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proxima-writes · 1 year

Text

somebody to hold

pairing: könig x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 4,884

summary:

König discovers cuddle therapy.

You discover König.

author’s note: i don’t play COD, i just have a mask kink. all translations are from google, so feel free to send me corrections if they are needed! translations available at the end of the fic

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), potentially bad German translations, mentions of König’s social anxiety, descriptions of scars, touch starved könig, oral sex (m receiving), size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mild breeding kink, choking, fingering, ab riding. Let me know if any are missing!

“Hey, your next appointment is here,” the voice of the practice secretary, Amy, says from the doorway of your office.

You look up from your computer, brow furrowed as you click around your calendar. “I didn’t think I had a late appointment?”

“Last minute add. And just…prepare yourself,” she says, eyes comically wide before she disappears.

You shut your laptop and head for the waiting room, curious about what’s got Amy acting so funny.

You stop short in the doorway. Perhaps it’s the veritable mountain of a man sitting in the tiny plastic waiting room chair fully kitted in military combat gear, including a sniper hood that only reveals two pale blue eyes that scan the room. His hands rest on his large thighs, fingers curling against the fabric of his tac pants.

You’re not unfamiliar with military clients. Your office is near a base, after all. You’ve had a few wander in before. But you’ve never had one quite like him.

“Uh, hi? Hi,” you say, clearing your throat. His eyes shoot to you and you swallow nervously. You give him your name, followed with, “I’m going to be your cuddler this evening. Do you want to follow me back to the session room?”

The man gives a single nod before unfolding from his seat. He absolutely towers over you, his build just as broad as it is tall, and he has to tilt his head down to look at you. He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to lead the way.

You lead him to the back session room, a space curated for comfort. It’s painted a deep blue and lit only with dimmable lamp lighting and string lights that can be turned on or off, depending on the client’s preference. There’s a large couch pressed to one wall, a sectional that has a hidden portion that pulls out to fill in the middle, essentially turning it into a bed. It’s perfect for both seated snugglers and the prone cuddlers.

There’s a snack and water station set up on a wood console table near the door, and beside it are cubbies for storing belongings. A large basket of soft blankets sits near the couch, along with an array of pillows.

You look back at the man that has followed you through the door. Those blue eyes take in every detail of the room before they land back on you. You toe off your sneakers, leaving you in your frog patterned socks. You wiggle your toes.

“Did Amy explain the rules to you and brief you on the terms and conditions?” Another silent nod. “Okay, well, everything we do is completely up to you, within those parameters. We can talk or touch as much or as little as you’d like for the length of your appointment. I can make some suggestions for positions, if you’d like?”

His hands fidget at his sides, fingers flexing and curling into fists like he’s not sure what to do with them. He stares down at the shoes that you’ve left by the door.

“You don’t have to take anything off, if you don’t want to,” you reassure him. “Why don’t you take a seat on the couch?”

The man takes two broad steps before taking a seat, as instructed. You feel a weird sort of giddiness that a man clearly as powerful as him listened to your orders.

He sits with his back straight as a bar of steel, eyes trained on you for the next step in the process, hands placed on his thighs once more. You take a tentative step closer.

“I’m going to sit right here, okay?” You narrate as you sit down near him, a cushion of distance between your bodies. “Is this alright?”

He nods.

“Would you like me to be closer? Or farther?”

“Closer,” a deep accented voice says. It makes your breath catch, the quiet gentleness of it and the way it sounds rough from disuse. “Please.”

You scooch closer, the distance between your bodies shrinking but not yet removed. “Okay?”

“Ja. Yes,” he says. A pause. “Could you…closer?”

“Of course. Is it okay if our bodies touch?”

He nods. You close the gap between your bodies, your thigh pressed along his and your arms brushing with each breath. He’s tense, shoulders tight and fists clenched as he breathes rhythmically through his nose and out his mouth. You let him take a moment to adjust.

“What’s your name?” You ask quietly.

“König.”

________

You are very warm. König can feel the heat of you even through his gear.

He feels a bit ridiculous, sitting here on a couch beside a stranger who he has paid to cuddle him. And he can’t even reach that point yet. Even just having you sit beside him has him trying to calm his breathing.

In…2…3…4….Out.

“Would you like to talk about anything?” You ask. He glances down at you. Scheiße, you’re pretty. That fact certainly isn’t helping him keep calm.

He shakes his head, not trusting his voice to reply. You give him a small smile.

“Well, do you mind if I talk?”

No, he doesn’t mind at all. He’d listen to your voice for hours if he could, the way it's so soft to his ear compared to the shouts and commands he’s used to hearing day in and out. He shakes his head.

Your small smile grows, a bright grin across your face that makes your nose crinkle adorably. König finds his shoulders relaxing the slightest bit.

You tell him about your day and how you were looking forward to the weekend because there is a show that you wish to catch up on. You talk about your cat, a little orange tabby that you adopted three years ago named Toast and how he likes to perch inside the window and watch the birds outside of your apartment. You also mention that Toast has an entire wardrobe of sweaters for the winter that he hates, but you love putting him in them anyways.

Slowly, the tension leaves König’s body. He relaxes against the back of the couch and adjusts his legs, stretching them out in front of him. His hands, which once fidgeted in his lap, are now folded on his chest as he tilts his head back and listens to your stories.

“König?” You place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Our time is up.”

He blinks. Oh. He must have fallen asleep. He looks over to find you smirking at him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bore you to sleep,” you say, voice self-deprecating.

“It was not boring, liebling,” he replies quietly.

______

The following week, you notice a calendar event labeled [CLASSIFIED]. You ask Amy about it.

“It’s the big guy from last week. He made a standing appointment,” she tells you. “But he’s all big, scary military so he didn’t give me a name to put down.”

You smile to yourself. You know his name.

It feels like a fun secret between the two of you.

You’re thrilled that he wants to come back. You hadn’t stopped thinking about his voice and those bright blue eyes all weekend.

When it's time for his appointment, you smile brightly at him in the waiting room. He follows you back to the session room, just as silent as the last time he visited.

You remove your shoes, just as before. He sits on the couch without being prompted.

“Would you like me to sit beside you? Like last time?” You ask. He nods.

You sit down, close enough that your limbs brush, just as you had the week prior. He seems a bit more at ease this time.

“How is Toast?” He asks. You beam at him, thrilled that he remembered you told him about your cat. You tell him about your weekend spent on the couch with your furry friend.

“Can I--,” he begins to ask, pausing uncertainly. He lifts his arm slightly.

You wiggle against him, settling against his side as his arm drops across your shoulders.

“Danke,” the man says. “Thank you.”

“Of course, König.”

______

It goes like that for four weeks. Konig sits on the couch and allows you to settle in beside him, your sides pressed together on the couch. You talk to him about anything and everything that comes to mind, and he listens intently.

He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, you cling to his words. Especially when he slips into speaking in German.

And if you have to press your thighs together for relief during those moments? Well, you hope the man doesn’t notice.

On the fifth week of his appointments, König surprises you.

When you remove your shoes, König begins to unclasp the buckles holding his tac vest to his chest. You grin at him in encouragement as he sets it to the side.

“I feel…naked,” he comments with a small huff of laughter.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the cheeky reply that ran through your head. He is a client, after all.

He sits beside you on the couch, just as all the other sessions started, but he fidgets with the strap of his leg holster. “Could—,” he starts, pausing for breath. “Could we….lie down?”

“Of course,” you murmur. “Do you have a preference for position?”

“You can…lay your head on my chest?” He says. You give him an encouraging nod, standing up so that he can rearrange his large body so that he’s laying on his back. You reach for the pull tabs of the middle section, sliding it into place. He looks at you in surprise. “That was neat.”

You giggle. “Yeah, this couch is the best,” you comment as you crawl onto the cushion and settle your body along his, your head pillowed on his hard chest.

“This is…nice,” he says.

“Yeah, big guy. It is.”

______

Two weeks into sessions where you lay beside König, he begins talking.

In a quiet, albeit deep, voice he tells you about how he struggles with social anxiety. Being as big as he is was never useful for him until joining the military. He was mercilessly bullied in school as a young boy. He wanted to be a sniper, but his size was a burden to the position. Not to mention, he can’t sit still. He fidgets constantly, and his mind tends to wander if his body is not in motion.

His heart beats quickly beneath your ear as he tells you all the things about himself that he’d been keeping close to his chest for the last two months. He doesn’t stick to just the serious things. He tells you that his favorite color is blue. He has a massive sweet tooth and would kill a man for some traditional Sacher torte.

The laugh that accompanies that particular bit of information might just be your favorite sound in the world.

You don’t mention when your time with him has come to an end. You let him keep talking, afraid to break the spell and return König to his more stoic state.

König ends up noticing that the time has gone past his scheduled appointment. His blue eyes go wide and he sits up abruptly, knocking you off his chest as he begins to apologize profusely in a mix of German and English.

You place a hand on his chest. “It’s okay, König. Really. I just…I like spending time with you,” you admit quietly.

He rests a large gloved hand over yours.

“I enjoy our time as well, mein herz.”

______

König doesn’t show for his next scheduled appointment.

Or the one after that.

By the fourth missed appointment, you start to lose hope that you’d ever see him again.

You just hope he’s okay.

______

A sharp knocking noise breaks through your heavy sleep. You roll from the bed, landing gracelessly to the ground and startling Toast, the tabby darting beneath the bed for cover. Another knock sounds through the apartment as you stumble towards the door.

You stand on the tips of your toes to peer through the peephole with bleary eyes. Fumbling with the locks, you pull the door open as quickly as you can.

“König?” You ask breathlessly.

______

The adrenaline from the mission still courses in König’s veins as he tries to wait patiently for you to answer the door to your apartment, but he’s about one minute from either kicking down the door or picking the locks.

He imagines you would likely not appreciate either effort.

But finally, finally, he can hear your soft steps on the other side of the door before the locks disengage and the door is pulled open.

“König?” You ask. You’re wearing a large t-shirt that hits the middle of your thighs, more skin on display for his greedy eyes than he’s ever gotten the chance to see before.

“Liebling,” Konig replies. He steps forward, tentatively crossing the threshold to your home. When you don’t stop him, he takes another step. You look up at him with wide eyes.

“Where…what—,” you stutter, moving aside so that he can fully enter the apartment. He shuts the door behind him.

“Please, liebling, I–,” he starts, words catching in his throat as he looks down at you, the emotions bubbling up his throat. “I need you.”

______

König keeps his eyes trained on you as he unbuckles his helmet, lifting it from his head and dropping it to the floor. Next are the protective braces on his arms and legs, followed by the heavy tac vest and thigh holster.

He lifts the sniper hood, revealing the black balaclava beneath. His chest heaves with harsh breaths as his wide eyes scan your face.

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing tightly, your head pressed to his chest as you close your eyes and inhale the scent of him.

“Missed you, König,” you murmur. His arms wrap around your shoulders, holding you impossibly tight to his body.

Suddenly you’re lifted from the ground and you squeak with surprise, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms circling the back of his neck, holding onto him like a koala. The position puts you face to face with the man. His eyes search yours.

“Is this okay?” He asks. All you can do is nod. “Where is your bedroom?”

“Down the hall, last door on the right,” you instruct. König abandons his gear by the door, taking broad steps down the hall in the direction you gave. He gives the door a gentle kick, opening it wide enough to enter.

Toast darts out from beneath the bed, sliding past König’s legs and out to the living area.

He sets you gently on the bed, standing between your spread legs. His eyes remain fixed on yours as he kneels, deft fingers tugging at the laces of his boots.

You could get used to a view like this.

König stands to his full height once he’s removed his boots. A broad, scarred hand cups your cheek tenderly, calloused thumb moving across your cheekbone.

“Mein Liebling," he murmurs. His hand leaves your face and works the fly of his pants open, tugging the rough fabric down over his thighs.

You try very hard not to look but when he curls his fingers into the hem of his combat shirt, you can’t help the greedy way your eyes rove the miles of pale skin.

You take in the muscular thighs that give way to a defined Adonis belt, the cut so severe beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs that you long to trace your tongue along the valley. His abs flex, guiding your exploration up towards his thick chest.

There’s a litany of scars across his body, from smaller bullet wounds to deep slashes covered in thick scar tissue. You reach a hand out, lightly trailing your fingers across one that spans from his collarbone to the middle of his chest.

His hand curls over yours, holding it still against his warm skin. You can feel the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm.

König’s free hand grasps the top of the balaclava and pulls, finally revealing the face of the man that’s occupied your every free thought over the almost two months you’ve known him.

Shaggy dark blonde hair falls across his forehead, slightly damp with sweat. Thick straight brows over the ice blue eyes framed with long blonde lashes you’ve become so familiar with. A slightly crooked nose and high cheekbones that lead into a strong, stubbled jaw.

There are scars on his face, too. A long silver scar slashes through this eyebrow and across his nose. Another cuts across the high point of his cheek.

He is so beautiful.

You watch as his cheeks turn pink and you belatedly realize you’d said that out loud. You shift to your knees on the mattress, reaching for his hand and pulling him toward you. He plants a knee on the soft surface and you guide him up until you’ve reached the pillows.

Stiffly, he lays beside you, head turned to watch you with those familiar blue eyes. You lay your head on his chest, sighing at the heat of his skin beneath your cheek. You wrap your arm around his waist and throw a leg over his hips, squeezing him tightly.

König doesn’t speak. He has an arm around your body, fingers pressing into the grooves of your ribs to hold you close. You breathe in tandem and his tense muscles begin to relax in your hold.

You shift your leg slightly, eyes going wide as you feel his cock against your knee. Feeling brave, you shift again, dragging your knee along the side of him.

His breathing stutters and you can feel his abs tense beneath you. You slide your hand across his chest, skimming your fingertips across the tight muscles.

“What are you doing, Kleine?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest to look at him.

“I want…can I—,” you stutter, losing your words at the dark look in the man’s eyes.

“I would let you do anything you wanted to me,” König says. “All you have to do is ask.”

You swallow nervously. “Can I touch you?”

“You are touching me,” he replies, a little smirk tilting his lips.

You ghost your hand across his straining length in retaliation. The smirk drops so fast you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips.

“What happened to all that cockiness, hm?”

“Do not tease.” His hips flex beneath your palm, grinding his cock against your hand. “I have very little patience for it.”

You sit up on your knees beside him, moving one of his thick thighs to the side with a press of your hand so that you can crawl between his legs. He looks down at you with half lidded eyes, an arm thrown behind his head to prop him up to see better. You curl your fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Is this okay?” You ask. He nods.

Permission granted, you slowly work the elastic down until his cock bobs free, slapping obscenely against his abs. Your mouth waters at the sight of the thick, uncut length of him.

“Jesus Christ, König,” you mutter. “Where do you think this thing is going to fit?”

“Ideally? Down your throat and then your cunt,” he replies easily. When you look up at him with wide eyes, he grins so brightly you feel like you’re looking into the sun.

And you’d gladly go blind for it.

You lean forward, giving into the urge to dip your tongue against the divot of his hip, running it along the cut of his abs reverently. His hips jolt at the contact, a whine spilling from his plush pink lips.

“Scheiß,” the man growls. “Bitte, baby, please,” he begs.

You let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing the prominent vein there to the flared head. You swirl your tongue along the tip, gathering the bead of precum and swallowing it greedily.

König’s chest rises and falls rapidly with his heavy breathing, his large hands fisting your blankets so tightly you briefly worry his bones may crack. He watches you intensely, almost like he’s worried you may disappear if he so much as blinks.

“Relax, König,” you coo, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. “Let me take care of you.”

______

König has to think about the steps for disassembling a rifle to prevent himself from coming down your throat too quickly. The tight wet heat of your mouth feels so heavenly that for a moment, he worries that he may have actually taken a bullet to the chest on this last mission and he is actually in heaven.

But then you swirl your tongue around the sensitive head of his cock when you draw up his length and he realizes there would be no sin as glorious as this in heaven.

You eyes catch his as you slide him to the back of your throat, your lips straining around him as you try valiantly to take more of him than your limit allows. You gag around him, throating tightening exquisitely before you withdraw for a gasp of air.

You return to your task with admirable determination, eyebrows pinched together in concentration as you work to relax your throat and draw him in deeper.

“Just a little more, liebling, you can do it,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek, feeling the bulge of him in your mouth as his thumb traces the stretch of your lips around his cock. “Nimm das alles für mich.”

Your lips meet your small hand that is still wrapped around the base of him and you breathe deeply through your nose as you hold yourself there for a moment, throat fluttering around him. He groans, fighting the urge to flex his hips and drive himself even deeper.

“That’s it,” he whispers. Your eyelashes glisten with little tears, tiny pearls of wetness that speak to your efforts to please him. “That’s my baby.”

You moan around him as you pull back, his cock dropping from your mouth with an obscene pop. Your breathing is labored as you scramble up his body. König’s hands steady you with a grip around your waist as you reach for his face, tugging him into a messy kiss.

It’s a desperate clashing of lips and teeth and tongues that has König groaning, little whimpers slipping past your lips as he explores your mouth. Your teeth nip into his lower lip before trailing down his jaw and neck.

“Let me see you, Schatz,” he asks, a hand sliding up the back of your thigh to grip your ass and grind your body against his.

You flip beside him hastily, tearing your panties down your thighs and pulling your shirt over your head. Gloriously naked, you straddle his waist.

You’ve positioned yourself just out of reach of where he wants to feel you the most. His hands circle your waist, sliding up until his thumbs caress the underside of your breasts.

“So schön, meine liebe,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across one tight nipple. Your hips flex and roll across his stomach and he can feel the slick wetness drenching his abs.

“König,” you moan, blunt little nails curling into the hard muscle of his pecs. Your head drops back, the long line of your throat calling to his hand.

He gives into the impulse, wrapping his fingers around your delicate neck, not constricting but merely holding. Your eyes go wide, hands gripping his wrist as you lean into the hold, your hips still grinding against him.

“You are making quite the mess,” König comments with a grin. You shudder in his hold. “Do not worry, liebling, I have never been afraid to get dirty.”

You moan, the sound vibrating deliciously against the hand he still holds around your neck. Your hips still over him as your release courses through you, your eyes fluttering shut.

König releases your throat and you sag against him. He runs a hand down your sweat slick back, over the curve of your ass until he can slip a single finger into your still fluttering hole. You gasp against his neck and he smiles.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, working his hand against you. You make little whimpering noises, lips working against his neck as you rock back against him. He eases a second finger into your dripping pussy, which earns him the sting of your teeth against his skin. “Scheiß!”

_______

You push yourself up on shaky arms, staring down into König’s dark eyes. His fingers slip from your pussy and you whine quietly at the loss.

“Wanna fuck you, König, please?” You murmur.

“I would love nothing more,” he says. He takes his cock in hand. “Take it, liebling.”

You lift your hips to position yourself over him, the fat tip of him notched at your entrance as you start your slow descent. The stretch of him is almost too much to bear, and it must show in your face because he drags a soothing hand across your thigh.

“That’s it,” he coos.

You slide another inch further with a whimper. “You’re so fucking big,” you tell him breathlessly. He chuckles, his cock pulsing inside of you and making you moan.

“Just think about how good it will feel when it is all inside of you, mein süße,” he says. “Filling every inch of you.”

You moan, your body accepting another inch. Your thighs shake with your efforts.

König’s hands grip your hips tightly, sure to leave fingertip shaped bruises that you’ll discover in the morning. On a deep breath, you lower yourself until you’re fully seated and stretched to your limit.

“Good fucking girl,” he growls. You meet his eyes, the blue nothing more than a thin ring around his blown pupils. His chest heaves as he breathes that same controlled rhythm you’ve watched him use before.

In…two…three…four…out.

You shift your hips experimentally, gasping at the overwhelming feeling of fullness. He wasn’t kidding about filling every last inch of you.

Pressing your hands to his chest, you lift your hips just barely off of him before dropping yourself back down. He moans, your name a curse and a prayer on his lips as you continue to build up a rhythm for yourself until you’re lifting almost fully off of him and slamming back down.

“Scheiß! Fuck!” König shouts as your pace picks up. “Mein perfekter kleiner Schatz.”

You lean forward to meet his lips, more of a sharing of breath than a kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you still as he thrusts up into you.

“König!” You cry, the slide and stretch and dull ache of him too much and yet not enough. His powerful thrusts are so deep at this angle that your eyes well with tears. Each drag of his cock from your pussy hits a spot that makes you see stars. “I’m gonna cum, please, König, please make me cum.”

“Anything for you,” he promises through gritted teeth, his hips picking up speed as he uses a hand on your ass to help slam you down on his cock. He turns his head, his nose brushing against yours tenderly in direct contrast to the way his hips pound against you. “Cum for me, engel. Let me see you.”

With a cry, you do just as he commands, your whole body going taught before sparking like a live wire, your release rolling over you so strongly it's more like a tsunami than a wave. He moans against your lips, hips pounding in an erratic speed as he works you through your orgasm and into his own.

