#ex libris fic

[daimyosprincess]

PART I: FOREWORD

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

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

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

—WORD COUNT: 6.4k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, references to sexual themes, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), bisexual reader, reader described as having hair, alcohol consumption by reader and others, GRATUITOUS flirting (like a ridiculous amount), use of pet names

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

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

Part II>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really, it's no problem, I don't-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep, these panties don’t stand a chance.

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

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

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

“Avoiding the question, are we?”

“Sure you don’t want any dessert?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part II>

[acatalystrising]

Squeeeeeeeeeze!!! You've been given a hug! Send this to all the people who deserve a hug. See how many you get back 😊 Now let the hugging begin! 💜

AWWWW BESTIE 🥹💚🖤

I am hugging you right back! The biggest hug. All the hugs! You have been feeding my Boba obsession and I am SO grateful you wanted to share your story with us!

You’re simply fantastic! I can’t wait for the next chapter of Ex Libris but I might actually melt into a puddle, good gracious 🫠

[joycieillustrations]

Lady Jocelyn, even taller than her daughter, moves gracefully despite taking such long strides to make up the distance betwixt herself and her good mother. Cordially, Corlys relinquishes the Queen to her and steps back as if to excuse himself.

Queen Alysanne does not let him escape.

“Lord Corlys, do join Jocelyn and I in our carriage. The walk to the docks from here is most tiresome and, worst of all, dreadfully boring; I promise my good daughter and I are excellent entertainment.”

A doodle of two of my favourite ladies from waaaaaaaaaaay back in Chapter 4 of Ex libris ❤️ this era of Targaryens is by far my favourite

[samspenandsword]

Midnight: Boba Fett/Reader (fem)

Summary: You decide to be a brat. Boba decides to handle you a little differently than normal. Pairing: Boba Fett/Reader; fem!reader with no mentions of her appearance (reader has hair long enough to grab). Rating: Explicit, 18+ (Younglings, foundlings, and cadets BEGONE!) Warnings: Explicit sexual content, smut; unprotected PIV sex (PRACTICE SAFE SEX), fingering, dom/sub dynamics (brat tamer!Boba, brat!reader), implied age gap, Boba's a bit of a meanie, also he's slightly possessive and toxic, mentions of oral sex, hint of anal play, overstimulation, forced orgasms, cum play, degradation kink, praise kink, bit of a pain kink, hickies, icky mushy-gushiness at the very end, language. Word Count: 4.0k

I had to open my big, bratty mouth, you thought.

Or, at least, you would've thought had you actually been capable of any thought beyond the thick fingers currently buried in that greedy little hole you called a pussy.

He'd been tormenting you for what felt like hours now, massaging your walls with warmth and tenderness belying the dirty words coming from his mouth. He'd called this a punishment. A lesson. One he was going to make sure you never forgot. You hadn't believed him, firing back with a bratty little snip that had simply made him smile. A smile of amusement, coupled with a casual, rumbling chuckle. It had made you a little unsure, but not to the point of backing down. You never backed down unless he made you.

And oh, he was good at making you.

He loved wrestling the submission out of you. Bringing forth the needy, whining, begging mess of a woman you became when he got his hands on you. There were nights he didn't need to fight for it. Nights where the two of you simply enjoyed each other's company and the warmth of your relationship.

But some nights, like tonight, got you in a certain type of mood. A demanding, defiant mood that got his blood racing as much as it did yours. A mood that conveyed the need to play, to fight, to be taught and forced to learn your place.

He was happy to remind you.

Happy to remind you why he was the only one you trusted to bring you this sort of pleasure. Usually, it came in the form of edging you until you were literally crying for release. In the form of you bent double over his throne, his cock buried in your pussy and pounding away with little regard for your own pleasure. In the form of pushing your head down on his length until it was pulsing in your throat and spit spilled past your lips and your jaw ached. In the form of leaving bruises that matched the plates of his armor. In the form of wrecking you, ruining you for anyone but him.

And you loved it. Reveled in it.

So when Boba had responded to your brattiness with a simple smile and chuckle, it threw you. You recovered quickly, however. You refused to let your sudden nerves show. Instead, you'd lifted your chin, eyebrows raised into a challenge, and arms crossed under your breasts, pushing them up ever-so-slightly. Just enough to tease him.

It had simply earned you another chuckle, him seeing right through you.

You'd scoffed in response.

