#i think i passed out several times and my fingers just kept typing because 😮‍💨🥴🥵

[daimyosprincess]

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

<Part III — Part V>

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"

<Part III — Part V>

#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