“Fill me up, König,” you slur. “Wanna feel you. Bet you’ll get it so deep with your huge fucking cock.”

He comes with a deep groan, pressing up so deep as he spills inside of you that you gasp at the sensation, the warm heat of him filling you to the brim.

You collapse against him, the sweat on your bodies cooling in the chill of your apartment. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I missed you,” you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I will always come back,” he whispers, smoothing the sweat damp hair from your forehead. “So long as you are here for me.”

You tug the blanket from the foot of the bed over your bodies, snuggling into his side. You enjoy the quiet together, his fingers drifting up and down your back. The rapid patter of paws on the wood floor announces the approach of your cat.

The orange tabby hops on the bed, walking on light feet until he reaches the pillow König rests his head on. He curls up along the top of the man’s head, purring contentedly.

“Hello, Toast,” he says. His eyes flick to you. “This is a good sign, yes?”

“I’d say it was an excellent sign,” you reply, kissing the man’s cheek. He smiles.

“Good. Because I think I will be here a while.”

Translations:

Scheiße - fuck

Danke - thank you

mein herz - my heart

Mein Liebling - my darling

Kleine - little one

Bitte - please

Nimm das alles für mich - take it all for me

Schatz - treasure

So schön, meine liebe - so beautiful, my love

mein süße- my sweet

Mein perfekter kleiner Schatz - my perfect little darling

engel - angel

#konig x y/n #konig fic #konig smut #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig x female reader #könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig x you #könig smut #könig x y/n #könig fanfiction #könig modern warfare #könig cod

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forlorn-crows · 3 months

Text

And You Know That It Takes Two

Rating: E for Explicit

Relationship(s): Copia/Dewdrop

Tags: transitional period between era iv and era v, banter, slice of life, first time, first kiss, handjobs. beta'd AND correctly translated italian!

Words: 3731

Summary: “Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

special thanks to @miasmaghoul for beta'ing and @foxybouquet for the italian translations ♡

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

EDIT: now with ART from the fabulous @noahl-art. merci beaucoup, nono!! find his full artwork here

“D’you think Lucifer would want us to have black mass every Saturday?” Dew pokes the wooden arm of Copia’s chair with the toe of his boot. “Shouldn’t we be exercising our sinful wiles instead of listening to you drone on about the Dark One?”

Caro: dear

Stai bene?: (Are) you okay?

Ti piace?: Do you like this?/Does this feel good?

Merdaccia infernale: (roughly) infernal fucking shit. Closest to "unholy shit".

Proprio così: That’s it.

Copia tugs on a scrap of paper trapped beneath the ghoul’s thigh. “You do plenty of that on your off time, my ghoul,” he teases. He looks over his reading glasses, offering a smirk. Dew can hear the unspoken eh? at the end of his sentence, so much so he can’t help rolling his eyes and smirking back.

“How would you know, old man?” Dew fires back, flicking the hem of Copia’s trousers with his tail. He leans in closer. Elbows resting on his slightly spread knees until his face is level with the anti-pope’s. “Listening in on your free time?” The fire ghoul smiles wickedly, giving him an obvious once over. He cocks his head and bites his tongue between his teeth, waiting for an answer.

Copia’s face rosies a bit, but he returns to his chicken scratch. He jots down a few words before he mutters: “I am sure you do not fantasize your Papa spying on you, caro.”

“Maybe I don’t.” A lie. “Anyway, I think Rain’s loud enough to hear across the fuckin’ abbey. Probably have a soundtrack of water ghoul moans to lull you to sleep every other night,” Dew snickers.

Copia just shakes his head with an amused sigh and continues taking notes. Little chunks of writing in the margins of photocopies of Latin texts, scrawling in both Italian and English in a little notebook off to the side. Dew’s struck with just how patient this man is, endlessly so. He can get crabby on tour, just like any of them, restless and tired, but he really is kind to him and his pack.

The fire ghoul hums thoughtfully and returns to his upright position. Leaning back into the circles of bare desk he cleared earlier for his hands. “Do you get tired of putting up with us, Papa?” he asks casually.

“Dewdrop,” Copia says with a measured tone. He puts his pen down, and his glasses too, looking up at his lead guitarist and steepling his fingers. They’re devoid of gloves, Dew notices in passing, his nails neatly trimmed and his skin smooth and humanly wrinkly. “We have been working together for how many years now?”

Dew shrugs. “A few.”

“Si, quite a few, hm?” Copia agrees. He swivels his chair so his body faces Dew more directly and places a gentle hand on his knee. “Why then, my ghoul, would you think I am ‘putting up with you,’ as you put it?”

“Don’t tell me you actually like us,” Dew says sarcastically. But Copia’s hand is warm on his knee, and he’s trying not to focus too much on how he’s looking at him right now, all soft eyes and a worried crease in his brow.

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

He’s quiet for so long that Copia clears his throat and gives his knee a polite pat before taking his hand away. He makes to go back to his notes, but Dew mourns the loss of his hand immediately. His pen barely touches the pages before the fire ghoul sobers up and inhales sharply.

“Uh,” he blurts out stupidly, shaking his head and squinting his eyes at Copia. Unsure what to say but determined to say something. “You mean that?” Immediately he wants to crawl back into himself—back into the Pit, even—for sounding so small. Vulnerable.

“Yes, I do,” Copia says quietly, genuinely. He taps his pen against the paper, little dots of black littering the line beneath his skip this? note. Instead of resuming his annotations, he sets the pen down once more, looking up at the ghoul perched atop his desk. His white eye is suddenly piercing in the lamplight, and he’s looking at him like he can see more than just the ghoul sitting in front of him.

“Well, I guess we’re . . . fond of you too, or whatever you wanna call it,” he mocks, aiming for levity. Dew’s tail flicks, ruffling the hem of Copia’s pants again.

Copia chuckles. “Well, that is good then,” he smiles.

Dew hums. Offers a one-sided smile in return. Easy. He could leave it at that; resume the relaxed banter about sermons and his new duties as Papa while Copia gets increasingly tired and/or annoyed and shoos him away with a chocolate truffle in hand (the ones he keeps stashed in his desk drawer for evenings like this).

He could. But in the same moment, he decides he’s tired of tip-toeing around the idea of what this man is to him. He wades out into the waters, throwing a line.

“Is that . . . the only thing you feel for us?” he says at length, quieter. He scoots his thigh closer to the anti-pope’s hand. Encouraging him to touch again, if he wants. The sudden heat in his belly hoping he does. He wades a little deeper. “For me?”

Now it’s Copia’s turn to falter, fingers twitching at the fabric of Dew’s trousers. He looks down at Dew’s thigh, then back up to his face. Searching his copper eyes for something, anything, his thoughts as loud as if Dew were a quintessence ghoul.

“I . . .” he trails off, a failed start. He clears his throat. “I am, as they say, only human. So there are, perhaps, other . . . things. Si.”

Dew grabs his hand gently, placing it just above where it was moments ago, confidence building. “Fantasies, maybe?”

“Dewdrop—”

“For how bold you are on stage, you sure are fuckin’ shy in private, Papa.”

Copia huffs a laugh, moving his hand tentatively along Dew’s thigh. “Eh . . . reserved, maybe. But I don’t know about shy, my ghoul.” He shuffles his chair so he’s situated back between the fire ghoul’s dangling legs.

Dew smirks. “See? Can call me motherfucker in front of thousands of screaming girls, but it’s my ghoul in here.”

“Ah, but that is the difference. They do not get the privilege of seeing you offstage.” A beat. “Though, I imagine they would do a lot of things for that privilege,” he mutters.

Dew bites his tongue in asserting that he is, in fact, a motherfucker offstage too. Instead, he tilts his head so his ashy hair cascades over his shoulder and spreads his legs further, hooking a foot in the arm of Copia’s chair and tugging it closer. He’s baring all of himself now, literally and figuratively. Potentially risking his position, too, if this goes south.

But by the look on the anti-pope’s face, they’re both too deep to swim back now.

“And what’re you gonna do with that privilege, Papa?”

“You’re asking?” he deflects, putting the other hand on the opposite thigh.

“If you don’t touch me in the next five seconds, old man, I swear to Satan—”

“Like this?” Copia smooths his hand up the inside of Dew’s thigh, running along the seam of his pants until he reaches where the ghoul’s started to chub up. His breath hitches, head tilting back.

“Yeah,” he breathes. He looks back down at his hand, tucking chin to chest as he watches those fingers press just so, right where the tip of his dick sits already sticky in his boxers. He bites his lip with a stifled noise.

“Long time we’ve danced around each other, I think,” Copia says. Dew just nods, flexing his hips into his fingers to get more friction. Copia presses more firmly, taking the hint. Drawing a firm line down the ridge of his clothed shaft.

“Humans and ghouls, well . . .” he trails off, looking up at Dew.

“You’ve thought about it,” he replies simply.

“Of course. Of course I have, caro. I–” he laughs, shakes his head in disbelief. “I mean, look at you.” He stops himself, color rising to his cheeks. He drops his gaze, focusing back on the hand on Dew’s fly.

The fire ghoul watches him trace a finger around the button before reaching down himself, popping it open. “What about me?” he asks softly, inviting. Shifting his hips again to encourage him to continue.

“Not just fishing for compliments, I hope,” Copia teases lightly, a little bit of that stage persona shining through as he drags the zipper down.

“That’s not what—hh-oh.” He cuts himself off with a stuttered breath of a moan, Copia’s hand having reached past his fly and into his pants to pet at the dot of wetness sticking his boxers to his tip. The look of pure curiosity—wonder, really—on the man’s face as he feels him up has his stomach flipping. “Fuck, keep doing that.”

“You tell me what you like, my ghoul, and I will do it,” he whispers.

Dew groans as another bead of precum blurts out into his boxers, wet at just his words. “Keep teasing it,” he breathes. “Shit, see how wet you can get it.” He twitches under Copia’s fingers as he wraps his hand around his clothed cock, thumb swiping back and forth over the head. Firm, but just light enough that it makes Dew keen for more.

Copia continues the little motions, over and over until Dew’s underwear clings to him, saturated with pre. The friction of it and the intensity of Copia’s gaze on him has him dizzy, wanting. The man’s thumb presses over his slit, and he can’t help his eyes rolling back, thighs twitching towards each other.

“F-fuck,” he stutters.

Copia rubs his other hand over Dew’s thigh, soothing. “Stai bene? Good?”

The fire ghoul nods, hair falling off his shoulders to frame his face. “More than,” he groans. He bites his lip, bucking into Copia’s hand. “Again—do it agai—yes, Satanas, yes.”

The anti-pope presses into his slit again, this time dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridge with even pressure. Humming as he works it back and forth. It’s so sensitive, so instantly overwhelming that Dew has to consciously restrain himself from gouging his claws into the wood. He lets his head drop back, facing the ceiling and biting his lip to stave off the rush of arousal that threatens to make him spill in his pants.

Below him, Copia sighs. “Beautiful, caro,” he comments.

Dew half-snorts, half-groans, bringing his chin back down to his chest. “You flatter me,” he says with an eye roll.

“They say it gets one everywhere, no?”

“If by ‘everywhere’ you mean ‘in my pants’.”

“If that is where you want me.”

Dew sucks his teeth, scoffs a little in disbelief. Eyebrows twitching upwards when Copia fingers the elastic of his boxers, blunt nails scratching at the peach fuzz on his stomach. He can’t get a grasp on the anti-pope’s tone, switching so fast between charming and soft it makes his head spin. He’s seen both moods separately, of course, fired back his own quips with a silver tongue or begrudgingly accepted praise and a head pat for a productive rehearsal. But having a cocktail of both leaves him with mental whiplash.

The hand making his dick wet probably isn’t helping in that department.

So he nods instead, helping the man shimmy down the waistband of his boxers to snuggle it under his balls, freeing his aching length. Dew hisses at the cool air of the room breezing over the slick-coated head—though, it’s replaced with a puff of hot air when Copia breathes:

“May I?”

Dew nods again, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows as a silent duh. Copia chuckles at that, scooting a little closer. He smooths his other hand up the fire ghoul’s thigh, up, up, up until he stops at his hip and rests his palm there, forearm dropping to sit on top of his leg. Dew’s stuck watching its ascent and misses the moment the anti-pope reaches for him, wrapping his fingers gently around the base of his cock and stroking upwards.

“Lucifer,” he chokes out. He snaps his gaze to where their skin meets and watches his dick kick hard in Copia’s fist, more precum welling up in the slit.

“Ti piace?” Copia continues to stroke slowly, not immediately translating as earlier. His accent curls around Dew’s eardrums, the Italian twisting with foreignness and short-circuiting his language synapses. He shakes his head, begging the small box of Italian in his brain labeled ‘Papa’s Nonsense Words’ to make sense of the phrase.

He blinks at Copia’s expectant gaze. “Huh?” he asks eloquently, forcing the word through an embarrassing moan.

“Does this feel good?” he supplies, nodding toward his hand.

The fire ghoul stares at the man’s hand, now wet with his own slick as it glides up and down. When his brain finally catches up to him, he barks a bewildered laugh. “I’m gonna have to learn more fuckin’ Italian for this,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Copia laughs too, realizing his little slip-up. Dew’s shoulders shake with his own renewed laughter. Giggles passing between the two as if they were twelve-year-olds who just pulled off a prank on their teacher, not a fifty-something leader of a Satanic church jerking off a near immortal hellbeast turned quasi-human.

But the shared laughter is familiar. Comforting, in a way. Something to dissolve that final layer of caution that sat like oil on water between them.

“You are an endless delight, my ghoul,” Copia sighs, huffing out a last chuckle.

“I’ll give you an endless—uuh-nholy ff–fuck.” Copia runs his thumb over the slit of Dew’s cock, and his sentence is reduced to an eye-rolling moan. He grabs hold of the anti-pope’s forearm that rests on his leg, fingers digging into the muscle as he drools out a fat roll of precum.

Copia hums and smears it around the head, pulling down the foreskin to rub at the sensitive underside. It’s all the courtesy he’s granted before the man goes back to stroking him in earnest, skirting over the head with each downward pass and tightening around the base when he pulls up.

Dew grips his forearm tighter, thighs jumping with each tease of his frenulum. “Faster,” he begs. “And tighter. Fuck, feels s’ good.”

“Merdaccia infernale, are you always so . . .” Copia shakes his head, letting the room fill with the lewd, creamy sounds of Dew’s slick-soaked cock.

“Wet?” Dew supplies as a choked-off noise. “Not al–hah–always. Not since—” his eyes roll back again, too caught in pleasure to be completely coherent. “The–shit–the—” Dew flails his hand in some nonsensical gesture.

“Si, si.” The man understands without further elaboration that he means his elemental transition. That, despite the effective evaporation of his water, the born-again fire ghoul still carries traits from his original alignment—including dribbling pre like a leaky tap.

But Copia knows, doesn’t need him to explain or elaborate. Just tightens his grip and speeds his hand, looking up at Dew with a gaze that cuts him right down to the core. Intense, yet soft and admiring. Desire flickering just behind that.

“Shit,” Dew hisses, letting his eyes close fully. Sinking into it. His hips are moving of their own accord now, little twitches that meet each downstroke, just barely fucking into Copia’s fist. It’s so much better than it has right to be, but Dew doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way Copia’s hand feels on his dick, the way his other hand grips his hip, the way his breathing grows heavier and tickles the fine hairs at the base of his dick, how it chills the wetness at the tip only to be warmed by his fingers within the same second.

“Oh, oh, ohhhh fuck, Papa, fuck.” His pleasure heightens suddenly, the backs of his thighs going pleasantly tingly and his toes curling in his boots. He can feel it starting to build, balls drawing closer to his body with every stroke.

“Close?” Copia whispers, gripping Dew’s hip tighter and shifting in his chair. He grunts a little, no doubt filled out in his slacks too. Dew can’t confirm from this angle, especially not with the way his vision blurs, doubles even. But he has to be, if his wavering voice is anything to go by.

Dew throbs at just the idea of his cock straining against his zipper, balls heavy and squished between his thighs as he watches the fire ghoul come apart. Neglecting it as he showers Dew with undivided attention. He’s assaulted with the mental image of Copia in those tight, white pants from his Cardinal days, absolutely everything on display, and he groans.

He’s shaking now, stomach jumping as his breath starts to quicken. He’s sure his eyes are wild as he looks at the man below him, whining through his teeth as his hand moves faster, faster. Dew watches Copia bite his lip and look down at the movements of his hand, and the sudden fantasy image of that mouth kissing the tip of his cock makes him grip the anti-pope’s forearm until it threatens to bruise, nearly doubling over with the swell of impending orgasm.

Dew needs him. He needs him so badly.

“Gonna cum—fuck, please,” he moans, breath quickening to shortened gasps. “Kiss me—please, m’ gonna—Papa—” Dew grasps at the man’s shirt collar, pulling at it to get him to stand. Dragging him in by the shoulders and kissing him fiercely, whining when Copia groans into his mouth and pumps him even faster. The scent on him is instantly intoxicating; notes of neroli and patchouli, dull wax from the black patches of makeup, the barest hint of incense smoke underneath. All pressed directly into his nostrils where Dew’s nose smushes against his.

“Proprio così,” Copia mumbles, encouraging. His other arm loops around to cradle him between the shoulder blades, hand threading through his hair to grasp and hold as he kisses him deeply. That little bit of tension on Dew’s scalp sends a zing of heat right to his dick, and he’s moaning like a whore as he scrabbles at Copia’s shirt, ready to fall over the edge.

“Fucking. Fu–uhh, uh, uhh—” Dew loses all sense of words as he clings to him, mouth dropping open and tongue drooling over Copia’s lips. He cums hard, spilling over his hand with a shuddering groan, bucking into that wet fist until he’s risking sliding off the edge of the desk. He doesn’t, of course, braced and embraced by Copia’s body as he is.

Dew’s head drops to his shoulder as he rides out the seemingly endless spasms. Far too many for a handy, if he’s being honest. But the anti-pope works him over until he’s milked dry, whispering more words into his hair that he doesn’t understand and rubbing a soothing hand over his back.

“Shit,” he rasps. After a few more moments he peeks down at his lap—lucid enough now to mind his horns—where his black pants are now streaked with white, Copia’s hand resting on his fly also coated in the stuff. He shakes his head softly and laughs.

“Got me good, old man.”

“Dewdrop . . .” His tone is pleading, breathless. Dew lifts his head and the hand on his back migrates to the side of his face, caressing softly. He leans into it as he looks at Copia, his face flushed and a look of pure want and adoration in his eyes. “Please, caro.”

He doesn’t need to ask what he needs, eyes flicking down to the tent in his pants and back up again. Dew nods. Moves the hands around Copia’s neck to the back of his head, pulling him in.

It’s less feverish this time. Softer and slower, but far from chaste. Idly he wonders if any of the others have had him like this: privately in his office, a mere exchange of something fleeting, or hot and heavy in a storage closet after a show, frantic and adrenaline-fueled.

If any of them have, they’ve never told. He’ll go back to the ghoul wing smelling of him, unless he runs straight to the shower. Douse himself in scalding hot water until he can barely smell himself.

But he won’t.

Dew slides into the space in front of Copia, ignoring the mess on his dick as he presses close to the man. Licking into his mouth and sliding their tongues together as Copia’s hands start to roam. The fire ghoul slots a thigh between his legs as his palms reach his waist, pressing against his crotch.

Copia whines in his throat, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Dew’s shirt. He’s hard as steel against his leg, throbbing when Dew presses harder and tugging at him like he could still get closer than he already is.

“Sit down,” Dew rumbles. He breaks the kiss and holds his gaze as he presses on his shoulders, easing him back into the desk chair. Down, down, down until Dew looms over him. He smirks slightly, confidence and ease returning to him as their positions switch. Running his thumb along the painted upper lip then dragging down to the bare one.

Wordlessly, the fire ghoul sinks to his knees. Scoots Copia to the edge of his chair so he can spread his legs. He smooths his palms up his thighs, his infernal heat seeping through the trousers. He watches Copia’s face as he pets at him, cupping and rubbing at his cock through the layers of fabric. The man’s chest heaves. Hands gripping the wooden arms of his chair. Exhaling shakily as Dew traces a claw around the button on his fly.

“Allow me,” Dew purrs.

#the band ghost #fanfic #the band ghost fanfic #ghost fanfic #dewdrop ghoul #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #copia x dewdrop #dewdrop x copia #papa x dewdrop #dewdrop x papa #copia/dewdrop #dewdrop/copia #papa/dewdrop #dewdrop/papa #CORRECTLY translated italian #dews gonna go back to the dorms and theyre gonna smell copia on him and then EVERYONES gonna want him

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puddle-nerd · 3 months

Text

Everything

Summary: In that moment and in that moment, you had everything you wanted and everything you needed. (Neteyam/Na’vi Reader)

Prompt #2 for my submission for #𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Story Tags: No use of Y/N, Female Reader, Na’vi Language, Playful Chasing, Established Relationship

Author’s Note: So, I have a couple of lines by Neteyam speaking English so I will have those words and phrase marked with a ~on either end and italicized like so~.