"Might as well get myself off, the pace you're going."

Boba had raised his eyebrows, eyes shining with humor.

"Princess, don't give me any ideas."

You'd scoffed again.

"Yeah, well, let me know when you decide. I'll have gotten myself off three times by that time, I'm sure. The time you're taking, you might be ready by midnight, old man."

There it was. His eyes lit up and took on a certain light. A twinkle that indicated Boba had taken something you'd said as a personal challenge. A twinkle that was accompanied by a dangerous cock of his eyebrow and a smirk on his lips.

The look set fire to your veins.

"Only three times?"

Your heart and pussy had jumped. It took all you had to not clench your thighs. Instead, you had yawned, making a show of checking the chrono on your bedside table.

Boba had chuckled again.

"You really haven't shown me you deserve to get off tonight, princess. I'm feeling inclined to punish you. But I think this is a good time to reteach you something. Something you've evidently forgotten. So consider this a punishment, and a lesson. And I expect you to tell me what you learned when we're through."

His hand had gone to your thigh, and he'd chuckled more darkly than before at the way you jumped at his touch. Your entire body was lit alight with it, just as always. Just like it always would. No one had ever ignited you with a single, small touch alone the way Boba could. But his hand on your thigh was also your last warning. A chance to call this off before it got started.

Anything beyond this, you knew the safeword.

There was a pause, his hand resting on your thigh, calloused fingers softly stroking the skin there. You'd met his eyes, and gave a third scoff.

Now, here you were. And though you'd originally scoffed at the idea of Boba's so-called "punishment," especially because it hadn't been in the style of his usual punishments, you now found yourself prone on your bed, your fourth orgasm rippling out of you, making your entire body shake and tremble, and you were starting to think you'd maybe bitten off more than you could chew.

Maybe.

The sheets beneath you were soaked, and your skin was tacky with sweat and cum. Your toes were beginning to cramp from how hard they'd curled with this last climax, and it wasn't even on your radar. There was nothing on your radar other than Boba's fingers in your cunt, making you feel both stuffed to the brim, and empty because fuck, it wasn't his cock!

Nothing was like his cock.

"Good job," Boba said, practically whispered. He had you reclined back against his broad, warm chest, letting you tuck your face and sob into his neck each time you came. You felt Boba's breath wash over your skin. and his lips brush against your crown. "There you go, princess."

You gasped, chest heaving as you came down, body trembling still. You whimpered a little as Boba continued to massage your walls, his fingers no longer pumping, but now crooking inside you.

"Just had to provoke me," he continued, breath warm against your cheek. He leaned down to kiss it. "Bratty little princess just wanted some attention. Wanted to get a reaction out of me. Wanted me to fuck you like the greedy little whore you are."

"M'not greedy!" you mustered, raising your head up to scowl petulantly at him.

Boba laughed a little at this, his free hand reaching up to smooth back the hair sweat-slicked to your forehead.

"Oh, really? Then why have you just cum on my fingers four times?"

Your scowl morphed into a pout, the expression promptly ruined as he rubbed the most sensitive spot inside you, a place he had yet to touch you tonight. It was both a mindless and intentional move and you involuntarily clenched and gushed around him. It made his smug grin broaden. He looked younger when he smiled like that.

"Not my — my fault! You have 'em t'me!"

Boba's expression fell into a wicked smirk. "There it is," he rasped. His fingers began to pump again, slowly. "Now, tell me what you learned, princess."

You knew the answer he was looking for. You decided not to give it to him.

"T-to provoke you when I w-want a series of m-mediocre orgasms."

Boba's fingers paused for just a second with genuine shock, then started up again, harsher than before.

"Mmm." The way he looked down at you now was positively dangerous. The set of his brows with concentration coupled with the serious line of his mouth. Boba pressed his forehead to yours as he abruptly shoved a third finger into your cunt, making you squeal and arch. The press of his forehead to yours however was unforgiving, and with it and his dark gaze pinning you in place, you found yourself helpless to do anything but lie there and take it as he shoved his fingers into your cunt at a brutal pace.

"And I'm going to give you another one," Boba said. Your body shivered with overstimulation as much as it did at the dark tone in his voice. It promised something. Promised you weren't ever going to forget this. "You know why, princess?"

