and as he hasn’t bothered to ask first, you’re guessing this means he’s been here before. Professionalism abandons you for a moment as you take in the thickness of him, the slightly curved length leading down to a base of thick black hair. He strokes himself lazily, severe expression inscrutable. You tilt your head to the side, letting your teeth sink into your lower lip.

“You want me to dance for you?” You bend a knee, dragging your foot up to rest close to your body. Like this, you know he can see the way the narrow strip of fabric bunches between your thighs, dipping inward at the cleft of your lips. “Or... you can watch something else.”

“Show me,” he grits. 

You slip your fingertips into your mouth, watching his face as you let your cheeks hollow around them. Gods, the way his intentness makes you feel. This terrifying man; fucking himself into his fist faster and looser in response to every tiny movement you make. It’s as though he’s never seen anything like you before in his life.

With one hand, you draw your panties to the side and hold still for a moment, waiting as he leans forward, inhaling sharply. His features are twisted with concentration, one elbow propped on his knee, the other arm still jerking himself roughly. You drag your saliva-coated fingers between your folds, spreading your lips slightly for him. 

“Mesh’la,” he groans, the foreign sibilance meaningless to you. “Look at that perfect little cunt. I bet you taste sweet.”

You offer him a hesitant smile. He’s making your face feel warm. Something about that voice, it’s so rough; broad and drawling with an Outer Rim accent you can’t quite place. You dip your index finger inside yourself, your visible arousal clinging in a clear thread as you flatten your palm, finding your clit.

“Does your wife know you come to places like this?” The question isn’t entirely playful. You wait for his response with just a little too much interest, the pad of your fingers circling your sensitive hood.

He responds without pausing between grunted breaths. “Don’t have a wife. S’just me and my kid.” 

This guy has a kid? Fuck, that’s unexpected. You can still see the dried bloodstains in the welded seams of his armour, clearly awaiting a deep clean. Now you’re even more intrigued, your pulse thrilling under his gaze. He groans as you press two fingers into the tightness of your opening, spreading the digits slightly and stretching yourself just enough to make your thighs tense. He leans back again, the slap of his dry palm against his skin loud. 

“You ever make yourself cum in this room? Soaking those pretty fingers? You get yourself off letting a stranger watch you?” There’s no derision in his words. He sounds only impressed, admiring.

“Just the handsome ones,” you admit breathily. It sounds like a cheap line, one he could easily accuse you of falsity for, but you mean it. You’re not longer just trying to perform for him; your need becoming insistent as your fingers fall into the fast, practised rhythm that you usually reserve for when you’re alone in bed.

“Gods, you’re fucking beautiful.” He leans back again, allowing himself a greater range of movement to jerk from the elbow. He seems to prefer this; watching the natural, needy way you’re touching yourself. His cock is flushed dark and swollen, leaking desperately from the head, and he grips himself still for a moment, running the side of his thumb over the slitted tip. You find yourself gasping your next words, wanting to stop him before he’s finished.

“Are you going to cum without me even touching you?” 

He pauses, chest rising and falling as he frowns at you. “Didn’t think touching was allowed.”

It’s true. He can’t touch you. If he so much as tried, you only need to hit the comm panel hidden at the side of the stage to have the hulking Besalisk bouncer break the door down. This definitely isn’t the encouraged use of these rooms, and certainly not with a customer... but fuck it. You really, really want him, and you might never see him again.

He looks just as intense as ever, but there’s cautious, thoughtful surprise softening the lines in his forehead as you reach out and lay your hand over his. 

“Like you said. It’s your lucky day.” 

#jango fett x f!reader #cw: sw reader #this is absolutely inspired by That scene in closer #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #zinzinina follower celebration prompts #jango fett smut #in this house we respect the two sws: sex work and star wars