Na’vi Translation: Olo’eyktan – Clan leader

Syaksyuk – also called “prolemuris” which is a chattering, non-aggressive tree dweller that lives in the canopy, as opposed to the dangerous forest floor, similar to the monkeys and apes of Earth

Tawtute – human | Sky Person

Vitraya Ramunong – also called “The Tree of Souls”, it is a giant willow tree of extreme spiritual significance to the Na’vi, more so than any other point on Pandora that is said to be the closest connection to Eywa on Pandora

AO3 Link

“Neteyam! No fair! Your legs are so much longer than mine!” you giggled as you ran after him, launching yourself over a log as best as you could, trying to keep up the oldest Sully son, your whip-like tail flicking back and forth to keep you upright. He just laughed and turned about to face you, still running, though, determined to keep up the impromptu game of tag he had started. Your amber eyes widened when you saw him heading backwards for a bush but then it was too late, even with your arm stretched out to try to catch him. As Neteyam’s balance began to topple, he grabbed your wrist, dragging you with him as he fell backwards.

The world was a blur as the two of you toppled head over heels once, twice, three times before the two of you came to a stop, you on your back with the Olo’eyktan’s leaning over top of you, both of you panting for breath.

“You are such a syaksyuk butt,” you laughed with a huge grin at your boyfriend’s antics, shoving him off of you and jumping to your feet and taking off into the trees, whooping as you leapt and began climbing the nearest tree to continue the game. Glancing over your striped shoulder was a mistake, though, as Neteyam’s quick reflexes had him nearly right behind you, just a meter and a half away already. You yelped and swung yourself up onto a branch and scrambled upright only to feel a callused hand grasp the tip of your tail, just beneath the furry tuft with a firm grip, pulling you back, causing you to squeal in surprise and slight pain. You whined once more, “No fair, Teyam!”

The male Na’vi let go and you curled your tail around your legs, pouting at him as he scrambled onto your bough, grunting in English, “~All’s fair in love and war, baby~.”

You flicked him between the eyes and carefully sat down on the moss covering the wood, muttering, “You are still a syaksyuk butt.”

“~C’mon~, I grabbed you fair and square so you owe me a question,” Neteyam coaxed, putting his back against the trunk of the tree and spreading his thighs to straddle the tree’s limb you and he both sat upon. He reached for you and carefully pulled you into the ‘V’ of his thighs so you could cuddle up next to him. “Comfy?” You nodded. “Okay… so for my question… if you could have a tawtute Avatar, would you, to experience the way they see and feel the world?”

You frowned; the idea absolutely preposterous.

“What? No!” you replied immediately, meeting your boyfriend’s curious gaze. “Why would I break the connection I have to Eywa?” Then you remembered his father had been born human and your tone softened. “I mean no disrespect to your sempul,” you assured him gently, “but I love my life as it is. I love my family. I love my clan. I love everything Eywa has thought to bless me with and I would not give it up in a heartbeat for even a second. Not ever. Being able to connect to the various creatures and to our ancestors at Vitraya Ramunong and eventually my mate? No, I would never give it up, even for a temporary body.” You hesitated, then inquired softly, “Would you? Perhaps to experience what your sempul did while he grew up on Earth?” “I…” the words seemed to get caught in his throat and his brows furrowed. You could see him struggle with his thoughts behind his honey yellow gaze, with the weighing of his own wants and desires against the expectations piled so strenuously high upon his broad shoulders and you cupped his jaw soothingly. You whispered, “It’s about what you want, Tey. Would you want to experience life like a tawtute? If only in brief spurts? To have a deeper connection to your history?” He nodded slowly; brow furrowed as you watched his mind racing behind his eyes. “There is nothing wrong with that,” you assured him. “There’s also nothing wrong with asking for things you want.” He smiled softly and pressed his forehead against yours and hugged you tighter, his touch conveying more than his words could in that moment and in that moment, you had everything you wanted and everything you needed.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 Originally Posted: 03 February 2024 Word Count: 782

@crybabies-heart, @cryingwhilereading, @ikeyniofthetayrangi, @erenjaegerwifee, @bambithewriter, @lloreya

AO3 Link

#𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 #avatar #atwow #avatar the way of water #na'vi reader #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x reader #neteyam suli x reader #neteyam te sul tsyeyk'itan x reader

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agendabymooner · 9 months

Text

satellite ! max v. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

“i’m here, right here. wishing i could be there for you.”

summary: when the news of the downfall of her racing journey broke out, max verstappen promised to never let her down like that ever again. (1)(2)(3)(4)(5)

content warning: confrontation and good crying sesh with max and ofc, panic attack, alludes to smut (not graphic), use of explicit language, angst, set in vs fashion show 2016

note: 300 FOLLOWERS?! you guys are insane and i love you all so much!!! thank you!!!

masterlist

[translation: i’m just putting my french fluency into use. thank you paris!]

tagged victoriassecret, steviemarlz

liked by danielricciardo, aimeeyh, max33verstappen

comments have been limited

charles_leclerc such a heartwarming caption from you ❤️

sylvieeford charles leclerc? hardly know her 🤐

landonorris my best friend ate 👏 liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford thank u best friend

tillymarie ughhh you girls make me proud ❤️ liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford i’m always eager to please 😍

danielricciardo when the mini boss can do anything >> liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford call me barbie 😉

max33verstappen what a beaut 😁 liked by sylvieeford

sylvieeford don’t get too soft on me now, caddy 😂

Her standard was Max, and god, did that ever ruin her chance to have a rebound. Whenever she got the chance to go on dates, she seemed to cower from the thought. As if she was worried about not getting along with the said dates.

Speaking of anxiety.

The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was on the go, and to say that it was nerve wracking would be quite a shame. You would think that she would be alright with walking down the runway now— but to know that some of her peers were here to support her, three days after the last race? Yeah, she might as well shit on her pants.

She had everyone else to be nervous about; Lady Gaga was there for fucks sake. She was in the same room as Adriana Lima and Elsa Hosk. Hell, even Abel would be performing during her segment— why was she nervous about seeing her driver friends while she walked down the runway?

She supposed that no one had seen her pose in her underwear before. That, and that they all grew up with her— it was weird to see your childhood friend all grown up, dressed in lingerie and nothing else.

Not that Max Verstappen hadn’t seen that months ago.

Fuck, Max was going to be there!

She knew she was nervous. She just didn’t realize that it was because of him. Why would she be nervous? After all, working together had a major effect on their relationship. And… sleeping together once.

Because he didn’t bring it up anymore after their conversation that day. He was friendly with her, but not once did he mention that he wanted to do it again. She wasn’t sure if it was because of their workplace relationship or their general friendship, but she was sure as hell that it hurt. Not that she would ever tell him that. Not especially after she found a woman clinging to him at their next race’s afterparty.

So it did hurt. But as a prideful daughter of a miserable mother, she kept a straight face and smiled at everyone.

After seeing him that night, she kept their relationship as civil as it could be— only listening to him “Maxplain” everything he could speak about, and offering him advice whenever he needed it. She failed to mention a lot of things in her life— like how Abel was performing tonight. Max only found out through their friends hours prior to the event and while it pissed him off to no end, he couldn’t afford to upset Sylvie on her special day. This was her day after all. She was debuting as a VS model.

Tilly and Aimee had managed to see Sylvie and Stevie before the show as they prepared. They had mostly spoken about how they were able to get to the location easily and how Soren fussed when Tilly left him at Toto’s watch.

“The boys are there,” Aimee pointed her head towards the direction of the audience, “I told them not to be foolish this time around.”

“Did you tell them to behave and not bark?” Stevie giggled, making Sylvie cackle. Sylvie’s makeup artist shot her a warning to not ruin her makeup by crying in laughter.

“They know not to,” Tilly rolled her eyes, “those men have PR managers to answer to otherwise.”

“I think George and Alex were only there chilling,” Aimee said, “I didn’t think someone could have anxiety even if they’re just an audience— not until I saw Max.”

“Max? Why?” Now that piqued Sylvie’s curiosity.

Tilly answered, “I dunno. It must’ve been the adrenaline from Abu Dhabi, if you were to ask me. He’ll be fine once the show starts.”

The beating of her heart slowed down when her segment started, only focusing on the front and had only given Abel a look of indifference before making her way through the middle, posing with her head tilting slightly to the right. Walking back, she glanced on her right and watched Max’s eyes stare at hers.

She kept her head in his direction for a moment, not even realizing that she walked past Abel as her ears muted his song and voice, only paying attention to Max before looking back in front of her and walking off.

Max knew that she had seen him with his not-really-girlfriend in each race, and it was extremely stupid of him. Rebounds shouldn’t be a thing at all, he told himself. He knew how he felt about her, yet after spending some time with her in a bedroom, he seemed to chicken out and not tell her about the love he had for her.

He always wondered how she went from insulting him jokingly to having a civil conversation and agreeing to everything he said. It was wrong. Why didn’t she say something about it? They agreed not to lie to each other, did they not?

He seemed to feel like a hypocrite just saying that. But he was more than willing to admit that she was just as beautiful as she was before. He only started to feel different when they shared an intimate moment with each other, one that he’d like to relive for as long as he could breathe.

But they weren’t even aware that admitting would have to take time. After all, there were more problems to solve.

Partying had never been a priority for her, if you were to ask, but Kendall insisted that Sylvie come along before the younger girl could even dive headfirst into her work throughout their break. The third Hearth daughter only nodded and dressed up as nicely as she could, only deciding that she would only drink one glass of daiquiri. What she didn’t know, however, was that Kendall had invited her guy friends to join them at the party. She had never felt so annoyed— why wouldn’t Kendall tell her in the first place that she’d invite them? Not that she wasn’t enthralled at the thought. Some warning would have sufficed.

But it wasn’t their presence that made her want to go home.

Everyone was too busy dancing to even sit in their booth, leaving Sylvie behind while she scrolled through her Twitter. She liked the peaceful atmosphere that the club could offer in a booth. And her blocking Abel was definitely something.

Her eyes found a tweet that left her blood running cold. No.

“Sylvie’s Failed F1 Career: Explained”

From top to bottom, the story of her discontinued journey in Formula One was splayed out in a gossip website— a rather accredited one, while you’re at it. People would normally say not to believe what you see on the internet, but the truth was published and spread in the Formula One community and show business.

Nobody knew what had happened before. Not until now. Whoever the fuck were these anonymous sources, they were nothing but assholes. Everything in the article was detailed from head to toe. Some stuff that people didn’t know were put up for everyone to see and shame her with.

Then panic started to spread across her body, her feet stumbling up as she marched down towards the dance floor, her hand gripping on Max’s shirt as she dragged him to a seedy area of the club no one had ever stepped foot on.

“Mustang, what—“

“Cut the bullshit, Max,” she spewed out venomously before she shoved her phone in his hand. “Did you do this?”

His eyes peered down on the article on screen as they widened. He looked up to see her teary eyes appearing once more.

“No,” he answered honestly, but she wasn’t having it.

“You knew what happened, you’re the one who reported me, Max,” she cried out, her body shaking in anger and panic as she continued, “you saw that. You told the officials—“

“But that doesn’t mean I would fuck your career over!” Max exclaimed in frustration. “I told you that if you had somehow given me a heads up that they were kicking you out, I would have gone back and made them review it. Me not being there when you were being questioned was the biggest mistake I’ve made, because I know you. You’re honest. I would’ve known. I would’ve admitted that I was wrong if I heard you speak for yourself.”

“Then why do this? If you respect me then why do this now?”

“Sylvie, schatje,” he took a deep breath before looking at her again, “I would not— for the life of me— treat you like that. God, I would never forgive myself if I did. So I swear that isn’t me.”

He didn’t even realize how bad their situation was until she started crying and crumbling in his arms, the music still tampering with the hysterical sound of her sobs. He tried to comfort her right there, but the loudness of the club only messed with both of their emotions and anxiety as he picked up their stuff and hailed for a cab.

It didn’t take him long to find his room as she continued to cry in his arms. She spoke about her worries about her career as she sobbed, not wanting to lose her job in Red Bull and as a model because of this disaster they both called a lie. How was she going to explain all of this to her family? She asked herself as she sniffled, wiping her tears away. She hadn’t even realized that Max was crying too.

All of this happened because he believed his friends who couldn’t give anymore shit about him. All of this happened to her because of him. All he could do now was apologize with tears.

“I- I- I’ll do my best to fix this,” Max stammered, wiping his tears away to hide it away from her as she looked up. “Let me please help you fix this. This was my doing and I- I can’t hurt you like this, Sylv. I can’t afford to have you lose your career because of me. Just… please, forgive me and let me help.”

“Please, Max,” she whispered. “I can’t be silenced anymore, Max. I- I need someone to speak for me.”

“We’ll be speaking for you,” Max promised, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ll… I don’t care if it ruins my own career, I just know yours cannot be ruined because of me. I’ll be here for you, schatje. Just have me.”

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ghostoffuturespast · 4 months

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Works In Progress 2023: A Cyberpunk 2077 Year In Review

I thought for a hot minute about doing one of those snazzy templates that’s been going around, but editing photos just ain’t my MO and rather than going by month I picked 12 favs that I’ve posted in 2023. Some of them were popular, some of them weren't. Overall, I think I did pretty good for just doing vanilla photomode on console.

You might be wondering why there's a picture of a sticky note. I don't remember when I started doing this, and I'm horribly inconsistent as you can see by the dates, but I'll jot down my word count for my wip chapter and then jot it down again when I remember to later.

I write slow. A lot of times I sit down to write and it feels like the wheels are spinning in place. My minutes and hours don't stretch very far, typically don't add up to much. But days, weeks, months. That's when I can at least measure the progress.

Fic: So It Goes 40/44 - 438,946 words

My V x River Ward and tinfoil hat conspiracy theory long fic. I've spent way more hours on this then I have on any of my VP.

I got tagged by @just-a-cybercroissant @therealnightcity and @wanderingaldecaldo to do some WIP Whenevers. I post my VP pretty regularly, so it’s always seemed silly to do work in progress posts for them, and I don’t know when I’ll have any new writing to share since in between work and the holidays, I haven’t had much time to sit down with anything since my last chapter update. And I've been feeling very... stingy, lately. Especially when it comes to mine and other people's writing. So take this WIP/Year In Review as my offering. Both these series, as am I, are all very much still works in progress.

I confined my reflections for this year below the cut. If you don’t want to read my long-ass essays, you can admire the pictures, maybe check out my fic, or just move along and have yourself a lovely day.

We’ll start with the easy one.

After at least a year of multiple playthroughs (I’ve played all the lifepaths, done all the endings), it only occurred to me at the beginning of this year to start taking VP. Part of the reason I never did before was because I didn’t realize it was a thing and then by the time I did, I figured I didn’t have much to offer. I play on PS5 and only have access to vanilla photomode, so seeing everyone else’s high-fidelity, ultra ray-tracing, modded, posed, full on virtual photo shoot photos, I was like there’s no way. (Not that I’m hating on PC modders, it’s just not everyone has access to mods or a PC capable of running the game, and I’m all for making art and creative endeavors accessible.) On top of that, all I’d ever heard from most other folks was how much vanilla photomode sucked. In the glamorous world of VP, I didn’t think there was any room for me.

But I started snapping pics anyway. And sure, there are a lot of limitations with vanilla photomode. But what that really translates to is opportunities to get creative. I am also a hoe for subverting people’s expectations, and very much believe when there’s a will, there’s a way.

Environmental and landscape shots were my first subjects before I started branching out into portraits and then capturing story moments. Through VP I found an entirely new way to enjoy a game that I’d already played a ridiculous number of times along with also finally being brave enough to share my V with other people too. I’d always worried about that before, if people would like her. Granted, I know Grandpa’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but whether you like her or not, I certainly think she’s made a name for herself over the past few months. Even if most people haven’t really gotten to know her the way I’d hoped.

I’ve taken hundreds of photos this past year. Most of which I’ll never share. There’s a lot of flops, a lot of weird experiments, ones that didn’t quite turn out the way I’d hoped, but I’ve learned something from every single one of them. I know how to spot good lighting, frame shots to create optical illusions, get a very limited toolkit to work in my favor, parkoured on all of the things, and heck, I even figured out how to make Grandpa smooch other NPCs. I’ve done atmospheric, mundane, down right goofy, as well as things that most people probably thought weren’t fucking possible.

I can’t say how long I’ll keep doing this, I’m sure I’ll move on at some point, but for now I’m still enjoying myself. There's a lot to explore in this game and I just can’t stop digging Night City.

Now, for the more complicated thing.

Writing

So It Goes… My peace, my war, my greedy and most ravenous of ghosts.

I’m operating under the assumption that most people following me here probably haven't read my fic or aren’t all that interested in reading it to begin with. It’s fine. But you need to understand this fic, my writing, is the main thing that brought me here. This is also Grandpa V’s story. Most of you have met her, but unless you've been reading, most of you do not know her.

I wrote around 185,000 words and posted 10 chapters this year. 2022 was about 253,000 words and 30 chapters, along with several unrelated one shots. However, I don’t think I’ve done a single chapter this year that was less then 10k, and my longest managed to hit 27k. As of the last update I posted, the fic is currently sitting at around 439k words, 40 chapters, and still isn’t done.

I have four more chapters to write. I have written a metric shit ton of words. This is, by far, the longest and most intense creative project I’ve ever endeavored to complete.

When I started writing, I was expecting this fic to be around 100-150k. That seemed to be the average for most long fics. I did not plan on being an outlier. I'm not sure you can ever really plan for that, but I guess I enjoy subverting my own expectations too.

For those of you who are reading my fic, it is my sincerest hope that it shatters every expectation of where you think it’s going. It’s not a joke that I tagged my fic “#an ode to my tinfoil hat”. An ode it has turned out to be. I’ve been sitting on this theory for two years. I have told no one about it. I hope it sticks the landing and hits the way I want it to. I don't know if it will. But fuck, I just want to be done with it so I can move on with my life, take a break, and give myself the opportunity to make and focus on other things before I have to get back on the damn horse.

I wrote less this past year then I did in 2022. I had a lot of life changes, most of which were good, but with times of change come times of adjustment. Along with some realizations that maybe you don’t understand as much as you thought you did. Looking back, I’ve been in a state of unsettled, kuzushi, for a really long time. Which is not a good place to be. It’s how your ass ends up on the ground with a knee knocking out all your teeth. I thought I knew better. Thought I had enough practice to get away from it. But bad habits have good memories.

I think given the circumstances, I accomplished a lot with my writing this year. I don’t know if my writing is exactly where I want it to be. I doubt it every will be, but it’s evolved, grown, and I wrote a pretty hefty stack of words considering I started working full-time again, bought a house with my partner, moved, and have been dealing with the millions of other beans that life tends to throw one’s way. That being said, and for full disclosure, I’ve also been dealing with some of the worst cases of jealousy and envy I’ve had since I was a teenager.

Frankly, it sucks. They walk with me every fucking where I go, hold my hands to whisper back all my doubts. Try to persuade me to my baser instincts, to be cruel and lash out. But that's not aikido. Luckily, I’m not 16 anymore so it’s at least been easier for me to identify the problem. Though I’m still coming up short in terms of actually being able to do anything about it, and will be for at least a few months more.

Yeah, I keep talking about it because I don’t know how many people know that I've been feeling this way. And I’m tired of not talking about it in a room full of creatives, because yeah, I know I’m not the only one that feels this way. And not talking about it just makes all that pent up resentment worse for everyone.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing. But with the way I work and think, it’s a slow, tedious, and incredibly time-consuming art. With how much my fic has snowballed over the course of writing, it’s left very little room for the other hobbies in my life. And as my fellow writers probably already know, writing is an incredibly insular craft. And unlike a picture or an image, which only requires a glance, reading a bunch of words requires time and commitment.

So, when you put yourself out there and share what you wrote, it’s a lonely feeling not knowing whether or not anyone connected with what you put on the page. Especially, when the people who do read aren’t compelled to voice anything and when the people you’d hope would read don’t. And then you're stuck in the dark, not knowing, because neither of us says a goddamn thing.

I started writing this fic prior to actually joining the CP2077 fandom. And I joined the fandom because I felt alone. I’ve been here a while now, albeit in a few different places, and that feeling still hasn’t gone away. I’m still trying to find camaraderie with my fellow writers and carve out something that kinda sort of resembles a home or a sense of community. I watch my peers around me as they seem to build that with each other, except me.

I’m envious of the things that people make and jealous of the relationships those have created and fostered between said people, because for the life of me, it’s been a struggle to cultivate that since I got here. I know it’s selfish, but I also don’t know what about me makes people so hesitant. There have been a handful of strangers that have shown up for me regularly, but as far as people I call friends in this fandom that have shown up and actually stuck around, I can only name one right now. (I know we're all busy. And I acknowledge my writing's not for everyone. I know maybe some of you are quiet, or shy, or probably a thousand other things. I get it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any less. People will never know unless you say. Never know unless you take the time to interact or engage. Be brave. And that's true for a lot of things.)