You weren't able to answer anymore, your voice reduced to a pathetic whine as his thick fingers jerked harshly in and out of you, rubbing over your g-spot with every furious pass. The sound of his fingers in your cunt was positively obscene, and honestly you couldn't tell where your mewls began and the high-pitched squelching of your pussy ended.

Boba smiled darkly down at you, his little fucked out princess, and chuckled darkly to accompany the grin. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours again, forcing your gaze to his unforgivingly. He could see you trying so hard to maintain eye contact, like you knew he liked. But you could barely keep your eyes open as he shoved his fingers in you and simultaneously shoved you toward another orgasm. You were so cute when you got like this, with tears of overstimulation pricking in your eyes, your hair messy from his hands and your sweat, your body heaving with every touch he gave you, your nipples so pert they were just begging to be bitten, your thighs trembling and toes curled, his hand literally soaked with your juices.

Boba wanted to see you like this every single day. And Maker knew this sight was for him only.

Anyone else came near you, he'd kill them.

"You know why, princess," he repeated. This time, it wasn't phrased as a question, but as a dark little reassurance. Because he knew, and so did you, that he was the only one capable of giving you this sort of pleasure. Of reducing you to this whining, mewling mess. Of wrangling you into submission in the way you loved. In the way he loved to.

It was him. Only him.

And Maker, he knew it.

So did you. And while part of you wanted to hold out longer, continue to shake your head and stomp your feet and pout your bitten lips, you could barely take it anymore. Your mind felt as fucked out as your body. Your pussy lips were swollen around Boba's fingers, and your thighs felt like jelly. The tightening in your gut was near-painful, and the brutal pumping of his fingers was hurtling you towards another edge. You fell off of it faster than you expected. You hadn't even realized how close you were, but you felt your body suddenly seize and arch as Boba unceremoniously tossed you off a fifth cliff.

You were crying, tears falling down your flushed cheeks as your body shook. And right as your pussy began to clamp down like a vice, Boba ripped his fingers from you, leaving your pussy agonizingly empty and fluttering around nothing.

And for someone who'd cum five times, you were singularly frustrated with that.

But your mind could hardly string together two words that weren't "Boba" and "more," let alone the ability to convey that. But nevertheless, Boba seemed to know, cooing down at you as you came down. Stroking your skin soothingly with soaked fingers, trailing your own arousal from your naval to your nipples.

You whined more when he pressed down on one just enough for you to notice.

"You know why, princess." It was said a third time, a smug reassurance this time.

You nodded almost mindlessly, and Boba's hand came up to cradle your throat. There was no pressure in his grip, but it still made your breath hitch. He chuckled again. Five orgasms and his little brat still couldn't get enough.

Maker, you were perfect.

Boba leaned down and kissed your cheek, sweetly.

You were doing so well. And despite your bratty attitude, you were spoiling him rotten, giving him five beautiful climaxes. Trusting him in this way. Letting him give you more.

And he would. He knew you. You would take whatever he gave you.

You always did.

"What have we learned, princess?" Boba rumbled, kissing your ear as his voice made you shiver.

He could see you struggling to string words together, your fucked out little mind scrambling to obey him. It humored him, seeing you try, cause he knew just how much he affected you.

"Use your words," he murmured, half-encouragingly, half-demeaningly.

You didn't even pout you were so focused on obeying him. Boba quietly hummed with amusement, seeing your mouth open. You didn't say anything right away, and the sight of you with your mouth open like that brought forth images of his cock on your tongue.

Boba shook the images away. Later, if you started behaving.

"Boba," you managed to get out, gasping around his name like it was the only word you knew. And indeed, right now, you felt as if his name were just dominating your every thought. Boba always just dominated your mind, your senses, your everything. He was everything.

"Yes, princess?" He wasn't budging, forcing you to continue scrambling for words in your post-orgasmic and overstimulated haze. His lips were curled with amusement as he watched you struggle. You would've scowled petulantly at him if you had the energy for it.

As it were, the only thing you wanted to do at that moment, was ask for more.

So you did.

You reached up, arm hooking over his shoulder and face turning back into his neck. He let you, the hand cupping your throat now stroking along your collar. His fingers were sticky still with your cum.

"Boba, more."

"More?" He chuckled out. "You've cum five times and it's still not enough for you?"

Your breath was still heavy as you came down from said five orgasms. And your entire body was tingling and numb and exhausted, and yet, it wasn't enough. Because —

"Never enough," you mumbled into his skin. "N'ver enough with you, Boba."