The propensity is for the negative to outweigh the positive. I've got a lot of numbers on my fic, so you would think things would be fine, but at this point they just feel empty. They don't bring me any comfort or real satisfaction. And I hate feeling like the people I know don’t care and that most of you are just talking around me. That I’m some kind of annoyance not fit to interact with. Which may or may not be the case. I don’t know. Again, most of you have never said anything. And maybe I need to accept the fact that most of you never will.

But this is me trying to start conversation.

It’s really shitty, knowing that the thing I want the most is also the thing holding me back. I know how to work on it too, not that it’s any guarantee. The problem is I’m still writing and in a needy state of greed. And because I’m slow, I don’t have the time or the energy to be generous. I can only take right now. I can’t give.

Relationships require both.

I can’t bring myself to read other people’s writing. I can’t comment, or like, or share if I haven’t read anything. I'm desperate for conversation, but I also don't have the time or assurance to facilitate it with other people right now. And for some reason people never seem to want to talk to me, especially when it comes to writing. I want to be part of conversations, talk deeply with other people. But I can’t speak right now, I'm not in a place to offer generosity without someone first giving it to me.

And generosity and grace is what we all need.

Four more chapters and I hope my ghosts will finally let me read in peace.

#cyberpunk 2077 #2023 year in review #year in review #virtual photography #writing #from the top #fic: so it goes #long post #i can't guarantee a safe space but i can guarantee a brave space #if anyone's been feeling similarly and wants to talk about it my dms are open #the door's always open

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daimyosprincess · 11 months

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

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jiubilant · 24 days

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20 questions for writers

thanks @wispstalk for the tag <3

tagging @zurin @ghoulsbeard @danse--macabre @menzoberranyr @nulfaga @trinimac. no pressure!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

i have 113 works on ao3. one of them is a multichapter containing two separate-but-connected short stories, which brings the tally up to 114. this is what happens when you publish a series of standalone flash fiction pieces individually lmao

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

oogh let's see...68,128 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

i've now written for both tes and bg3! getting attached to a customizable player character and wanting to develop their story is usually what moves me to start writing fanfic. if i stopped playing rpgs i'd probably stop writing fanfic

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

a simple solution threescore and nine the way an esteemed and venerable office silly

5. Do you respond to comments?

on ao3, i try to respond to all of them! i don't respond to tags that people leave on my work here on tumblr, but i read them all and really appreciate them

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i'm thinking that it's a tie between the stomach for it (which ends the story of shurri as a plucky orphan learning about the good in people and starts the story of shurri as a traumatized pawn of empire) and as of the world untwisting

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

most of the pieces about ravi and little shurri (in vignettes: solitude) end on a deliberately sweet and hopeful note—i try to write them so that it's possible to read them as standalones, without prior context about the characters, so it's important to finish them up in a way that suggests the overall tenor of their dynamic but the form's a little restrictive sometimes! if i wanted to really delve into the ways that they made each other's lives difficult and frustrating (the ways in which they were an average family, in other words), i'd have to write a novel

8. Do you get hate on fics?

it's never happened, to my recollection

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i've included sex scenes in original works that called for sex scenes...i haven't yet run into a narrative reason to write any fanfic with on-the-page sex in it, but i've hinted at the sex lives of my characters in a few pieces, when relevant. it's not usually relevant! the style of my tes stuff is fairly middle-grade. not that diana wynne jones didn't write about sex but you'd be surprised to find a sex scene in the middle of howl's moving castle the likeliest scenario for future work is that i'll write about a character in flagrante if it's funny. enthir's in the faculty lounge smugly hinting that he gets around more than anyone else in the college (he sometimes flirts with birna, who ignores him) (smash cut to urag and ravi smoking in bed)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i've never written a crossover

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge! i've occasionally read bits of things that felt inspired by my style or subject matter and i love that. it's very flattering. i think i remember someone quoting one of my posts in their fic summary once?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

don't think so!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

gf and i have had one in the works forever. that it's not done yet is my fault. it takes me ten thousand years to write anything

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

obviously it's potemaphine

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i hate to say that the future of peace in any season ("the big wip") is in question but it's been in question since i started it...i chose to focus it on a series of events ten years out from the main storyline of tes v on purpose, so that readers wouldn't miss anything too crucial if i stalled out on it but i still have a lot of love for the project and work on it when i can. i'd really like to bring this one to you

16. What are your writing strengths?

what i often hear is that people like my dialogue. i'm glad...it's my favorite part of a story to write

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

very often i lose interest in a piece too quickly to finish writing it down. i have to set it aside until i get the urge to pick it up again. i'm working on a (currently) 1300-word piece right now that i started three years ago, and i wrote 900 of those words last week

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

if cormac mccarthy can do it...

19. First fandom you wrote for?

that'd be tes lmao. before playing skyrim i got a lot more of my original work done

20. Favorite fic you've written?

it's a tie. before the world had skin and cruel and unusual!

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sisterofficerlucychen · 1 month

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20 questions for fic writers

thank you @queseraone & @thisnightissparkling089 for tagging me! ♡

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

114,753

3. What fandoms do you write for?

the rookie

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Congrats, Boot!

all along there was some invisible string

They Don't Know That We Know They Know We Know

Technically You Still Owe Me A Date

This Love

5. Do you respond to comments?

i try to but i’m not always the best at it but i always go back and look at my comments because they mean more than i can say ♡ especially on a bad day or when i’m struggling with muse to write, they always put a smile on my face and help me find my way back to writing.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

it's not done but maybe I'll Look After You, it's still at a pretty angsty point but nowhere near peak angst yet hehe ― lucy's in a life or death situation and it's a sad time for everyone so far as she's remains in limbo with jackson guiding her and everyone else is just worried about her surviving and also worried about tim.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

hold on to the memories (they will hold on to you) ― i don't want to give away the ending because it's just straight up fluff but essentially it's 5 different pov's of watching tim and lucy + 1 time no one did ♡

8. Do you get hate on fics?

omg no, never. everyone is so sweet and supportive and just so nice????? ♡♡♡

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

*cue this is me trying* i have dabbled in it at least once but nothing i'd say is v smutty?? i'm trying though, i have a wip that will lead to that but it's not easy to write??? the regular kind?? idk lmao.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

nope, that's too confusing for my brain to keep up.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don't think so

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no but it sounds cool

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

not yet but pls holler at me 👀

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

chenford ♡ (huge surprise, right?)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Look At This Photograph, i haven't abandoned it but trying to figure out this third chapter that's back when tim got his uniform ripped off has been super tricky

16. What are your writing strengths?

i want to say maybe finding the right emotion in a fic? i think i'm pretty good at keeping the flow of the emotion throughout?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

coming up with summaries to describe the one-shot/chapter and knowing how to end a darn story. also, titles. titles are really hard lmao. but on a serious note, sometimes i second guess my writing or the idea too much that i get stuck and won't write it anymore

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

sounds cool. i'd be open to trying it depending on the context? it would very much be limited to spanish though lol

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i want to say gossip girl?

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

i wanna say i have a few but gonna go with my latest one because i'm really proud of it and it's a missing 2x11 scene in the hospital and y'all know that is my jam. anyway, it's called Halo lol

thanks for tagging me, besties! ♡ tagging @sylvies-chen @ameliagiovanna0 @makeitastrength @timandlucy & anyone else who would like to do it (it's almost midnight and i know i'm likely forgetting a friend or two).

#chenford #writing ask game #fanfic writing

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raleighcarreras · 1 year

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perfectus

Part 1: and I know I said go slow

Pairing: wanda maximoff x black!fem!reader

Rating: M (language)

Wrd Cnt: 1.5k+ maybe?

Warnings/Tags: friends to lovers, angst, slow-ish burn, eventual smut

Part(s): 2,

Summary: You're determined to be in a committed relationship by Valentine's Day. So what if it's a capitalistic holiday that holds no real significance. In your 25 years of life, you've never had a Valentine and if you make it to 26 the same way, you might just jump out of a window. So, you and your best friend Wanda have 60 days to accomplish the impossible.

Little do you know, your Valentine has been right under your nose the entire time. And Wanda has a plan of her own. Sorta.

Notes: trying my little hand at a rom-com because I get to do whatever I want around here. here's the playlist for this fic. the title song is 365 by Katy Perry & Zedd. Translation done by Google translate of course.

Falling deeper than before. Say that you are ready, lock it up in a heartbeat.

How early was too early for stores to start prepping the shelves for Valentine's day? Christmas was still a week away. Certainly, you would have thought that would be too early.

But the Walgreens closest to your and Wanda's apartment had other ideas. They were shoving the teddy bears with hearts sewn to their paws right next to the teddy bears with santa hats sewn to their heads.

Even worse? They blended together seamlessly because everything was red!

You had crossed your arms and pouted severely as you recounted the blasphemy you had encountered (while trying to retrieve your daily vitamins and a bag of baked cheetos) to your best friend, Wanda Maximoff.

"Are you even listening, Wands?!" You shrieked something serious.

Wanda only peaked one of her eyes opened, "Yeah."

You flopped onto the couch heavily. You threw your feet to one end and laid your head in her lap, "Then what did I say?"

"You said that it was stupid to put the V-day stuff out so early but you only feel that way because it reminds you of how lonely you are."

You stared up at her, "That isn't what I said in the slightest."

"No, but it's what you meant."

You scrunched your nose up in offense, "I don't like you."

Wanda smiled softly, "Liar."

"You smell like smoke."

Wanda laughed out loud at that. She gestured for you to get off her lap so she could extradite herself from the couch, "That's what happens when you're a volunteer firefighter. Sometimes, you encounter fires."

Wanda stretched dubiously, as if to empathize her point. Her wife-pleaser raised above her midriff. You made it a point not to look. You had always been envious(?) of her body in a wierd homoerotic way that you rather not explore.

"Did you save everyone?"

Wanda walked over to the kitchen, probably in search of a Nutri-Grain bar, as was her routine.

"No one to save. Some teen thought it would be funny to light a match next to a newspaper stand."

You stretched your neck over the edge of the couch to see her. She was upside down in your vision, but you would make do.

"My brave bestie."

Wanda mumbled something that you couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

"I said it wasn't really about being brave. I could have thrown a cup of water on it and it would have been fine."

"Well, I still think you're brave. Even though you didn't run into a burning building today, doesn't mean you haven't before. And you're doing it for free? You're a hero in my book."

Wanda's cheeks reddened, "Thanks."

You hummed, "Where's Kaiser?"

"Who? Oh! I locked him in your room."

You gave a scandalized gasp and jumped up. You ran to your room, opening the door to the saddest puppy you have ever seen in your life.

You picked up the german shepherd and husky mix, cuddling him into your chest. You walked back into the livingroom with a scowl.

Wanda huffed, "What? He screams for you when you leave and I was trying to take a nap before I go to the bar."

"Your mommy is so mean, isn't she, my little kaiser roll?" You're 76% sure he nodded at you in confirmation.

"I'm not his mommy. He hates me! Despite having saved him from a tree. He's a dog, why was he in a tree!?"

"He's adventurous and he can smell your fear." You thought back to the day Wanda seemed to reluctantly come back home with a random puppy, despite not having left with one.

She told you that she had to boost Natasha into the tree during one of their shifts and in the process Natasha had stepped on her face to retrieve him. No one else could take him home and they didn't want to drop him off at a shelter because he was clearly not that smart. Wanda drew the short fire hose.

"He's the size of my shoe, I'm not scared of him."

"You're still a bad mom. Say sorry to our son."

Wanda turned to you with an incredulous look that quickly turned exasperated when she saw you were serious, "I'm sorry, Kaiser."

Kaiser gave her a look that was clearly meant to be perceived as triumph over Wanda.

"He said apology accepted."

Kaiser barked.

"No he didn't."

You placed Kaiser down on the floor and watched as he curled into a ball at your feet.

"Anyway, back to the problem I brought up earlier. I refuse to be without a Valentine next year. Tony is inevitably going to rent out your bar for a stupid little love day party and if I don't have a date I think I might explode."

Wanda returned to the livingroom. Kaiser nipped at her ankle when she got decidedly too close to you.

"Who cares if you have a date or not? You normally don't."

Your groan forced you deeper into the couch, "Exactly! All of our friends probably think I'm a loser and unlovable. And...and fuck, I just don't want to spend another year alone."

Wanda's brows furrowed, "You're not alone. You have me. And I know for a fact that you're not a loser and extremely lovable."

You pressed the palms of your hands into your eyes, "You're supposed to say that. You're my best friend. If you didn't think that the bestie police would like arrest you or something."

"That's not a real thing."

"Sure it is. And so is me needing to be boo'd up in the next 60 days." You crossed your arms over your chest.

"I'm still not understanding the rush-"

"Wanda, when was the last time I brought someone home?"

Wanda wished she didn't have to think so hard, "Oh! Three nights ago!"

"That was Pietro. And I definitely didn't fuck him. One, because he's gay, and two, because we were in here the whole night and you were with us!"

"Yeah...okay, last week?"

"That was Natasha." You deadpanned.

"The week before that?"

You rolled your eyes so hard Wanda feared she have to catch them when they fell out and rolled to the ground.

"That broad was here for you!"

Wanda sunk into the couch cushions, "Damn. It has been awhile."

"See?!"

"But that doesn't mean you need to fall over yourself to find someone by Valentine's day. Besides, we always do Galentine's instead. What about that?"

"Technically, I need to find someone before then because I want to be in a committed relationship by V-day. We can still do Galentine's with Nat and Carol. It'll just have to be earlier in the day." You said easily. You didn't notice the miffed expression Wanda was giving you.

"How are you going to even do any of this?"

You smiled brightly, turning to face Wanda, "With your help, of course! And probably Nat, Tony, Carol, and Sam's too. You guys will find me suitable dates. And we'll go from there. I'll even reactivate my Tinder account."

Wanda's frown deepened even further, "But you hate Tinder."

"That's how you know I'm serious about this."

Wanda watched as you frantically typed away on your phone. Informing your friends of your plans and setting up multiple online dating profiles.

"There's no talking you out of this, is there?"

You only shook your head with an infuriating smile.

"Fine. I'll ask around I guess."

"Yay! Thank you, Wands!" You threw yourself into Wanda for a hug. Wrapping your arms around her neck as much as you could.

Wanda patted your back.

"Youre welcome, Detka. At least this way I know they won't be the losers you normally have an affinity for."

You pulled away, "I do not have an 'affinity for losers'."

Wanda raised an eyebrow, "Which one of your exes has not been a loser?"

"Carly!"

"We were 16 when you dated Carly. She was definitely a loser."

"Jackson?"

Wanda's eyes widened, "Jackson tried to cheat on you. With me!"

You shrugged, more than over that by now, "Yeah, but he was so hot. And his dic-"

"Okay. You win. Moving on."

Kaiser hopped up onto your lap.

"Your mommy is so easy, Kai."

Wanda just scowled.

"And your dumbass agreed to that?"

Wanda huffed for the fourth time that evening.

This little coffee break with Natasha and Sam was not going well. She thought they'd be on her side when she explained the crazy episode you had the day before.

But instead, they were just staring at her like she had three heads. She wasn't the crazy one. You were!

"What do you mean? I had no choice. She volunteered me!"

Sam blinked. Once. Twice, "Did it not occur to you to just say 'No'?"

"Of course it did. But I couldn't!"

It was Natasha's turn to blink blankly, "And why not?"

"B-Because!"

Natasha and Sam shared a glance.

Natasha shook her head in astonishment, "Oh my God."

"What?" Wanda asked softly, thinking something was wrong.

"oH. My. GOd." Sam, for his part, looked just as confused as Wanda.

"What, Natasha?!"

"YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH Y/N!" Natasha exclaimed with a half shriek half laugh thing that caused her to choke. Sam patted her softly on the back while looking at Wanda in shock.

"Заткнись на хрен." Wanda said through gritted teeth, looking around the fire department's lounge like you would pop out from behind a light fixture at any second.

Sam pouted, "Hey, no Russian. Bucky still won't teach me anything. Not even the cuss words."

"She told me to 'shut the fuck up'. Which obviously means I'm right, Sammy boy."

Sam turned to Wanda, "Then why did you agree to this!?"

Wanda blew out a latte scented breath. The cat was out of the bag and there was no getting it back in. So, she might as well have leaned into it.

"Because she asked." Wanda shrugged.

"You simp. I'm so ashamed of you right now." Sam said with a shake of his head.

Wanda rolled her eyes, "When was the last time you said 'No' to Steve?"

"This isn't about me, Wanda."

"Anyway, so you're actually going to let her go on dates and potentially find a life partner even though you like her?" Natasha asked with a concerned grimace.

"Yes. As long as she's happy. If she liked me back she wouldn't always put me in second place."

Natasha shook her head, "That's not fair! You're always in second place because she doesn't even know you're in the damn race."

"And you're not going to tell her, are you?" Sam said with a soft, sad smile.

"No. I'm going to help her get ready for her dates with a big smile on my face. And if she finds the love her life. I'll be happy for her."

"Wanda?"

"Yes?"

"You looked like you were going to burst into sobs while saying that."

Wanda scratched at the side of her head, "Yeah. I'm-uh-still working on that."

Sam was silent for a moment, "Can we make a deal?"

"Depends?"

"If she still hasn't found a Valentine by February 13th, you ask her. And not in a 'besties gal pals BF4EVA' way. In a 'if you took off literally any peice of clothing even a sock I would have to change my pants' way."

Wanda dismissed her blush with a breathy chuckle, "Deal. But we all have to take this assignment seriously. I'm a last resort. No setting her up with losers."

Natasha and Sam both looked reluctant to shake hands on those terms, but they did anyway.

"Deal."

#wanda maximoff #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel female reader insert #marvel fanfiction #wanda maximoff x you #perfectus #jessicas fanfic

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ilikedetectives · 4 months

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Spell your url ✧˖°.

Spell out your URL using song titles that can describe your muse/OC, then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL!

Thank you @horsyunicorn for the tag! This is for my Tav, Kalius, a criminal ranger Mephistopheles Tiefling whose moral compass is Minthara. Note: lyrics in "" are direct quotes and those in [] are translations stitched together. And "you" in these songs are referring to Minthara in Kalius' POV OwO

I - I Feel Immortal - Tarja Turunen "Whenever I wake up / I’m lost and always afraid / It’s never the same place / I close my eyes to escape / The walls around me" L - LMLY - Jackson Wang "Don't leave me, loving you / Whatever you do / Don't leave me, loving you / If you tip toe out in the morning, I need a warning" I - Imaginarium - Nightwish K - Kizuna No Kiseki - MAN WITH A MISSION x milet [For who do we carry on our lives for / Intertwining fates / Road of the serpent, countless sins / Cut them all down] E - Eyes, Nose, Lips - Taeyang [Your eyes, nose, lips. Your touch that used to touch me. To the end of your fingertips, I can still feel you.] D - Devil - Super Junior [Everything, even kneeling before you feels so natural now...You're cold and hot, devil, like a midsummer rain shower. After drenching my hot body, you burn up my throat again. You make me taste a moment of pleasure, then you burn up my throat again.] E - El Dorado - Two Steps From Hell T - Tempo - EXO [I wanna be the only one hearing her, she's my melody...Your scent is in my heart. Striking like a wave...Don't slow it up for me.] E - End of All Hope - Nightwish "It is the end of all hope / To lose the child, the faith / To end all the innocence / To be someone like me" C - Chân Ái (Vietnamese equivalent of Alurlssrin) - Orange x Khói x Châu Đăng Khoa [Since the day you arrive, dawn suddenly comes to the sky. Like a ring of melodies when all beings are moved. You are the symphony that evokes emotions in the human/mundane world.] T - Truyền Thái Y (Summon the Imperial Doctor) - Ngô Kiến Huy x Masew [You finally notice me. Coming closer, the captivating fragrance blooms. Wait for one minute, I want to say. Summon the imperial doctor, I'm so drunk I already lost my way back.] I - I Think I - Super Junior [The dream that is becoming more distinct...I'll stretch out my hand to catch the perfect moon. Your entrancing dance and eyes that dominate me...Getting drunk only on the entrancing rhythm, I engulf you completely. Getting drunk on you.] V - Vì Yêu Cứ Đâm Đầu (For Love, Dive In Head First) MIN x Đen x JustaTEE [I want to be bounded in your embrace / I want to listen to every breath surrounding me.] E - Ever Dream - Nightwish "Would you do it with me? / Heal the scars and change the stars / Would you do it for me? / Turn loose the heaven within" S - Sha fa (杀伐 / Kill and Conquer) 司空先生 x 苏子凡 x 岚之调 x SESE鱼 (this version specifically x) [It is the hells that invite me, glancing at the flaws of artifices in this world. Dye river with blood in exchange for a heaven and earth without flaws.]