Inside him, Boba felt his heart warm at your fucked-out, but achingly honest words. And the sentiment was wholeheartedly returned. But on the outside, all he did was smirk down at you, gently fisting his hand in the hair at your nape and forcing your face from his neck. He looked down at you, stare pinning you in place.

"And why is that, little one?"

Your mind worked to find a way around this. But honestly, you couldn't. With his heavy stare and just-as-heavy hand keeping you in place, eyes locked on his, there was nowhere left to hide. No bratty little quip your mind could conjure. Nothing but Boba.

And well, he was everything.

"Cause... cause no one makes me feel like you, Boba. Makes me cum like you."

And there it was. The lesson Boba had been trying to finger into you for the last... however long it had been. You weren't sure. But as soon as the words had left your mouth, Boba smiled at you, condescendingly proud.

"That's right," he said, smug. You'd be mad about it if you had the wherewithal to be anything but unspeakably fucked out. "No one can fuck you like this, princess. No one. No one can make your legs shake when he eats you. No one else can stuff that bratty little mouth the way I can. No one else has claimed this ass." Boba's free hand suddenly snaked past your puffy and sticky pussy lips, touching firmly to the ringed muscle of your second hole. It made you jerk in his grasp, and he chuckled darkly once more. "No one else can make you cum from simply sucking cock. No one else has fucked this little pussy and molded it to their cock. Just me, princess. You're ruined. Ruined for anyone else. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

As if you could. You knew you were ruined. And Maker, you were so happy about it. Boba was all you wanted. All you would ever want.

And his filthy words, and the knowledge that he wanted you too was almost enough to make you cum again.

"Think you're ready for my cock now, princess," Boba rumbled flippantly. As if you weren't always ready for his cock. He slipped out from beside you, making you wine at the loss of contact. But Boba hushed you amusedly, hand trailing down your side to your thigh. He hooked his hand behind it, spreading you as he kneeled over you.

His cock, girthy and big enough to make you gasp even with prep, looked painfully hard. Boba had been ignoring it as best he could, but even he was reaching his limit. Precum beaded at the tip, and he smeared it onto your clit teasingly. You mewled cutely beneath him.

"Doing so well for me," Boba murmured. His eyes lightened with genuine affection. A light you rarely saw anywhere but during your time together. It made your own haze clear, and you knew he was checking in with you. He said your name. "Ready for me?"

You smiled, wiggling your hips against his cock and hooking your thigh over his hip.

"Ready," you confirmed. Boba smiled, big and bright. It made him look so much younger when he smiled that way. He dipped down, and just as he kissed you, he thrust forward, impaling you on his cock.

Boba swallowed your gasp with a small laugh, kissing you breathless. He wanted a moment, letting your body adjust. But Boba needed a minute, too. As much as he said he'd ruined you for anyone else, you'd ruined him just as thoroughly. He was dangerously close to the edge even without the preceding scene. You always made him lose his composure, made him feel like a young man again. Like he'd blow in his pants just by watching your hips sway as you walked away.

Boba grasped those hips, yanking you down the rest of the way onto his cock when he felt you relax. It made you squeal and giggle, and he chuckled into the skin of your collar before taking it between his teeth.

You gasped and clenched around him.

"Boba," you moaned.

"Patience, princess."

You were trying, honest, but you didn't exactly have much patience when it came to him.

But if you hadn't forced yourself to still, Boba's hands would. But you tried to relax your hips and core, letting yourself sink a little further into the mattress and sheets.

As soon as you did, Boba began to move, punching the breath right out of you with every thrust. The mattress was the only thing keeping you grounded as Boba, in the way only he could, fucked you within an inch of your life.

Boba's lips curled and teeth clenched with the effort of keeping himself from exploding right then and there. Your expression was going to be the end of him if your cunt wasn't. With those hooded, glazed eyes and half-open mouth, flushed cheeks, just-had-mind-blowing-sex hair, arched neck leading all the way down to a pair of glorious, heaving tits. There was a bead of sweat rolling down in the valley between them, and Boba couldn't help but lean over and lick it up.

You scrabbled for purchase of his broad shoulders as Boba leaned down and began to bite and suck on your nipples. Boba was a self-declared ass and thighs man, but Maker when he paid attention to your tits he could be just as thorough and appreciative. You couldn't help but arch up into him, pressing your breasts further into his mouth. He chuckled around your nipple before switching to the other. And all the while, he never stopped thrusting, cock practically molding your pussy to its shape.

After a few more thrusts, you could barely string a thought together anymore, and all that came out of you were little moans and whines as Boba fucked you. Your thigh fell from his hip as your body was wracked with overstimulated bliss, your body hardly able to keep up with all it had endured. Your hands gripped at his back, nails digging in and making Boba grunt with pleasure. He loved when you left your mark on him.

Almost as much as he loved leaving his mark on you.

Boba's mouth shifted to your collar, where his teeth and lips left red marks that would bloom purple by morning. You gasped with each new one. You grew closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling to keep up.

"B-Boba..." you breathed as your core tightened, painfully.

"Come on, princess. Give me one more."

You weren't sure you could, tears pricking in your eyes as your raw cunt fluttered and pulled.

Boba suddenly ripped out of you and before you realized it, you were flipped onto your front and Boba was back inside you, pumping so hard and fast you could feel him in your throat.

"Go on," he said, voice tight with his own restraint. You managed to clench around him, making him hiss. "One more. Give me one more."

Your cries of pleasure, pain, and overstimulation were surely bouncing off the walls, but all you could hear was Boba, and the way his cock forced your juices out to make room for itself. It was positively obscene.

And only helped bring you closer and closer.

Boba leaned forward, chest touching your back, the new angle devastating your cunt. You cried out, it turning into a strangled gasp as his hand came around once more to cup your throat.

"Cum."

You did.

Your orgasm ripped through you so hard your vision went white. You would register your sore throat later, sore from screaming out with pleasure. Your entire body seized with your climax, shaking and pussy fluttering so hard it was practically vibrating around Boba's cock, squeezing and squeezing down until Boba could barely move anymore. And with a yell, he came too.

You didn't realize you'd nearly passed out until you registered Boba saying your name, a soft, warm, damp towel being pressed to your skin.

"You did so well, princess." Boba dropped a kiss to your temple before climbing back into bed with you. You rolled into him, soaking up the warmth of him and appreciating the warmth of his release inside you. It began to glob out, smearing and combining with your own release, all over your thighs.

You pressed them together as you cuddled into him, reaching up to stroke your hand down Boba's neck.

"Tell me how you're feeling," Boba requested.

"Tired," came your automatic answer. Your voice was heavy and slightly hoarse with it. "Boneless. Fucked out."

The last two worked a quiet laugh from Boba.

"But good," you finished. You smiled up at him. "So good."

Boba smiled, achingly soft, and kissed you. "Ready for a bath?"

"Yes, please. And you better carry me, mister, I'm not going to be able to walk for days."

He smirked down at you. "You asked for it."

You giggled.

Boba helped you sit up. His eyes flicked over to the nightstand and his smirk widened.

"What?" you asked.

"It's midnight."

You slowly looked at the chrono, the red numbers indeed reading exactly midnight. And your earlier words rang in your mind.

Yeah, well, let me know when you decide. I'll have gotten myself off three times by that time, I'm sure. The time you're taking, you might be ready by midnight, old man.

"Three times by midnight, I believe you said." Boba carefully scooped you up, smiling way too smugly for comfort. "Pathetic."

You scowled playfully at him, cheeks flushing hot.

Seven. He'd made you cum seven fucking times.

"Don't let this go to your head, old man." You settled into his chest. "Your helmet won't fit."

He pinched you lightly as he set you down on the edge of the tub. You giggled as he began to run the bath, and his stern look might've been effective had his eyes not been twinkling.

"Spoiled little brat," he said, with nothing but fondness.

You preened and gave him a little tongue-in-teeth smile.

"You love it."

Boba laughed, and again, you couldn't help but admire his smile. How it instantly made him look younger. Not as burdened. Happier.

Boba helped ease you into the warm water before climbing in behind you. As he leaned you back on his chest, he whispered in your ear.

"I love you."

You sighed, happily.

"I love you, too, Boba."

And it was only because you loved him so much that you didn't punch him the next morning when you found that you were, indeed, having trouble walking.

Taglist and some known Boba hoes (just lmk if you want me to remove you): @sleepingsun501 @rexxdjarin @thefact0rygirl @daimyosprincess @wild-karrde @ulchabhangorm @baba-fett @starstofillmydream @theroguesully @redheadgirl @nekotaetae @liadamerondjarin @urmomsmattress @ttzamara @cdblake1565 @blueink-bluesoul @marierg @banthasworld @sunshinesdaydream @kimiheartblade

Join my taglist here or just let me know!