Tagging, if you would like to, no pressure at all ^o^ @minthara, @wyllravengard, @miyku, @userkarlachs, @orphiceonian, @blacksalander, @jove999, @usurperss, @mistress-light, @onewingedangels, @jujoobedoodling, @vikingnerd793

#tag game #OC: Kalius #mybg3kalius #Kalius

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prophetwithaz · 2 years

Text

chlorine (e. m.)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni!!! unprotected p in v sex, swearing, drug/alcohol use/mentions, kinda sad/angsty in the beginning, lots of plot

summary: you and eddie are talking about your time in the upside down, and he distracts you with a swim in steve's pool and a warm shower after. eddie ended up alive despite the odds, but both of you are still dealing with the aftermath.

word count: 2.9k

notes: i really love this, and it's roughly based on swimming when i was young to take my mind off a lot of crappy stuff. it also had me thinking about eddie and how the upside down probably isn't any good for someone's psyche. there is a lot of plot before the smut so if you like slightly angsty fluff, this is for you. i'm also reposting this a second time bc i think the tags last time made the algorithm do a fucky wucky.

tag list: @depressedstressedlemonzest

do not copy, rewrite, translate or post my work online. that is stealing. i put a lot of time into my work, and i do not appreciate people taking credit for my work. thanks!

enjoy babes! - bee

---

Ever since Steve had his first scuffle with the Upside Down, he wasn’t as much of a party person. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to die doing some stupid shit starting with him saying, “hold my beer!” However, he still enjoyed a good kickback with his friends, if you could call it that. Your current friend group was the definition of chaos. You and Steve were joined by Robin, Nancy, and Eddie Munson. He was sort of adopted into the group after you were all traumatized in the Upside Down. When you do that kind of stuff, you’re kind of bonded for life. I mean, who else would believe you?

You had always found Eddie endearing, even before your experiences together. It seemed strange that despite everything you had heard about him and everything that happened to him growing up, he still didn’t give a damn what anyone thought about him. His style was less than conventional, but that made him all the more exciting. He was new and different compared to all of the others you grew up with in Hawkins.

Aside from the new dimension Eddie brought to your friend group, he also brought a handful of new experiences, and by a handful of experience, he definitely meant handfuls of weed. He wasn’t dealing nearly as much once his name was cleared since all eyes were on him, but that left him with a lot of excess that he couldn’t finish by himself. Which is how the two of you ended up high at Steve Harrington’s house, all of you stoned, shooting the shit until the early hours of the morning.

“No fucking way, Ed!” Steve laughed. “You could not take a Demogorgon by yourself. It took three of us!”

“Okay, but like… Consider, a flamethrower?” Eddie said. As much as you wanted to laugh, you could tell he was dead serious. You and Eddie had a higher tolerance, so you were both significantly less high than everyone else at the house. Robin was super giggly, and Nancy was absolutely destroying Eddie’s argument.

“Logistically speaking, yes,” Nancy said. “But you don’t even know how to use a flamethrower. You didn’t even believe me when I told you I had guns.”

“Ah yes,” Eddie sighed. “Nancy ‘Guns, Plural’ Wheeler.”

You all laughed this off, all of you getting a bit tired, especially the ones who were still pretty high. Steve ditched first, saying he was going to bed, then Nancy, then Robin, all going to their respective guest rooms for the night. Steve had a huge house, so Nancy and Robin were sharing a room, Steve was staying in his room, you were in the guest room, and Eddie was taking the couch. Generally, you guys rotated who got stuck with the couch, but it was ridiculously comfortable regardless. Eventually, you and Eddie were the only ones still awake, still not very tired. Both of you were still having trouble sleeping after defeating Vecna. Nancy told you that you never sleep well after your first time, but you hadn’t really believed her until now. It was a month after saving Hawkins, and you still couldn’t close your eyes without seeing a sobbing Dustin Henderson and a barely alive Eddie Munson. You couldn’t tell how phased Eddie was by this; you didn’t even know how much he remembered. Eventually, after some time just chatting about life post-Vecna, Eddie asks you the burning question.

“So are you having trouble sleeping, too?” He asks. You just nod. You don’t want to tell him what you see when you close your eyes. “I figured. I don’t want to sleep either. I just remember telling Henderson to take care of the new kids for me. I think I remember the rest of you guys yelling but I’m not sure. Scares the shit out of me to know I could have died down there.”

“I know what you mean,” you said. “It’s terrifying to go like that. You never think it can kill you until it does, or almost does. Vecna reached his hand out to me as Robin and I threw Molotovs at him, and I knew right then that if this didn’t work, I was done for. So I said a prayer and threw it.”

“Do you have that thing where you see the same thing when you close your eyes? It feels like you’re watching it as a movie. It doesn’t feel like you, but its not not you, you know?”

You had never heard it all described so clearly before. It was like he had it all figured out, even though you knew there was really no way for any of you to have any of this really figured out. You sighed, “Yes. That’s exactly how it is. I feel like I can’t get it to leave me alone. Like the scene just has to play through to the end.” You paused a moment, “I thought you were dead, Eddie.”

Both of you sat in an uncomfortable silence a moment. It was true. Everyone thought he was dead, even Eddie. Miraculously, he made it, and that was what everyone chose to talk about, but no one ever wanted to talk about the horrors of the “after”, the post-Vecna, whatever you wanted to call it. It was almost as if choosing to live in the past forever would keep you safe from what came next. What’s one more time?

“We should step out for some fresh air,” Eddie said. You quietly followed him behind the house to Steve’s pool. The lights were on out back, giving the pool an inviting blue glow. Eddie started stripping out of his clothes next to you.

“What are you doing?” you said, confused.

“Doing what I always do when I start thinking about this shit: literally anything else.”

Eddie strips down to just his boxers and takes a running start into the pool, the smell of chlorine rushing up to hit your nose as he splashes into the water. His method, albeit somewhat avoidant and unhealthy, sounded good in the moment. “You should join me. The water’s not too cold.”

Hesitantly, you agree. You weren’t keen on the idea of getting naked in front of your friend, but honestly, anything to push the thoughts out of your head sounded pretty damn good at the moment. You took off your tee shirt and jeans leaving only your bra and underwear still on. “Pink? Nice,” Eddie said sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood. You walk back about as far as you can go, and take a running leap. You were submerged in the cool water as your feet touched the bottom. As you rise to the surface, you push your hair out of your face and take a big breath of fresh air. You look over at Eddie, his wet face shining in the moonlight. His hair was now slicked back aside from his bangs sticking to his forehead. “Feel a little better?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” you were surprised by how quickly it had cleared the thoughts out of your mind.

“I told you so,” Eddie said. “You’re safe here. We’re both safe. Nothing is going to happen to us.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” you asked.

“Well to be honest, I’m not sure. But I know what it’s like now. The others have done this even more than we have and made it out alive every time. I will be there to protect you. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,” Eddie said. His voice sounded shaky, but not afraid. You couldn’t put your finger on the emotion in his voice. “You will always be safe with me.”

You didn’t exactly know how to process that. You really liked Eddie, but you never knew he cared about you like that. Maybe it was just the trauma, or living through the after, but something drew the two of you together that you couldn’t place. The two of you got off the subject quickly, talking about music and movies and your friends, about how ‘86 was finally you and Eddie’s year, regardless of how difficult it was.

“You wanna race?” you ask Eddie.

“What?”

“Do you want to race from one end of the pool to the other?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun?”

“Fine, but I have the clear physical advantage,” Eddie says sarcastically. He flexes his arm jokingly, but he looked stronger than he thought.

You both line up at the edge of the pool and count off from three. About halfway down the pool, you notice Eddie is ahead of you, so you try to grab his feet to pull him back. That pull pushed you forward just enough to beat him to the other side.

“What the fuck!” Eddie yelled. “That was so unfair!”

“I was simply using my resources,” you said. Eddie gets an idea, as evidenced by the devilish grin on his face. He begins to chase you around, eventually grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder. By this point, both of you are laughing uncontrollably, and Eddie sets you down on the side of the pool.

“You know, you’re more fun than I thought you’d be,” he said.

“What, did you think I was gonna be mean and scary?”

“Well, I always pegged you to be more like Nancy since you guys are pretty close,” Eddie said. “You’re a lot more laid back.”

You looked at each other. There were no words but you felt like you could read his mind. His wet skin was soft and his shaggy hair hung around his shoulders, and his smile was still the biggest thing you were focusing on. “Come here,” he said. You obliged and hopped down. Eddie then wrapped you in the biggest bear hug you could imagine. The kind that pushes all your broken pieces back together. When he finally let you go, he gave you a quick kiss on the top of your head. “Nothing will ever hurt you again.”

You looked up at the man you had previously thought was impossible to know, realizing that all alone, he was keeping you out of the loop to keep you safe. You were both free. Nothing was stopping you anymore. You place a soft kiss to his cheek, testing the waters. Eddie hoists you up on to hips, wrapping your legs around his waist as he kisses you for the first time. He tastes like chlorine and salt, but none of that mattered right then. Both of you were safe.

As you pulled apart, the pool water had you both a bit sticky. You both decided it was about time to get out of the pool, grabbing towels from a bin just outside the door. As Eddie climbed out of the pool, his boxers clung to his skin, showing off his legs and leaving little to the imagination. The man was hung, confirming your suspicions. You dried off your hair, scrunching it up to try to get the water out, which only left your hair dry and frizzy. “I think I need to take a shower. I forgot how nasty pools can make your hair.”

“You’re telling me,” Eddie said. “Mind if I join you?” You stumble over your words a minute, not sure if he was joking.

“Uh sure? Why not?”

“Don’t be nervous, sweetheart. Nothing I wasn’t trying to see anyways.”

As Eddie followed you to the upstairs bathroom, you both tried to keep your footsteps light to not wake the others. It was almost three in the morning, but the two of you were still very awake. As soon as you shut the door, Eddie lifts you on to the countertop, placing his hands firmly on your waist. “Promise that this is what you want?”

“Absolutely,” you said. It felt like a switch in you just flipped as you start kissing him again, slowly slipping your tongue into his mouth. He starts to rub your sides, sinking the pads of his fingers into your flesh. You move his hands lower on to your thighs, and then further in between your legs.

“Are you sure?” he said.

“Quit being such a gentleman.”

That statement lit a fire under Eddie, gripping your thighs as he aggressively made out with you, eventually moving his hands up to grab your tits. He slips your bra off quickly and starts kissing up your body to your neck. You let out a quick whine, which was quickly silenced by a hand lightly wrapped around your throat. “Shhh, gotta be quiet, darling. Everyone’s still asleep.” You obliged as he kept making you squirm, fighting every urge to cry out. Eddie continued kissing along your neck and collarbones, loosening his grip on your neck as you settled down. He kept moving lower, kissing your breasts, the your stomach, ending with a soft bite on your upper thighs. “You’re so wet for me, sweetheart,” Eddie said as he pulled off your already soaked underwear. The whole bathroom reeked of sex and pool water, and you weren’t complaining. You also had a relatively quick and sudden understanding why Eddie may have handcuffs hanging in his bedroom. He pulled you down from the bathroom counter where you were no longer at eye level. Looking down at you, he let out a soft sigh. “I knew you were gorgeous, but this is almost too much.”

“So are you, Ed,” you exhale. “I didn’t expect you to be so good at all this.”

“I’m a nerd, not a virgin,” he chuckled. “Are you sure you’re good with all this? You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to.”

Eddie put his hand on your cheek, lifting your head up to meet his gaze. Despite you thinking this was just a hookup, you were both stone cold sober by now, and his eyes were all love. “So?” he asked.

You gave him a quick kiss and muttered out a soft, “please.”

“‘Atta girl,” he said, bending you over the counter. You could see him behind you in the mirror, fiddling with his boxers, pushing them down, and then looking at you in the mirror. The thought of being inside of you had him dripping. You felt him tease your entrance. “So fucking beautiful,” he says in barely a whisper. Eddie pushed into you, his length being more than you expected. You bite down on the palm of your hand to stifle the sounds coming out of you. Eddie chuckles, “so fucking good for me. Stay quiet, darling.”

He starts thrusting into you at a quicker pace, and you find it harder and harder to keep quiet as he reaches around your wait to play with your clit. “Please, Eddie. Don’t stop, please,” you say as quietly as you can. You feel a warm sensation pooling in your stomach as he presses the pad of his finger against your needy clit, stifling a moan as you come. After this, he takes away his hand as he continues to fuck you, grabbing your hair to make you look in the mirror. “Look how pretty you are when I fuck you,” Eddie said.

As he kept going, his thrusts grew more and more uneven, hips stuttering as he pulled out to come on your hips, groaning softly to avoid waking the others. As he grabbed the counter to steady himself, you stayed bent over the counter, knowing you were going to be about as graceful as Bambi after that. Eddie grabbed a hand towel and wet it in the sink, and then used it to clean up your back. He then helped hold you up, seeing as your legs were still a bit shaky. “How about that shower?” he asked innocently.

You just chuckled, “sure, Munson.”

Eddie ran the water in the shower and guided you in. While he washed your hair, he asked, “So, how was it?”

“How do you think?” Eddie looked at you awaiting a response. “Good! Like, really good! Context clues, Ed, god.”

“Oh, I know. Just wanted to hear you say it,” he said as he continued to rub the shampoo into your scalp, then rinsing it (and the crazy amounts of chlorine) out. He grabbed the conditioner and did the same, trying to comb out the knots with his fingers. “Pool water is so bad for your hair,” he says.

“And how would you know that?”

“Sweetheart- and I mean this in all honesty- do you think I don’t take care of my hair?”

“To be honest, I thought you were like every other man I know and used 2-in1.”

“Lies! Slander!” he laughs. You both finish your shower, and he leaves to grab your overnight bag so that you can both get ready for bed.

By the time you were finally getting ready for bed, you didn’t know what time it was anymore or much else for that matter. What you did know was that you no longer saw terrifying things when you closed your eyes. And that no one was sleeping on the couch that night, as Eddie pressed your head into his bare chest. And wordlessly, you both fell asleep easy for the first time in months.

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caesarflickermans · 6 months

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Twenty Questions: Fic Author Edition

tagged by the lovely @thesweetnessofspring and @bodyelectric77 (my heart is warm for uuu <3)

1-How many works do you have on ao3?

Two (+ a deleted one)

2-What's your total AO3 word count?

89,860

3-What fandoms do you write for?

THG. I’ve been writing in it for ten years (RP before fic), and I much rather go into publishing before I move to any other fanfiction tbh.

4-What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

She smelled like white roses

Burning bright in the city of the night

5-Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Absolutely! I try to, at least! Sometimes I get so excited about a comment that I’ll leave it in my inbox for a few days just to get excited again. Especially with my first fic that is very niche in this fandom, I get insanely happy about the fact that people are interested in it enough that they comment on it.

6-What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This is hard, as I’ve only really written two works. Burning bright comes the closest, even if the final sentence is more a relief than anything, but it is mysterious throughout. Depending on who readers think the stranger outside is, the entire story can either be very angsty or not angsty at all.

7-What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

SSLWR is technically not finished as it has a second longfic coming up, but it ends on a very happy note. I’ve had THE urge™ throughout the fic and even while planning to kill Virgilia off as a repeated circle notion, but it’s breaking the circle that is so vital. Even if she has succeeded in finding out the truth about the past wife (a mystery from the first chapter onward!), educated herself about our past, and found actual love that exists/is not a fairytale, it’s still not a character journey over. If anything, characters—and on a meta level people—like her deserve a happy ending. Even if just to show that there’s the chance to do a 180, no matter the situation. (Doesn’t mean the horrors aren’t awaiting her though 😊)

8-Do you get hate on fics?

No, and I’m kinda? Surprised lol? Like maybe it’s just that niche that you’d only click on it if you are at least semi-interested, but with the heavy subject matter I had expected some people being very critical of the content—the whole debate what belongs and doesn’t belong in (fan)fiction.

9-Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Sort of? SSLWR included a smut scene in ‘Queenside’. It was very flowery, though. So, yes, but it’s not a very descriptive scene. I wanted to stay true to V’s character and focus more-so on the emotional inner thoughts and meaning of having this moment. That said, of course this isn't the last time they will do it, especially with the next longfic including more romantic couplings, but I don't see the purpose of writing them out. The before and after seems much more important, so if I end up wanting to write it again, it will be similar to the first moment in what it did and did not mention.

10-Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not in fanfiction, but I’ve done a lot of AUs for Caesar and Virgilia in RP context. Caesar has really been in any kind of popular media from the past decade to roleplay with people’s characters there. He’s been a Tyrell in ASOIAF, and he’s been a former show host in TLOU-like verses. My most used one is a modern AU where he lives in NYC as a late night host. As for Virgilia, it’s been much fewer and I don’t really set her in other media anymore. But she has several modern verses, among those one where she grew up in a FLDS-like cult and escaped eventually.

11-Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12-Have you ever had a fic translated?

13-Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

14-What's your all-time favorite ship?

I don’t really do ships outside of the ones I have; which are Caesar/Cinna, Cressida/Fulvia, and Virgilia/Plutarch. I also have two ships with my rp partner, @beedelia. The first is Caesar/Bedelia Du Maurier from H.annibal, and the second is the sole victor I'm shipping Caesar with; a middle aged victor from 7 who lost his eyesight in the arena.

15-What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I only have one more WIP planned and it’s going to take some time, but I have confidence in it being finished. I do have some loose ideas about writing some one shots that detail more on tertiary characters, such as Paylor, but it’s nothing more than an idea. Would be in the same style as Tigris' one shot, so it's more a "once I really start, I don't think it will be abandoned".

16-What are your writing strengths?

I think I’m a good character writer. It’s a given coming from RP, but I think I can breathe life into the characters I write, and give them good story arcs. With Virgilia especially, I’m always baffled that people say they like her character or liked her journey, so I’d say that’s working quite well for me writing wise.

17-What are your writing weaknesses?

That I take a long time and overthink everything. I want my first draft to be really good, so I cannot settle for okay. I rewrite sentence and am generally slow because I want what’s coming out on the blank screen to be good. It doesn’t help that—obviously—I’m no native speaker, so my sentence structure or vocabulary is never going to be the best; I feel like both are fairly repetitive. I do try to use Merriam Webster a lot to spice it up, but it can only help so much. I’m also not sure how I’m doing pacing wise. Coming from RP, I was used a lot more to, say, 200-500 word replies where I was writing short scenes with someone else. Pacing was never a question here. But I feel like I’ve improved on this ever since I started writing longer stories.

18-Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

It doesn’t happen in Panem, anyhow. As @bodyelectric77 has said, some headcanon that Spanish is spoken in District 4, but I don’t believe that the fascist government would want to keep any other language than English in its country, because it makes surveillance so much harder. But for a more general approach: I find it unnecessary. If the character doesn’t speak the language, then it’s essentially just a blank for them. Why should they know what the other is saying? If they do speak that language, then don’t build on the reader being able to speak it (or being bothered to look it up. Why do I need google translate for a fic, grr!). Just give me indirect dialogue then (“He said XYZ in Spanish”).

19-First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter back when I was 12 or so. Both in RP and fanfiction.

20-Favorite fic you've ever written?

She smelled like white roses. It’s my passion project. Though I’ve got a feeling that Birds of the Capitol (current WIP) is going to be my magnum opus in a way. Really encapsulating 10+ years of writing (RP/fanfiction) in this fandom. I’m excited, scared, nervous, thrilled. Everything.

Tagging: @mollywog, @lemonluvgirl, @thesmileykate, @districtunrest, @petruchio

#writing #fanfiction #huh i do need a tag for my fanfiction #marie.txt #about

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missgryffin · 1 year

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So today I reached (and then surpassed) a follower milestone, and I am seriously blown away 💗 Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading and engaging with my stories. Thank you for sharing in your love for Jily with me. You guys are the best 🥹

I wanted to share something with you to celebrate, but I've been doing much more outlining than writing as of late, so I thought I'd pull back the curtain on one of the stories I'm working on right now—something that's flitted around in my head for ages and that I'm stoked to be finally writing in earnest:

As Old as Time

A Beauty and the Beast + Fairytale AU 🥀🏰🕯 (Or, what happens when you end up binging Disney movies and OUAT, which turns into googling why the Beast was a prince and not a king, and then before you know it you've been reading about Rumpelstiltskin for an hour.) The following things are known: i) Obviously Gaston = Gilderoy; ii) on that note, LeFou = Peter = LePou, which translates to head louse and is more than fitting for our brawny pig's sidekick (I dare you to go watch "Gaston" now with that in your head); iii) yes, Rumpel is Snape, and yes, his name must be edited to Rumpelsnapeskin; iv) no, Prince James cannot be an actual "beast," lest that somehow be construed as needing a bestiality tag on AO3 (*shudders*); and v) the plot of [redacted], in which [redacted] but [redacted], and then [redacted]. The following things are still unknown: i) whether this will remain a one shot or spiral even further out of control; ii) whether this will manage to be my first (only?) T-rated fic or inevitably turn steamy enough to warrant an M; and iii) whether this will be ready to post at some point "soon" or some other undetermined time "later." With all that in mind...