[rexxdjarin]

babes holy fuck

@daimyosprincess ex libris fic is so fucking good. like if y’all haven’t read it yet you better start because

oh my god

oh my god

oh my god

oh my god

professor!boba 🫠🫠🤤😍😍😍

consider this the strongest fucking endorsement post possible.

[aslanscompass]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 本好きの下剋上 - 香月美夜 | Honzuki no Gekokujou | Ascendance of a Bookworm Series - Kazuki Miya, Magic ex Libris - Jim C. Hines Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Myne (Ascendance of a Bookworm), Dinsy Carnegie, Isaac Vainio Additional Tags: In the House of the Seven Librarians, The Infinite Consortium Series: Part 4 of The Infinite Consortium Summary:

Myne just wants something to read. So when she receives the invitation to the Private Auxilary of the Infinite Consortium, it seems her prayers have finally been answered. Or have they?

[saradika]

STAR WARS - 2023 FIC RECS

this year has been filled with so many beautiful fics, I wanted to make a rec list to share & support everything I read. please check these out and support these creators, they are all incredible! 💖✨

ANAKIN/VADER X F!READER

— Breathe Me In by @moonlight-prose

the jedi fell and darth vader rose to power, but there’s a secret he hides even from his own master.

— When Midnight Calls by @ladyxskywalker

anakin steps into the refresher, noticing how you left the door open for him, the steam filling the room inside from the misty hot water.

AXE WOVES X F!READER

— The Lady and the Merc by @flightlessangelwings

“The pleasure,” the leader took your hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought it up to his lips and kissed the back of it tenderly, “Is all mine,” he gave you a wink as you felt your skin burn under his touch, “And call me Axe Woves.”

BRASSO X F!READER

— Steadfast by @uwingdispatch

He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead before pulling back to look at you in that way only he could, with those bright eyes. “I think we should stay,” he said.

BOBA FETT X F!READER

— Be With Me by @imarvelatthestars

"It's late," he says.

— Boba Fett is in Love With You by @janghoefett

He’s known for some time now.

— Ex Libris by @daimyosprincess

There's much to be learned from the handsome professor Boba Fett, both about yourself and your pleasure.

— Kinktober Day Five: Virginity by @sinfulsalutations

You’ve never felt this small before.

— No Mercy by @daimyosprincess

Fennec Shand is many things, markswoman, assassin, the daimyo’s right hand, but merciful is not one of them. That's why she's the only one Boba Fett trusts to take care of you when he's away.

— Sound Asleep by @moodymisty

You swore you hadn’t had a nightmare since your childhood years; But even then, you couldn’t remember one like this.

— Small Favors by @daimyosprincess

The day Boba Fett called you a hellion, you were pretty certain it altered your brain chemistry.

— The App by @maybege

The App tells you who your perfect match is. But when Josh, your perfect-match-alpha, introduces you to his boss, you start to realise that the numbers are not always right.

DARTH MAUL X F!READER

— Dread by @bits-and-babs

a strange creature visits your dreams, promising to satiate a yearning body he heard call to him across the force. |  incubus!maul

— Serenity by @eloquentmoon

lord maul interrupts your nighttime stroll in the woods

ELIA KANE X F!READER

— Eat Your Young by @imarvelatthestars

It's the way she looks at you that does you in, the blatant hunger that glints in Elia's eyes, the knowledge that she always has you just within reach and that you'll always fall for her time and again. 

GALEN ERSO X READER

— I Didn't Know The Time by @ladyxskywalker

an unseasonable rain causes an unexpected shift in your new year’s plans, but, as it turns out, both of you wouldn’t have it any other way

GRAND ADMIRAL THRAWN X F!READER

— Amuse Bouche by @bits-and-babs

A state dinner leaves the Grand Admiral wanting far more than was offered.

— Show of Good Faith by @bits-and-babs

grand admiral thrawn has a unconventional way of convincing neighbouring planets to pledge allegiance to the empire.

KINO LOY X F!READER

— I Want You to Show Me Weak by @tarabyte3

You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you. He screams at you, grabs you, and shoves you against the wall, and it's becoming a problem because, well...it shouldn't fluster you as much as it does.