Prologue

Once upon a time, in the hidden heart of the realm of Gryffindor, a handsome young prince lived in a beautiful castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the spoiled prince was arrogant, selfish, and unkind. He taxed the village to fill his castle with the most beautiful objects, and his parties with the most beautiful people.

Then one night, while a bitter storm’s rain lashed at the windows and the arrogant prince danced obliviously with yet another beautiful woman, an unexpected intruder arrived at the castle.

The grand double doors burst open; the bitter storm’s gale snuffed out all of the candles with its icy breath; the music ceased; and everyone watched with bated breath as the prince approached the cloaked figure in the doorway.

The figure lowered his hood, revealing himself to be a slight man with a pointed, imp-like face and curtains of oily black hair that flapped forward as he bowed before the prince.

The imp-like man was there to collect on a deal. Not one that the prince had made, no—one that the prince’s father had made, decades before, when he feared the end of his line because his wife remained barren despite years of their efforts.

The deal was simple: a first-born son, in exchange for control of the son’s fate.

Desperate for his line to continue, even if it meant submitting to the wiles of the imp-like man, the prince’s father had accepted the bargain.

Upon learning of this, the prince was enraged, and he turned the imp-like man away, vowing never to let his life be controlled by such a snake. The imp-like man warned the prince that his father’s bargain could not be undone, though it could be supplanted by a bargain of his own.

But the prince was proud, and he refused to deal with someone he found so slimy and repulsive.

When he dismissed the intruder again, the imp-like man’s eyes turned pure black, and he snapped his fingers. At once, a red rose—as lush and beautiful as those in the rosebushes of the castle gardens—appeared in his hand. Holding the rose aloft, he cursed the prince as punishment, placing a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there.

Days bled into years, and the prince and his servants were forgotten by the world, for the imp-like man had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved. He had sentenced the prince to his fate after all: to be forever bound to his castle, immortalized in his body of twenty-five, yet alone and forgotten, forced to live knowing that his line and his very existence would disappear into oblivion exactly as his father had feared.

But all magic must have a loophole, and the prince’s was this: if he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell from the rose the imp-like man had enchanted, the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain in his forgotten castle, ageless yet alone, for all time.

As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope—for even if someone could learn to love a cursed man like him, an even more impossible element remained: who could ever find him?

Unknown to the prince and his forgotten castle, the surrounding realms were increasingly subsumed by the spiteful realm of Slytherin. Rumors of dark magic flitted about in whispers, for sorcery left as ugly a stain as blood. But no one dared speak aloud the name of the one who was said to have the wicked Queen’s ear, not even when her own mother and stepfather died in a mysterious accident, thereby allowing her to ascend the throne.

Each day of her reign, the vain, cruel Queen consulted her Magic Mirror: “Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall. Who is the fairest one of all?” And each day, the Mirror answered, “You are the fairest one of all,” until one day, the Mirror replied, “Beyond Hufflepuff’s valley, across Ravenclaw’s glen, near the heart of Gryffindor’s wild moor, dwells Snow White, fairest one of all.”

Fearing that her stepsister, the baby Princess Snow White, would not only someday surpass her in beauty but would also challenge the Queen’s connived claim to the throne, the Queen had gotten rid of her years before. But in a moment of weakness, unable to kill a young child with her own hand, the Queen had dressed the little Princess in rags and sent her afloat on the Winding River with an omen of death instead.

Enraged to learn her stepsister still lived, the Queen commanded her Huntsman to find the Princess—and bring back her heart.

❦

A Small Provincial Town

Sunshine spilled over the distant hills, golden and glowing as it reflected along the Winding River and woke the quiet little village nestled there beside the Forbidden Forest.

Why it was forbidden, Lily had no idea; it had simply been that way—dark, still, seemingly untouched—for as long as she could remember.

Of course, there were those who spoke of legends about dangerous packs of wolves prowling the Forest and eating any person who dared venture too deep into the wood, and maybe they were true; from the cottage she called home on the outskirts of town, near the Forest’s edge, Lily had often heard the distant, eerie howls of wolves at night.

But the Forest was also where she’d learned how to use her bow; where she gathered herbs and flowers that didn’t grow in their own garden; where she sometimes rode, careful not to venture beyond where the trees turned dense, and she could inhale the crisp, almost stinging scent of pine in her nose.

Something about the Forest called to her; it always had.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, Lily forced her gaze away from the beckoning trees and resumed her daily walk into the village.

🌲🏰🕯🥀

[cutting it off there before I copy/paste the whole damn file]

[stay tuned!]

#missgryffin writes #spoilers / sneak peek ahead!#very excited about what I'm working on at the moment #🥰#as old as time

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dinsverdika · 1 year

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Keldabe Kisses (multi-chaptered fic; chapter 3)

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader

Tags (as posted on AO3): fluff, romantic tension, keldabe kisses, 5+1 things, din teaches reader mando'a, reader's gender is not specified but may come off as female coded from time to time, takes place before grogu

Word count: 3,721 (all three chapters combined)

Notes: Final chapter, the "+1" is reader initiating the Keldabe Kiss instead of Din. I guess I didn't make it very clear since I haven't written down a summary on the first chapter. This fic takes place after Heartbeat and Huddling for Warmth.

< chapter 2

BONG

“Maker! Are you okay?!”

You rubbed the skin between your eyebrows where Din had accidentally headbutted you.

“I am,” you snorted. “I feel bad for the people you’ve actually headbutted before.”

You removed your hand from your vision to see Din staring at you, motionless.

“It’s okay, Mando. I’m not hurt and you didn’t mean it to do it,” you reassured him. His demeanor relaxed a bit.

“Are you gonna take care of that?” you asked, pointing at the control panel beeping at you on your side.

The reason why the control panel was beeping at you was because one of its main pieces was dysfunctioning. You and Din were scrolling down a datapad, looking for a nearby planet which had the needed piece in stock. You were sitting close enough to each other that when the control panel started beeping at you abruptly Din bumped hard against your forehead when he whipped his head to the side.

Din took care of the beeping control panel and walked towards the exit of the cockpit, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Din came back with a tube of bacta cream, “it’ll help with the swelling,” he explained as he removed his gloves. He got close to you and squeezed some of the creamy product on his finger pads.

“Can I?” he asked and you nodded positively.

The bacta cream felt cold on your skin. Din was gentle with his movements, carefully massaging the cream onto your skin. A shiver ran across your skin at his gentleness.

“Kov’nyn,” said Din after a few minutes of silence.

“Huh?”

“It’s Mando’a for headbutt, it comes from 'kovid' and 'nynir' which mean ‘head’ and ‘strike’ respectively. It’s a Mandalorian unarmed combat technique, we use our armour in an offensive manner when everything else fails.”

“Oh.”

You sat quietly as Din kept applying the healing cream.

“So,’’ you started hesitantly, “you’ve been softly kov’nyn-ing me for quite some time now, haven’t you? Is it because I’m unarmed and harmless?”

You ended your sentence with a soft laugh, wanting to ease the tension.

Din snorted, “I wouldn’t say you’re harmless, you can use a blaster.”

You rolled your eyes, “you know what I mean.”

Din wiped his fingers clean on his trousers and sighed, “I guess you could say that.”

You lifted an eyebrow up, pushing him to keep going.

“Although a kov’nyn is primarily an offensive gesture, there’s a softer side to it. When two Mandalorians tap their helmets together it can be translated into a kissing gesture,” Din explained.

You kept quiet, registering what Din was saying to you. “Is there a name for it?” you asked.

“It’s called a Keldabe kiss,” he replied. “I should’ve told you sooner, I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable I’ll never do it again. I’ll-”

You cut his blabbering short with a sharp gesture of your hand, “it’s fine,” you reassured him. “I don’t mind it, it’s actually very endearing.” Your cheeks turned warm at your admission, “now I can fully appreciate the gesture and maybe I could Keldabe kiss you now too?” you asked tentatively.

“You’re welcome to do it,” Din agreed. You smiled at him, feeling that he was smiling at you under his helmet. The Mandalorian cupped your cheeks and made you look up at him, he lowered his forehead to yours until they were pressed together, “healing Keldabe kiss.”

You giggled as tingles went up your spine and Din rubbed his thumbs across your cheekbones.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

You both jumped at the control panel beeping at you two again, spoiling your bonding moment. Din deeply sighed and turned away to check the beeping device again.

“We really need to find a replacement for this dysfunctioning piece,” you said, picking up the datapad again and Din hummed in agreement.

The Razor Crest had just landed on Nevarro’s landing bay. Din had finished tracking down all of the bounties Greef Karga had given to him and it was time for the carbonite chamber to be emptied out and for Din to collect new tracking fobs. The bounty hunter had asked if you were interested in joining him to the cantina but you had refused, you had a few errands to run.

“Here, take it,” Din said as he handed you a blaster which he had just retrieved from the weapons locker.

“I don’t think it’s necessary, I-”

He pushed the blaster in your hand before you could finish your sentence, “take it.”

“Alright, alright,” you replied. You holstered the blaster in your thigh strap which had been left unused in the confines of your bag for the entirety of your trip with Din. You liked the feeling of the fabric around your thighs, it felt almost comforting. You hadn’t needed it until now but Nevarro being the planet that it was, you understood why Din wanted you to take precautions.

“Ready?” asked Din when he had gathered what his belongings and walked towards the control panel of the ramp. You nodded positively and the ramp hissed open.

You and Din parted ways, walking in opposite directions when you had come up with a meeting time when the two of you were done with your respective tasks. But something was wrong, something was missing. Your eyebrows turned into a frown as the cogs in your brain started working on a higher gear, trying to find the reason why you were feeling this way.

You stopped dead in your tracks when it finally registered to you.

“MANDO!”

The Mandalorian whipped his entire body around at the sound of your voice, ready to unholster the blaster closest to his hand but stopped half-way when he realised that you weren’t in danger. He tilted his helmet in confusion, trying to get his heartbeat under control.

Without saying anything else, you quickly jogged to him until your bodies were almost flushed against each other. Time slowed around you as you looked into each other’s eyes. You could hear your heart beating in your ears. Anticipation coursed through you and you swallowed, carefully lifting up your hands until they were resting on each side of Din’s helmet. You felt him tensing but you swiftly brought his helmeted forehead against your bare one. The vocoder caught up Din deeply exhaling through his nose, all of the muscles in his body relaxing at the gesture. You felt Din wrapping his arms around your waist, bringing your bodies closer to each other. Your hands slid from the sides of his helmet to his pauldrons. The nervousness you were feeling a few seconds prior turned into this buzzing feeling which would bust within you anytime you and Din got intimate like this. You hadn’t noticed you were grinning until the muscles in your cheeks started aching. Din loosened his arms around you, stepping away from you but his hands didn’t leave your hips and yours his pauldrons.

“You scared me, you know,” he finally said. You could hear that he was grinning as well under his helmet.

“I’m sorry,” you replied sincerely, “I didn’t mean to. I felt like something was missing and when I realised what it was, it was as if my body was on auto-pilot. In short, I guess I didn’t like that I didn’t kiss you goodbye.”

“I understand,” Din replied. He proved it by pressing his forehead against yours once more.

“I should get going,” he said regretfully after a few more seconds of silence.

“You should,” you replied. “I’ll see you later.”

You parted ways again. There was a new weightlessness in your steps as you walked and as much as you tried, the smile on your face wouldn’t fade away. It was easier for Din to hide how gleeful he was feeling, he was thinking of ways to make his appointment with Karga short. If it’s even possible to make them even shorter than they already are, he thought. He wanted nothing more than to get back in the Razor Crest and travel around the galaxy with you again

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader #fluff #gn!reader #afab!reader #my writing

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daimyosprincess · 11 months

Text

PART IV: ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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

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

—SUMMARY: Your new relationship with the Mandalorian studies professor begins to take shape.

—WORD COUNT: 11.2k

—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), alcohol consumption by reader and others, reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, oral sex (male and fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), creampie, lots of pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, light degradation (discussed before, use of "slut" and "whore"), choking, hair pulling, one dude being a creep but nothing bad happens

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations at the end.

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Y’all I’m not going to lie to you, this got filthy FAST and idk how this ended up at 11k but I’m not sorry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And, yes, I am naming these chapters after different parts of a book because I think I’m clever. We've got some new chapter warnings this go around as well, so be sure to mind those!

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

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Rain plinks steadily against the thick, wavy glass of the library’s windows, its hypnotic rhythm lulling you into a trance as you watch the gray sky curl and coil outside from your post at the circulation desk. In your relaxed daze, your mind slips back to your date with Boba and the morning after. You think about how you got to fall asleep in his arms, tucked into his chest that was so warm and safe you only needed the sheet on top of you, and how even in his sleep he kept a protective arm slung over your body.

The way he woke you up with kisses on your neck, whispering how happy he was to wake up with you in his bed as his tongue laved over the bite-shaped bruise he left there the night before, and how it felt when you let him kiss down your body until he was once again laying between your thighs. How his hooded brown eyes searched for permission to continue like you would ever deny him any part of you.

“Can I taste you, princess? Can I have that pretty pussy for breakfast?”

“Please, it’s all yours.”

He was in no rush to take you apart, groaning into your wet heat and sucking more bruises into the tender skin of your thighs in between licking and fucking you with his tongue until you finally begged him to push you over the edge. After he let you soak his face, he stole you away to the shower, promising you his fingers and his cock. Afterwards you had returned the favor in the steamy, warm water, not content until he spilled every last drop of his release down your throat, cursing with his fist in your hair that you were going to suck the life out of him.

“No,” you smiled deviouly, licking the last dribble of cum off his cock, “just your soul, old man.”

Flashing you a shark-like grin through the haze of his release, he reached behind you and turned the water to cold before jumping out of the shower. You might not have forgiven him as quickly as you did if he hadn’t made you the best omelet you’d ever had for breakfast.

Since neither of you had been willing to part, you spent the day sprawled across him watching reruns on TV and talking about your lives: what books you liked, your dream vacations, what the best pasta sauce is, first crushes, anything really. The conversation flowed with such ease you might have talked the whole day away if you hadn’t gotten distracted with exploring each other’s bodies. It wasn’t all sex—though there was plenty of that too—it was soft touches mapping out curves and lines to memory, lips tracing over scars and dimples, warm hands on sore muscles. In short, it was pure bliss, like coming home after a long journey.

You had been loath to leave him when the treacherous sun started to set at the end of the day; Boba even threatened to keep you forever if you weren’t careful, as if that was supposed to make you want to leave any more. How could you be expected to sleep in your own bed now that you knew the warmth of his? Go to sleep without his chest rising and falling next to you? You were falling hard, tumbling down into love’s abyss with arms open and heart willing. That should scare you, it had in the past, but how could you be afraid when it was Boba Fett you were getting lost in?

When he finally did take you back to your apartment once the sun dipped below the horizon, you almost convinced him to come inside for “just one drink” before he thought better of your ploy to keep him and sent you through your door with a smack on the ass.

“Nice try, princess. I know what you’re up to.”

“What? I’m just being a hospitable host.”

“I’m pretty sure hospitable hosts don’t try to put their hands down their guests’ pants in the doorway.”

“The good ones do, and only for guests who can fuck like you.”

He laughed with that rich, delicious rumble of his then kissed you until your head spun and your lungs cried for air. Just thinking about it now makes your chest tighten and breath catch in the back of your throat. Gods I wish I could sneak over to his office and kiss him like that again. Run my hands over his broad shoulders and strong chest, feel his heartbeat quicken when I kiss him.

With the advent of classes, you’d hardly seen him outside of the afternoons when he’d walk you to your car at the end of the day. Talking on the phone every night was great, but it couldn’t replace actually being with him, especially when you’d been able to spend almost everyday with him those last two weeks of the summer break. All this time apart served to show just how much you enjoy just being around Boba; you miss the weight of his voice, the serenity of his solid presence, his dark eyes and the bright smile he seemed to reserve for you alone. He fed a part of you that you didn’t know was starving and tended to the soft pieces of yourself that had been trodden down by the unkinder parts of life.

Oh, and he can make me come so hard I forget my own name. Repeatedly.

The sound of someone actually saying your name interrupts your daydreaming. Unhappily snatched back from the rosy past to the dreary present Thursday, you swivel towards the source of the interruption: a smirking Selena leaning against the back office door with her arms crossed, smug. “Thinking about your professor again?”

“No,” you deny rather unconvincingly, rolling out your shoulders to sit up straight with a huff. You’d been caught fair and square but that didn’t mean you're going to admit it.

Your coworker scoffs, rolling her eyes, clearly not fooled by your posturing. “Pfft that’s not what the hearts in your eyes say. I think you even have a couple floating above your head.”

Looking around the spacious room, you throw your hands up. “Does nobody in this library have any work to do besides harass me?” There’s barely a patron in sight, the large oak tables in the atrium sitting empty except for a handful of students hunched under the green bankers lamps lining them.

“On a day like today? Absolutely not.” Selena drops down on the chair next to you with a yawn and a stretch, not bothering with the guise of work at all. “Did you decide what you’re wearing to the baccalaureate reception tomorrow?”

The event in question is the big kickoff to the academic year for faculty and staff at the end of the first week of classes. Held in the space the two of you are currently seated in, the library’s ornate atrium would be cleared of all its furniture and set up for an evening of hors d’oeuvres and drinks on the university’s dime. Despite the ostentatiousness of it all, you enjoyed the reception as it let you catch up with colleagues you rarely got to see during the academic year and mingle with the new professors. You were especially looking forward to this year’s, not in the least because it provided the opportunity to see a certain Mandalorian studies professor dressed to the nines.

“I was thinking of the green velvet dress, the one with the mesh top,” you answer. The outfit in question is one of your favorites; the rich material hugging your curves in all the right ways making you feel effortlessly sexy—you can’t wait to see Boba’s reaction to it. If you're lucky, you hope, he’ll drag you off somewhere and have his way with you before the night is over. And then again when we get back to his house.

Selena squeals and claps her hands excitedly. “Eeee, the one that makes you look snatched?” she wiggles her eyebrows at you “‘Cause if it is, your man doesn’t stand a chance!”

You laugh, curling your hands inward and cocking your head dramatically. “Yes, that one. You still got those black heels I can borrow?”

“Yeah, as long as I can use that clutch you let me use the other week.”

“It’s a deal,” you grin. “Oh, and Boba said we can get ready in his office so we don’t have to go all the way home and come back.”

“Are you sure he meant ‘we,’” she gestures between the pair of you skeptically, “or just you? I’m not trying to cut my contour while you two are going at it on the couch.”

You throw a pad of yellow sticky notes sitting on the computer at her. “He meant we, and besides,” you smirk, “I’ll just suck him off before you get there so you can fix my makeup after.” You both burst into giggles after a poor attempt of stifling them, your laughter earning you a glare from a passing professor, which you ignore.

Balancing her chin on her hand, your friend considers you for a moment. Her big brown eyes are a bit lighter than Boba’s, ringed with dark lashes and expertly applied winged eyeliner. “So you really like this Boba Fett then?”

A sunny smile spreads over your face, the answer easily on your lips. “You know what? I do, I really, really do. He’s strong and kind and funny in his own way, and he makes me feel safer than I have in my whole life. He matches my energy like… like he was made just for me. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at him or hearing him talk. He could read the kriffing phone book to me and I would be riveted.”

“Hold on, let me write all this down so I can send it to Hallmark for their next movie,” Selena interrupts, grabbing a pen from the cup on the desk. You roll your eyes and she snickers before softening. “Really though, I’m so happy for you, girl. It’s not every day you find someone who makes you feel like that.”

Her warmth and genuineness make your heart twinge: you are truly grateful to have a friend like her. “Thank you, Sel, that means a lot.”

She leans in and rests her head on your shoulder, and you give her a squeeze. “Now,” she starts, grinning, “do you know if he has any sons around our age for me?” Dissolving into giggles once more, you decide to give up on work for the remainder of the rainy day.

You rest a hand on your hip, taking a swig from your water bottle and admiring the efforts of the last half hour’s labor: the primly decorated circulation desk showcasing all the library’s services and resources for the reception guests to peruse. The attendees would begin arriving any minute and you were eager to present all the library offers for the faculty; you genuinely enjoy your work and you’re proud of the new primary source collection you’d established over the summer. It also meant you finally got to see Boba—you hadn’t gotten to see him when you and Selena went to his office to change, his department meeting having run over.

Try as you might, you can’t help the wanton tingle that sparkles down your spine under your dress, or heat creeping into your cheeks at the racy memories of the pleasure you found on his tongue, cock, and fingers. What you wouldn’t give for a quickie right now, just a little something to take the edge off…

“Excuse me, miss, where can we put the catering carts?”

Right, I’m supposed to be working. Stuffing all the wicked thoughts swirling in your head to the back of your mind, you smile at the event server and direct him down the hall. Hearing the swell of voices from the lobby, you turn and see the first attendees filing into the atrium, dressed in cocktail dresses and suits. Your eyes search for Boba in the crowd but you’re quickly caught up doing your presentation on the library’s collections and resources.

It’s not until your last group before you hand over your representative duties to Selena for the remainder of the evening that you spot Boba leaning against the wall across from the desk, watching you with Fennec at his side. Your practiced spiel jumbles together at the wicked gleam shining in his eyes and he smirks, whispering something to the handsome woman next to him. Taking a sip of water, you recover and roll your shoulders back to stick your tits out just a little more with your chin held high at his challenge.

After the group clears out and you hand things over to your friend, you saunter over to your two favorite professors. Sticking out a hip, you trail your eyes up the oxblood colored shirt stretched across Boba’s chest, taking in the delicious way his sharp onyx suit is tailored to his thick frame. Knowing what all is hidden underneath his clothes only makes the whole ensemble even hotter. “Can I answer any questions about the library for you, professors?” you ask in a syrupy voice, your tone laced with dark sugar.

Gazing at you rather appreciatively, Fennec answers first. “Yeah, are you free later?”

Your brows raise with a suggestive arch, biting your lip and leaning into her game. “Why, what do you have in mind?” you shoot back, letting your gaze linger on her pink lips.

She’s practically purring, running her long, graceful fingers down the length of your arm. “Why don’t you come home with me and find out, kitten?”

“Mmm sorry, no can do, Fenn,” you hum, flicking your eyes over to an amused Boba, “I already made plans with the new Mandalorian studies professor after this.”

“What? That old man?” she scoffs, flicking her intricate braid over her shoulder.

Boba throws an elbow at her, grumbling, “We’re the same karking age, Shand.”

“Well, Fett, I guess some of us just wear it better then.”

“I don’t know, that’s not what she was moaning in my ear last weekend,” Boba replies, as smooth as Corellian whiskey and just as sinful. A jolt of arousal shoots between your thighs, his open possessiveness sending heat straight to your core.

That remark earns a full-bellied laugh from Fennec. “Touché.”

Another faculty member passes by and steals Fennec away, allowing you to slip into her spot next to Boba and press your arm against his. While you don’t intend to hide your more-than-professional relationship with him, you don’t want to draw judgment down on either of you. “Fenn make you a little jealous?” you tease, bumping your elbow against him.

He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Not when I know you’re coming home with me, princess.” He slips a hidden hand between you and the wall to skim his fingertips down your back to settle his palm just above the swell of your ass, making your skin light up with the sensation of him. “It’s good to see you, babygirl, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it before the reception started,” he adds in a sweet, low voice, pressing a quick kiss into your hair. “And your presentation was excellent.”

You lean into him for just a heartbeat, savoring his affection before breaking away. The heated pulse between your thighs spurs you on. “Oh, you were actually listening? Looked to me like you were peeling this dress off me in your mind.”

“I heard you're supposed to imagine everyone else naked to do public speaking.”

You smack his arm, giggling. “That’s if you’re the speaker!”

“Ah well, it was worth it anyways,” he grins at you. Seeing a group approaching, he regretfully takes his hand off your back.

A few faculty from the biology department come over and greet you, its ever-affable head, Professor Bernard, pressing a glass of champagne in your hand. “The department of biology’s honorary member needs a drink!” he proclaims with a hearty laugh before clapping a hand on Boba’s shoulder, telling him, “Come see this one here if you need anything. She’s found papers and journals I didn’t even know still existed!”

“I’ve heard she has some… special skills,” Boba answers with a quirk of his lips.

Catching the tone gilding his words, you slide your gaze over to him and see that same mischievous twinkle in his eye. Oh, so it’s going to be like that then? Hope he knows what he’s started. The conversation continues as introductions are made on both sides and stories of the first week of classes are shared.

“You didn’t get stateside until a few weeks before the semester? How on earth did you manage to get everything done, old sport?” Bernard questions.

“Oh, that would be thanks to me,” you interject, grinning at the ensuing laughter, “Lucky for Professor Fett here, I was able to work very closely with him to get everything he needed.”

“And for that, I am eternally grateful. It’s not everyday you get someone who's so eager and willing to please,” Boba replies calmly, sipping from his own drink like he’s simply discussing the weather.

You cover your scoff with your glass and drain the rest of it. “And now since he owes me one, I’ve got him at my mercy. Just where I like him.”

“Looks like you’re in for it now, my friend!” the old biology professor guffaws, grasping Boba’s hand in a firm shake. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Fett. Stop by my office for a drink some time.”

The group moves on to the next familiar face in the crowd, leaving you and Boba alone. “Better watch it, princess,” he rumbles, enticing danger coating his words, “Or I won’t show you any mercy later tonight.”

With a cursory glance to confirm that no one is watching, you brush your lips over his ear, just enough to raise chill bumps on his tan skin. “Oh, professor,” you whisper, sordid and low, “that’s what I’m counting on.”

Though he’s never confirmed it in so many words, you know your professor likes to watch you play your little games, talk and flirt and ensnare yourself so deep in your own undoing you have no choice but to beg him for mercy when the night is over. He’s the patient hand of justice to your calculated subversive impulse, the solid weight to balance your scales. He’s the rock you scrape your match against to set your passions ablaze.

You’d learned to build bonfires, great roaring things, on the summer camping trips you’d taken with your cousins as a kid. You were even quite good at it, the framing of the timbers and the flick of the wrist necessary to strike the flint coming naturally to you. Maybe that’s why you were so good at burning through Boba’s patience with slippery innuendos and heated looks.

You know building a fire takes time; seasoned wood must be gathered, tinder procured, a spot cleared for the blaze, all this before the pyre can be built stick by stick. If constructed correctly, the dry litter would catch the struck spark and burn bright and hot, igniting the kindling to crackle and snap, eventually spreading the growing flames to the larger logs for a sustained burn. If the ratio of smaller sticks and thicker pieces was off or the build of the bonfire didn’t allow enough oxygen in to feed the early feeble flames, then the pyre would be nothing more than a smoking pile of cold wood. And that would not bring Boba to a boil, make him spill over hot and scalding in vexed passion.

His restraint and control were truly commendable. To his credit, he’d spent the larger part of the evening calmly watching you work the room during the baccalaureate reception, gifting smiles and glittering laughs to men who didn’t deserve them and to women who wouldn’t actually do anything with them, even if they wanted to. You are in your element and you know it, making you not only powerful but dangerously so.

Taking a sip of the sparkling flute of champagne pressed into your hand by the one of the history department, you let your eyes wander around the vibrant space, taking in the celebratory atmosphere around you as laughter and animated conversation twine together in a lively buzz. You take your time in your survey, knowing that your gaze would eventually land on what it sought. You spot Selena next to one of the exquisite floral arrangements decorating the room laughing with one of the film professors and Fennec leaning against one of the polished marble columns in deep conversation with a pretty woman with sparkling eyes. Looks like I’m not the only one going home with somebody tonight.

Finally, your languid scan of the party falls on its target: a certain Mandalorian studies professor. He looks truly glorious under the glistening chandeliers illuminating the library, they cast a soft, warm glow that makes his bronze skin gleam and scars glint with tantalizing effect. It’s his eyes, however, that make your knees go weak: they shine dark and expressive, the umber of them always on you no matter where you found yourself in the room. If eyes really are the windows to the soul like they say, then Boba Fett has a soul like the ocean, with unknowable depths and enough pressure to break bones, towering waves that doom sailors and hidden currents that whisk the unsuspecting into the abyss.

Gods above, you want to drown in him even if it takes calling down Poseidon's wrath to do so. You’ve built your pyre, now all that’s left is to light it.

Putting on your most dazzling smile, you sidle over to the drinks table to casually “bump” into Professor Lancaster, the admittedly handsome 30-something hot shot bachelor of the university faculty. “Oh, I am so sorry!” you apologize in a breathy rush, immediately grabbing a napkin to dab at the splash of champagne on the young man’s suit jacket. The look of surprise on Lancaster’s face swiftly morphs into opportunistic pleasure when he sees that the person with their hands on him is the young research librarian in a tight dress.

He grins. It’s a scavenger’s smile, hungry for a kill that isn’t his. “No worries, bright eyes. You okay?”

“Better now that I’m with you.” His brows shoot up and, you’re absolutely sure, so does his dick based on the way his pupils dilate. “Sorry,” you giggle, fluttering your lashes, “too much?”

You can feel how his greedy gaze slides over your exposed skin in open interest. “Maybe not enough,” he winks, “Let’s get you another drink.”

You spend the next twenty minutes at the young professor’s side as he slowly inches you towards the side door by circulating from one group to another under the guise of “making introductions”—like you didn’t already work at the university. The entire time you sneak peeks at Boba watching your antics with rapidly decreasing levels of patience. Eventually, you lose sight of him behind a cluster of English professors.

You’re literal feet from the exit when Lancaster slides a hand down to your waist, tugging you against his side by your hip bone. “What do you say, bright eyes? Wanna get out of here?”

The pompous look on his face tells you everything you need to know about this man: he’s used to getting what he wants and he’s not afraid to take advantage of your possible inebriation to get it. He’s disgusting. Suddenly, you’re very conscious of how much you dislike this man and consider slamming your heel down on his overpriced loafer. Before you get the chance, however, a familiar deep voice sounds from behind your back.

“Excuse me, I have some business with this one here.” Boba’s voice leaves no room for disagreement, at least if one was smart enough to know it.

Lancaster, unsurprisingly, is not. “We were just leaving,” he says dismissively with an annoyed expression, reaching to turn you towards the exit, “It’ll have to wait.”

“Don’t think it can,” Boba responds flatly. He grabs your bicep and peels you out of his grasp. Ignoring the younger man’s sputtering as he leads you down one of the hallways branching off from the atrium, going far enough that the noise from the reception starts to fade off. Rounding the corner into the stacks, he abruptly flattens you against the wall, caging you in and pinning you with his hips.

If his slight manhandling of you before had you wet, this has you soaked: his thick forearm rests on the wall next to your head while his other hand remains locked around your upper arm, just tight enough to remind you it could bruise if it got any tighter. His hips, however, are likely to leave their mark on yours—it’s all enough to drive you nearly insane with desire. You’re too hot for your own skin and Boba is radiating enough heat to brand you and melt your brain like wax.

“Not so brave now, are you, little princess?” Boba croons, licking his lips like he can taste your salt on his tongue. “Now that you’ve got nowhere to run and no pretty boys to bat your lashes at.” His muscular thigh pushes its way between your own and he grinds up into your center, forcing a moan up behind your teeth.

“I have… no idea… what… you’re talking… about,” you gasp, writhing on his thigh as your hands fly out to fist his suit jacket in a gnarled grip. You can feel your brain melting down the sides of your skull under his piercing gaze.

“Oh, you don’t?” he mocks, “Well let me enlighten you then, sweetheart. You spent the entire evening driving every man and the women Shand didn’t get to first out of their minds with your pretty little face and flirty little mouth. And all for what, to get my attention?”

You’re burning so hot you can’t even think, much less get your tongue to unstick to form a coherent sound, so all you can answer with is round, shiny eyes and a shiver.

“Well, now you have it, princess,” he continues, a predatory smirk slashing across his dark features that makes your insides twist with his danger. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“I-I was just having fun,” you manage, your voice coming out hoarse and pitchy. Boba’s pressed so far into you that you’re scraping along his thigh as you ride it.

He grunts, shaking his head in disbelief. “She says she was ‘just having fun…’” he mumbles to himself as if the thought is amusing to him. You flash a tentative smile in hopes of sweetening him up, but the lurid flash in his eyes signal that it’s far too late for such mercy. “If that’s what you do for fun, princess,” he hisses out the pet name, “then it looks like I need to keep you on a shorter leash.” Releasing your bicep, Boba’s hand wraps around your throat faster than your muddled perception can register.

The strangled curse that claws up from your chest can’t even escape the confines of your throat to sound. Blood rushes to your head as your entire existence narrows down to the rough hand pressing in on your airways. You’re gushing into your panties, the amount of wetness now coating your thighs utterly obscene. Fuck he’s going to be the death of me and I want him to do it.

Boba’s rumble of pleasure at your response rattles in your own chest as he eases up on the pressure of his fingers to let you suck in desperate air, rubbing the delicate flesh underneath. “Oh, you liked that didn’t you? You like it when I’m rough, dirty girl.” His taunts are pouring fire into your bloodstream and sweat begins to slick your skin. Leering, he drags his tongue over your racing pulse point and your mind goes searingly blank. For a moment, you think you might have actually come with the way blinding pleasure floods your entire body.

“Fuck, Boba!”

A sinful chuckles drips from his plush lips into your damp skin, and he seals it away there with a wet kiss before pulling back to look into your glazed eyes. “Do you know what I do with brats who forget their place?” he asks in a timbre so low you can feel it in your bones.

This you know, you think, this you can push back on and regain some ground. “You punish them with your silly little toys and spank their asses a bit,” you spit out, your derision honed sharp as your initial surprise begins to wear off.

“Oh no, princess, you’d enjoy that too much.” An acidic laugh pours from his lips, making your blood run painfully cold, and he smiles at you like you’re struggling prey caught in his maw. “What I do,” he growls, “is I don’t let them come.”

Before the words even leave the air between you, Boba releases you and pushes away from the wall where he had you pinned. You stumble forward, your head spinning with the dizzying loss of contact and terrifying revelation. Panic sticks needles into your skin. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t, right?!

“Aww, is that not what you were expecting, sweetheart?” Boba asks with a crushing amount of false sympathy, chucking up your chin on two fingers. You’re coming apart at the seams and he loves it. “Thought you could pull one over on me?”

Heart pounding against your ribs, you race to figure a way to repair your situation, one that ended up with him fucking you through at least one orgasm. Kark, why did I think this was all a good idea again? Gods I’m so kriffing wet I can’t think. Come on… focus, focus! The second you get the idea you act on it, wasting no time debating its worth.

You drop to your knees right in front of him, yanking him forward by his belt buckle. Boba catches himself against the wall with an outstretched arm and a curse, his smug expression shattered by genuine shock. As he stares down at you with wild eyes, you grin a wicked thing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that not what you were expecting?”

Boba stares at you like you’ve remade his entire universe, his broad chest heaving under the straining buttons of his shirt. Sucking in a ragged breath, he hauls you to your feet and slams into you, his hand cupping the back of your skull so it doesn’t hit the wall when his lips crash into yours. You pulse and throb into one another, your every breath melting into his as your hands claw into clothes seeking the heat of the other. He becomes you and you become him as time stops moving—if only for a minute.

“Baby, princess, angel,” Boba moans into your mouth, “I gotta have you, I have to have you right fucking now. Go to your office and start touching yourself. Get yourself nice and ready so I can slide right into that perfect cunt as soon as I get you home. I’m going to pull the car around.”

Your panties don’t even make it into the house: Boba literally tears them off you as soon as he puts the car in park in his driveway, stuffing them into his pants pocket and promising to buy you a hundred more so he can do it again. Stumbling with you up the blessedly short path to his front door with a handful of your ass, Boba jams his key into the lock and you both tumble in the door, lips still connected. “Shit, aren’t you always good for a surprise?” he pants between kisses, fumbling with the door bolt until it locks behind him. “Dropping to your kriffing knees in the library. Kark, couldn’t even punish you after that, my bold little princess. Made me too fucking hard.”

Your lips smile against his as you push his jacket from his shoulders. “You just bring it out of me, sir, I-I can’t help it. Couldn’t stand the thought of not having you.” Boba groans at the epithet and you start pulling open his buttons with shaking hands. “That’s why I do it… can’t help myself, just want you so kriffing bad.” When you reach his pants at the end of his shirt, he snatches your wrists and spins you so your back is shoved against the door.

“You’re so good to me, so fucking good. Even when you’re a brat, you’re my little angel, doing it all for me. Maker, you’re perfect.” Boba snags the hem of your dress and bunches it over your hips, allowing the cool air access to your slick folds and making you shiver. “Good girls get rewarded, don’t they, princess? Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to make you feel so, so good, give you the reward you deserve.”

Your desire-dazed brain can’t decide whether to focus on the stream of filth pouring forth from his mouth or his lips as they kiss over your dress and down to your soft belly as he comes to kneel in front of you. Effortlessly tossing your leg over his shoulder while balancing you against him, Boba steadies your body with his hands on your hips. “Will you let me return the favor, pretty girl? Will you let me lick up this perfect pussy?”

Smiling down at him with lust-blown eyes, you answer in a breathy laugh. “But I didn’t even actually suck you off.”

“Bet you would have, though, princess, if I had let you.”

Fuck, he’s probably right. You weren’t kidding when you said you can’t help yourself. “Yeah, I would have,” you giggle, “Why didn’t you?” The thought of slipping his thick cock in between your lips when all those other people were just a hallway away sends a fresh wave of arousal dripping from your core.

“Mmm because I want to hear every single sound that comes out of your mouth tonight… and none of those fuckers deserve to even think about you, much less hear those sweet noises you make when you’re coming apart.” Boba begins layering sloppy kisses over your thighs and abdomen, circling ever closer to your drenched center. His dark eyes flick you to capture yours in a heated gaze. “Let me hear it, pretty baby, can I eat this sweet cunt?”

Lacing your fingers with his hand on your opposite hip, you lean your head back on the door. “Please, sir, please let me have your tongue.”

The words don’t even finish leaving your lips before he dives into between your legs, groaning like a man starved getting his first meal in months. The sounds of his slurping and sucking have your knees giving out almost immediately, rapturous pleasure consuming your entire being. All that exists is the way his tongue fucks into you, the way his lips wrap around your aching clit and how he pulls moans deep from within your stuttering chest. When his thick, calloused fingers push inside your weeping heat and curl, your hand slaps over your mouth to stifle a ragged scream as explosions of color blur your vision.

Boba claps his palm against your ass and pops off your clit. “Don’t you fucking dare cover that mouth of yours. I want to hear everything, sweetheart, I want you to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood with how good I make you feel.”

The torturous coil in your belly tightens to a delicious pain and you let your pleasure be heard, your jaw falling slack as your head tips back against the heavy wooden door. Boba redoubles his efforts, cursing and praising, sucking and licking, twisting you tighter and tighter around your own desire until it’s almost unbearable. When a third finger slips into you, it feels like the floor drops from beneath your feet and you know you're doomed to your desire. “Please, can I-can I-”

“Fucking come all over me,” he growls straight into your clit, digging so deep into you think you see the Maker.

A wail tears free from your chest, echoing off the walls and vibrating in your skull as you dissolve into pure pleasure, raw and vulnerable against the mountain of his body. To be so ethereal and untouchable in his arms is a new, divine dimension of your ecstasy that heals you even as you fall apart into a soaked, quivering mess.

“Nau’ul be kar’ta,” Boba coos in a voice like crushed velvet, rich and dark, “my beautiful, perfect girl, come here.” You collapse in a trembling heap into his waiting arms, your mind nothing but a plane of warm, fuzzy bliss. You’re lifted and arranged in his lap by impossibly strong hands as you drift through the glowing stars of your high. Boba rocks you gently against his heaving chest, a stream of patient praise streaming from his lips pressed into your hair. “You did so good for me… taste so sweet, makes me want to keep you on my tongue forever… kark, bet the whole street is jealous with how loud you were, such a good girl, letting me hear that sweet voice just like I asked…”

Eventually your senses start to return and you wiggle around to straddle him, placing your molten core directly over top of his straining erection and eliciting a graveled groan from him. “Mmm, that was amazing, professor,” you hum into his throat, “Now let me return the favor.” You tug his shirt off and he lets you drop it to the floor. “I wanna go over every single tattoo on your body with my tongue until it’s all I can remember.”

“Kark, you’re filthy, princess,” he groans, his cock twitching with interest underneath his pants as hauls you up with him off the floor. By the time you stagger to the bedroom, your clothes are gone, littered in a trail from the door to his room. Seizing your opportunity, you shove him back on the mattress and hop on top of him, pushing a grunt from him that makes you giggle. “Easy, little one, I’m not as young as I once was,” he grits out between your kisses.

Grinning into the thick muscle of his pec, you nip at the ink you just traced with your tongue. “Sorry, I forgot I have to be careful with you, old man.” Boba pinches your ass and you squeak, though you remain unrepentant.

“You must want me to be mean to you tonight, sweetheart.”

You continue licking and sucking over the dark swirling patterns on his chest. “Mmm, maybe I do.” While you’d never been much for that sort of thing before, none of those men before had been Boba. If his praise is sweeter than honey you can only imagine how delicious his ire would be, and something hot sparks between your legs. “But I wouldn’t want to wear you out, old timer.”

A dangerous, low chuckle emanates from the ribs under your lips and your insides twist into knots. “You really know how to bring it out of me, don’t you, naughty princess? I think you really do want me to be mean, want me to treat you just like how you’ve been acting all evening.” Snatching you against his chest, he grabs your jaw in a tight grip. “Tell me, little one, is that what you want? You want me to call you names and remind you who you belong to?” He brushes his thumb over your cheek in a small show of affection that reminds you this is all a game, and you can call it off if you want to. It makes your heart sing—and your pussy clench.

“Yes, Boba,” you rasp, molten desire pumping hot and heady under your heated skin, “I want that, please.” You’ve accepted the fact that Boba Fett makes you want things that you never have before, sinful things that make your cheeks burn and heart race. It’s a forbidden fruit that the professor is all too willing to indulge you in, him licking up its sweet juice as it dribbles down your chin.

“Anything you don’t want me to call you? Any limits you want to set?” he questions, his voice taking on that firm, guiding tone he always used when he worked through things with you.

Chewing your lip, you consciously slow your breath like how Boba taught you so you can focus in the moment when you’re all worked up. “Don’t call me ‘bitch’ or anything too serious like that. ‘Whore’ and ‘slut’ are fine though.”

He nods, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Remember to stop me if you don’t like something, babygirl, I’ll never be upset if you do. What’s our word?”

“Kamino,” you answer dutifully, wriggling a little in your excitement, desire licking up your thighs—your evening-long machinations were about to come to fruition.

“Good girl,” he praises, “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

The dominant, possessive side Boba tucked away during your discussion returns tenfold more wicked now that it’s all decided. He sits up, taking you with him as drops down into the armchair against the wall. “Then get on your knees,” he sneers, “You want to act like a whore, throwing yourself at everyone who shows you any interest in that tight little dress you had on, I’m going to treat you like one. I want you sucking my dick like that’s all you know how to do.”

You drop so fast it makes your head spin, allowing your base desire to freely submit. You undo his belt with hungry fingers, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants to reveal his half-hard girth. Instead of yanking down the last barrier separating him from your tongue, you run your nails up his thighs and drag your open mouth over his growing bulge over his underwear, pulling a hiss from his lips.

“I didn’t say tease me, girl,” he admonishes, though he’s fully hard now, straining against the confines of the fabric still on him. “If you do as you’re told, maybe I’ll think about giving that pussy what I know it needs.”

You moan into him, his cock jumping at the feeling. You tear down his underwear and his beautiful cock springs forth, proud and already leaking. “Fuck,” you exhale as you take him all in, “you’re so big.” Kark, I swear he’s even bigger than last time.

“Aw, don’t be scared, sweetheart, I like it when they choke,” he taunts with a cruel chuckle that goes straight to your sopping cunt. He pumps his tanned length a few times and your mouth waters at the sight of it. “Now open up that pretty mouth.”

Your jaw drops open and you stick your tongue out, wide and ready, your hands folded in your lap. Wiggling in anticipation, you blink big eyes up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck, look at you. You’re fucking filthy for me, aren’t you? On your knees right where you belong, tongue out like the good little slut you are. Go ahead, princess, I know you want it.” He smacks the head of his cock on your waiting tongue and you lunge forward, ravenous for more of him. He groans as you swirl around his frenulum, lapping off the pearls of precum waiting for you. Your hands travel up his thighs and he releases his grasp to let you replace it with your own.

Cupping his balls, you plant wet, sloppy kisses down his length, pleased when you feel the slightest tremble in his thighs. Peeking up at him, you find Boba looking down at you, his eyes pitch black and voracious in their desire. Keeping your gaze fixed on him, you lean in and pepper kisses around his base before flicking your tongue out to drag along the seam of his balls.

“Shit-fuck!” His right hand flies to your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Kark, you’re dirty,” he rasps, tugging your face back a little to look in your eyes.

You grin up at him, spit already dripping down your chin. “Just for you, sir.” Your voice is breathy, your chest already heaving from exertion.

“Good girl, learning her place already. Now finish this up for me, little princess, I still have to fill that pussy full so everyone knows just who you belong to.” The whimper that falls from your lips would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so turned on you can barely form a thought that isn’t concerned with getting his dick inside you. “Aw, does that make you wet, pretty baby?” he mocks, clearly enjoying your depraved reactions. “You like it when I talk to you like you’re my personal whore, my warm mouth and tight little pussy to take whenever I feel like it?”

You pull at the hand holding you back by your hair, desperate to have him down your throat, desperate to cry and gag at the size of him. Boba chuckles, deep and pleased in his chest and loosens his grip so you can get him back in your eager mouth. Once you have him heavy on your tongue, you hum happily and begin bobbing your head over his velvet length, gradually taking more of him into your mouth. Boba’s hips stutter when you slide your tongue along the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock, triggering your gag reflex.

You try to swallow down the suffocating feeling, but the sheer girth of him makes your throat close up. Choking and coughing, you pull off of him, tears beading in your lashes and spit running down your neck. Boba takes your face in his warm, calloused hands and tilts your face up to him. “Everything okay, little one? Too much?” he asks, concern lining his handsome face.

“No,” you pant, voice already ragged, “‘s perfect, just caught me by surprise.” You smile up at him then turn your head to kiss his palm. He’s so good to you that it makes you ache.

He swipes his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the moisture collected on your lashes. “Okay, I want you to tap me anywhere three times if you need to stop. It’s the same as our word if you can’t speak. Can you say that back to me so I know you understand?” You nod, repeating back the information. “That’s my good girl,” he beams, “Now I think there’s something you need to finish.”

You’re on him in an instant, guiding him back into your waiting mouth hungrily. As much as you love licking and sucking up and down his cock, slurping and swirling with abandon, what you really want is to do is take him to the hilt and swallow him down until he loses control. Taking what hasn’t made it past your lips in hand, you start pumping him and twisting your wrist, your fingers sliding easily over his spit-soaked skin.

“Fuuuu- that’s it,” he grunts, “look at you taking me so well. You must really want me to fuck you, my filthy little princess, must really want- shit.” He hisses, his hand shooting out to brace himself against the wall when slide enough of him in your mouth to take your hands off him to rest them on his hips. You look up to see his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched, and you hum appreciatively around the thickness stuffing your mouth, “Osik, d-do it, I know you can take it all, sweetheart. Do it for me and-shit-and I’ll fuck you so good I’ll be dripping from your pussy for days.”

You moan, your throat relaxing to take the last inch and you swear you could’ve come just from the sound that ripped free from his chest if it didn’t take all your brainpower to keep him seated in your mouth.

“Kark-fucking-stars above,” Boba chokes out, his free hand coming to guide you up and down his cock at a steady pace, “Look at you taking it all, I’m so proud of you, so p-proud, fuck, pretty girl.” His eyes are locked onto where he’s disappearing over and over again into your open mouth.

Blinking up at him with watery eyes, you swallow around his thick cock and he snarls. He tugs you off him and pulls you up into his arms, kissing you like he needed you to breathe and walking you both back until your thighs hit the bed. It feels like he’s everywhere, his tongue filling your mouth, his hands grabbing every inch of you as his hips pin down your own. “Shit, open up those legs for me, princess, I need to be inside you right fucking now.”

You fall back on the mattress, letting your thighs fall open. “Please, sir,” you gasp when two of his thick fingers slide inside you with no resistance.

Boba groans, the sound so deep it feels like it rattles in your own. “This fucking wet just from sucking my dick. Kark, you’re really a whore for an old man aren’t you, sweetheart?” You can only moan in response, clenching around his rough fingers and keening into him, unable to communicate any more of an answer than that. “Cockdumb already, little princess? Here I thought you were my big girl… maybe I should just go back to fucking your mouth if you’re not going to use it. You certainly were eager to run it earlier though, weren’t you? Talking to all those other men like they could possibly make your sweet little pussy feel like I can.”

His thumb finds your clit and you cry out, arching into him. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me, please give me your cock!” Your head is snatched back by your hair, making a high whine catch in your abused throat at the sudden movement.

“You know better than to say my name,” he threatens, his rasp dangerously low. “Mmm, since you suck cock so good I’ll let it slide this one time, but you had better not forget again, little girl. You hear me?” Boba’s eyes are ablaze with dark fire, the intensity of him burning with the heat of a dying star, sucking you into his inescapable gravity.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you whimper. His scalding words are going to make you come apart at the seams just as much as his fingers.

“Oh, you will be.” He pulls out you with an obscene squelch, a trail of your arousal connecting him to you. “Look at that, my princess wants it so bad. She wants anything I fucking give her. Isn’t that sweet? No, you know what, don’t answer that. Be a good little slut and clean this up for me.” He pushes his slick coated fingers past your swollen lips and you moan at the tang of your own arousal, your heady taste spreading over your tongue as you suck his fingers clean. He removes his hand from your face, the digits in your mouth coming out with a lewd pop.

Lining himself up with your dripping slit, Boba takes your face gently in his large hand, the caress so much softer than his previous words. “Hey, look at me, babygirl.” You slide your gaze up his broad chest to find his sable eyes. “You good? Everything okay? I know I usually prep you a little more than this.”

“Yeah, s’good. I’m so fucking wet, bet you’ll slide right in,” you giggle, slurred and happy. Truthfully, you hope it’d hurt a little, just enough so that you’d feel it tomorrow—a secret reminder that you were his.

Boba gives you a smile, a real smile bright and shining, not one of his mean ones from your game. “Okay, little one. Remember you can say your word or tap me three times if it gets to be too much. I don’t want my princess hurting.”

Golden affection blooms in your chest even as you give him a sassy little salute. “Yessir.”

“Maker, what am I going to do with you?” he huffs, exasperated. The twinkle in his eye betrays him, however.

“Hopefully, fuck me.”

“As you wish, brat.” Boba slots his lips over yours and slides into your heat, inch by inch as you moan into each other’s mouths, completely enraptured with the feeling of one another. When he pulls back to sink in further, he hisses out a curse. “How’re you always so fucking tight? Shit, you feel so fucking good.”

The way he’s slowly splitting you open makes your eyes roll back in your head, your hands scrabbling across his shoulders for purchase. “Fuck, you’re going to tear me in two… don’t stop,” you whine. The stretch around his cock burns, quickly fizzling into hot pleasure that makes you crave more, deeper, harder. It’s ungluing the edges of your mind, pushing your good sense out of your skull one thick inch at a time. Tears prick your eyes at the delicious strain, your teeth biting down on Boba’s lip as he pushes flush with your hips. You’re not sure if the guttural moan is his or yours or both combined, you’re so full of him.

Boba snaps his hips, jolting you further up the bed and setting a harsh pace that has your legs shaking around his hips. You’re burning, melting, screaming, completely wrecked by his pleasure. He’s leaning over you now, an arm bracing himself next to your head as he drills into you with unwavering force. Tearing his lips from yours, he licks a searing stripe up your neck that makes you clench around his pounding thrusts. “Fuck, you think that boy can fuck you like this? Think he can stretch you out on his cock and make you cry and beg for him? Hmm?”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Whimpering, you shake your head. “N-no, s-sir, only you! Onlyyouonlyyou, fuck, only you!”

“Fuck, you’re dirty, aren’t you? Ready to suck my dick with all those people there, riling me up all night so I’d take you back here and fuck you like the slut that you are for me. That’s right, isn’t it? Yeah, I know it is. You’re such a good little slut for me, taking my cock like that’s all you were made for. Kark, I bet you’d let me fuck you in front of all of them wouldn’t you, my filthy little princess?”

You moan, raking your nails down his back and making him curse in pleasure. “I w-would do anything, you feel so good, fuck, I would let you do anything to me! Just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

“You want it, huh? You want me to fuck you and make you all mine, fill up that tight little cunt and so my cum runs down your legs? You gonna take every drop I give you like the good little girl I know you are?”

“Yes, sir, please,” you sob, overwhelmed by the rough drag of him against your collapsing walls and his skin burning into you with each thrust of his powerful hips.

“Then tell me who this pussy belongs to, I wanna hear you say it so you never karking forget it again.”

“You, you, it belongs to you!”

“Say my name, princess, say my fucking name.”

“Boba! It belongs to you, Boba Fett, I’m all fucking yours, Boba, please!”

He pulls back, grabbing the back of your thighs and shoving them up, folding you in half. Slamming back into you, he slides a hand between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, maddening circles.

“More, please more!” you beg, clawing at his free hand until he lets you have it, and you place it on your throat.

Boba growls, wrapping his fingers around your neck and squeezing so that your world narrows down to just the feeling of him. Finally just him and nothing else.“Osik, you’re so fucking filthy and perfect, never wanna stop fucking this sweet cunt. K’atini ner cyare!”

“I’m gonna… can I… please,” you choke out, barely holding onto the last shreds of your sanity against the onslaught of ecstasy burning through you.

Groaning, Boba covers your mouth with his. “Come for me, soak my cock, give it to me, come on, princess, I know you can do it.”

Everything goes blank, your muscles constricting and your nails digging into his shoulders. Pure, electric energy fires through your veins, overloading your senses to a searing bright pleasure that makes you understand how the universe could start with a bang. You’re rocked with two, three, more pumps that shatter your fledgling universe and then you’re flooded with the sweet heat of his release.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re conscious as you float through the glittering galaxies that flash behind your eyes in dazzling color; you’re not even sure you remember how to breathe but you must be, because your lungs aren’t protesting. The next thing you’re truly aware of is being in Boba’s arms, laying curled into his chest on the bed while his fingers scratch pleasantly against your scalp. Humming in delight, you snuggle deeper into his woody scent.

“Mmm, there she is,” he chuckles, the warm sound buzzing in his chest.

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, squeezing your eyes back shut—you want to be lost in him forever.

“Gotta come back some time, pretty girl, or I can’t get you in a nice warm bath then tuck you in bed with me,” he entreats, rubbing warmth into your limbs with calloused hands.

You consider this tempting offer; it certainly would be better than sleeping sticky all night, you suppose. “Can you bring me a snack?”

“I can bring you a snack.”

“And I can have a massage?”

Boba lets out an amused huff, giving you a squeeze. “And I will give you a massage,” he confirms.

You make a show of pondering the issue further, chewing your lip and studying the ceiling thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll allow it then, professor.”

Boba laughs again and eases you both up to a sitting position before sliding from underneath you so he can walk around to your side.

Rolling over, your thighs spread a little, and you gasp and slap them back together when you see the mess there. “Boba!” you squeak.

“What, little one?”

“You, it-it,” you stutter, tripping over the words in your shock, “how is there so much?”

He cocks a brow and you let your legs fall all the way open. “Oh, princess,” he breathes out, his voice a strained rasp. The inside of your thighs are slick with both your cum and your folds are coated in his pearly release, the excess dripping down to soak a spot on his sheets. Boba reaches down and spreads your lower lips a little farther apart, sending more of him leaking down your slit. Boba curses and you bite down hard on your bottom lip around the moan flooding up your chest.

“Well,” he grins, smug as the cat who caught the canary, “I did tell you I was going to fill you full, princess.”

Feeling equally refreshed and drowsy from your warm bath, you robotically go through the motions of your nighttime routine. From his bathroom mirror, you catch a glimpse of Boba where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed: he looks forlorn, his eyebrows furrowed over a pensive expression. For such a larger-than-life man, he seems almost… small.

His pain weighs heavy on your soul, prompting a visceral reaction in your gut. The muscles in your chest tighten and your arms yearn to press him close so there would be no room for pain in his body. Flicking off the light, you pad over to him with deliberate ease as not startle him in his revelry; Boba is a hardened man, you know, but you want to nurture that slip of vulnerability he allows himself in your presence, protect it close to your own.

He smiles when he sees you approaching, quickly papering over his melancholy expression with a happier one, but it doesn’t manage to make it to his brown eyes. He spreads his legs a little wider so you can stand between them and pulls you close with his hands on your hips. “All done, princess?”

“Yep,” you answer, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. You let a few silent seconds slip by, making way for him to speak his mind. When he doesn’t acknowledge his latent discontent, you settle back on your heels with a sigh. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or am I going to have to threaten you again?”

Boba grumbles a huff that sounds a lot like “too observant” and tips forward to bury his face in your tits, pulling you further into him. You allow him a few moments of respite, stroking the back of his neck with light fingers before easing his face up to look at you.

“It’s nothing, really-” he starts, his expression clouded over with false reassurances.

“Don’t try that crap with me,” you cut him off sternly. Then, more gently, you add, “Please Boba, be honest with me. You help me… let me help you.”

“You know I can’t deny you,” he mumbles after a moment, defeat echoing in the back of his throat. He leans forward, and you let him rest his cheek on your chest while he silently composes his thoughts as your fingers resume their patterns on his neck. “Watching you tonight… you are so bright and young and beautiful, and I’m just an old man with a scar for a heart that never quite worked right. You deserve… so much more than what I can give you. Someone who can make their words come out right because you deserve to know how special you are, cyar’ika. Someone who doesn’t have a past like mine, a person without so many sharp edges and broken parts. I’m missing pieces and you deserve someone who’s more… whole.”

There’s true pain in his voice, the agony and strife of a man who has endured and had to bear the cost of that survival on his own, with wounds that never completely healed alongside scars that run so deep they’re etched into his bone and being. If only he knew how beautiful it made him that he never let that secret soft part of him die, you think. That despite what would have been the logical choice for anyone in his position, he chose to tuck his tenderness away for safekeeping rather than letting it wither in reality’s harsh sun.

“Boba, I want you to listen to me and listen to me good.” You take his beautiful face between your palms and trace your thumbs over his cheekbones, mimicking the affectionate gesture he often used with you. This close you can see the dark lashes around his brown eyes and all the torment held within them; it makes you physically ache to know that this man, this perfect, wonderful man doesn’t think he deserves everything good and pure because he’s roughed up and his soul has some dings in it. That it somehow precluded him from deserving the same love he so willingly gives to you despite your own imperfections.

“I love you, Boba Fett, I love every scar on your body, every bruised muscle and broken bone. I love your dark, hidden parts just as much as the ones which see the light. You know why? Because they made you who you are, they made you into the man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel beautiful and happy. You are a man of action and that’s worth far more to me than any string of pretty words ever could be. You are enough and you are mine, and the sooner you accept that, the better.”

By the way his fingers clutch into the plush of your hips, you can tell he desperately wants to believe you, that he wants to reject the jagged demon of doubt buried in his heart like old shrapnel. But Boba casts his eyes down, still unsure.

“Do you trust that I can make my own decisions?” you ask, soft and firm, patient but unrelenting. He nods with a hum of agreement. Closing the gap between you, you rest your forehead against his creased brow, “Then let me make this one,” you whisper, kissing him until your lungs burn for air, and even then you stay on his lips for a few more lingering seconds.

Boba looks into your eyes, staring like you held all the secrets of the universe within them. After a couple of heartbeats, he loops his arms around your waist and pulls you back on top of him on the bed, making you yelp and giggle. Kissing you, he maneuvers the two of you under the blankets. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he breathes into you, the peaks and valleys of his father’s tongue rippling in your mind like cool water over rounded river stones. “Thank you for that, babygirl. I will try.”

You hadn’t yet asked him what any of the Mando’a words that slipped out of him meant, permitting him his secrets for now. Shifting your hips over his and deepening the kiss, you lick into his mouth as you lazily start to rut into him. Boba has given you a lot just now and you want to see that he’s rewarded for it.

“Little princess,” he chastens when your pace begins to pick up, “it’s late and I’m old.”

“You're not that old,” you nip at his lip, “and I’ll be on top.” You accent your offer with a grind of your hips that has him groaning at the friction between your bodies.

“You're not a very good listener, are you?” he grunts, “Besides, I need you well rested for tomorrow. I'm taking you out on a date.”

You stop dragging your hips over his, pulling back to stare at him. “A date?! You didn't tell me that, I didn’t bring anything to wear!”

“That’s because first, I’m taking you to get some more of those little sundresses you like to tease me with so much, and then I thought we’d go to that poppy farm you showed me on your phone the other day. They have ice cream there and a lemonade stand.”

You squeal in delight, kissing Boba all over his handsome face while he smiles warmly up at you. “You are too good to me, Boba Fett!” you manage between your flurry of pecks. He puts the sun in your chest and in air in your sails, and on top of all that, he’s apparently a secret romantic.

“Princess, I'm just getting started. You mean so much to me and I'm going to do my best to never let you forget it.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you settle into his side, curling into him. “Now get some sleep, cyar’ika, I’ll be at your side, always.”

—Endnotes: I went to a poppy farm the other weekend and it was so effortlessly romantic I knew I had to write some Boba to go with it. (also don’t look at me like that, y’all KNEW this was gonna be a sugar daddy fic eventually lmao)

I've got some stuff coming up so the next posting will be two weeks out instead of one (I'm sorry 😭) but rest assured that I will be posting some extra snippets to make up for it!

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

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

nau’ul be kar’ta - light of my heart

ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - I love you, (lit. "I hold you in my heart forever")

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

#i honestly do not know how i survived writing this #i think i passed out several times and my fingers just kept typing because 😮‍💨🥴🥵#professor boba owns my entire ass (and p*ssy)#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

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