— Ownership of Mine by @amywritesthings

The Empire has integrated their prison systems, with you as one of the few women now incarcerated at Narkina 5. The unit manager takes you under his wing – but for reasons you didn’t anticipate.

OBI-WAN X F!READER

— Dust to Dust by @avarkriss

A generous gift bestowed upon a very pretty desert hermit

—Kinktober Day 5: Table Sex by @flightlessangelwings

“You wished to see me, Lord Kenobi?” you asked from the doorway to his office where you stood at attention.

— Serve My Worries Away by @friskynotebook

In which Obi-Wan gets in a fight with a printer and the printer wins.

— Sweetend Craving by @moonlight-prose

“he’d want the last thing he ever heard to be the sound of you tipping over the edge, falling into a bliss you both craved.”

— What’s The Harm? by @obixwan

Quinlan set Obi-Wan up with a friend and now, Obi-Wan can’t help himself.

POE DAMERON X GN!READER

— Because You Left by @againstacecilia

“What happened? With us?” / “We just… Grew apart. That’s all.” / “No, I don’t think that’s it. Not entirely.”

THE CLONES X F!READER

— Better Than The Universe by @sinfulsalutations

Rex enjoys the mindlessly affection-filled morning he deserves

— Kinktober Day 15 by @samspenandsword

Overstimulation with Daddy Rebels!Rex

— Keep In The Heat by @sinfulsalutations

Wrecker is cold. His girl knows a solution

— Return To Sender by @keravnos-kori

halla has been alone for the past three years. as it turns out, relocating to coruscant and attending a prestigious university hasn’t been as glamorous as she originally expected - but when a new opportunity comes along for her to prove the republic’s injustices committed against clone troopers, she might get more than she bargained for when the power structure suddenly collapses and is replaced by something far more sinister…

— Strategies in Fliration by @floral-force

When you take a risk and join your friends for a night out, a handsome stranger sets his eyes on you. You boldly approach him and ask him what war tactics he has in his arsenal. | captain rex

— Sweet Thing by @starrylothcat

Wrecker has a crush on you, a local sweet shop owner. Will he find the courage to ask you out? 

— Some Rex and Relaxation by @daimyosprincess

After a hard week, Rex makes it his mission to see that you forget all about it.

— The Coffee Shop by @samspenandsword

You own a coffee house on Coruscant famed for its especially strong and rare brews. One day, you find yourself meeting the Marshal Commander for the Coruscant Guard.

if you haven’t read these, you need to! and please support these amazing fics & writers by reading, reblogging & commenting! 💕

[aioliravioli-69]

I am on a roll and I will probably crash and burn at the end of it

This one was also for a fanfic, one I actually started and never finished because apparently I have the attention span of a 6 year old on a sugar high :(

It was supposed to take place after a headcannon, where Chase get's his wish granted but only in exchange for working for Ex Libris. Anywho, the organization was hosting a party or ball sort of thing and the whole fic was Chase insisting on and doing Buddy's make up. I don't think I had realized that Buddy already wears eyeliner. I always thought that was just what his eye lashes looked like in the artstyle. And since Chase wanted to be a boy band member I thought it would fit him if he knew a thing or two about make up.

Also this was back when I thought that the outfit Silver made for Chase in Chapter 12 was going to be his official heroine outfit, kinda like Buddy's. What they're wearing in the picture were kinda fancified versions of their normal outfits

[thatninjacat27]

The Names Of The Keys For Cinderella Boy (Webtoon) + ideas/theories on unknown ones

I’ve been obsessing over this for hours.

Confirmed Keys (Keys that have names and their roles):

Silver- Heroine Key, User: Chase Hollow, Color: Silver

Bronze- Helper Key, User(heavily implied): Deacon, Color: Bronze

Violet- Villainess Key, User: “Buddy”, Color: Purple

Unconfirmed Keys(Key with fandom given names and possible roles for them):

Gold- Hero Key, User: Unknown, Color: Gold

(I feel like the name is a given because it’s first place and usually main character. I think as a cute nickname Gold should be sometimes called Goldie. He’s got to be the oldest with the Villain key being the second oldest then Silver(headcanon but I wouldn’t be surprised is Silver is the second oldest because Silver is typically a second place medal. I keep think of Bronze, Silver, and Gold being the Main Protagonist Trio because of their names. The names are what get me))

Obsidian- Villain Key, User: Unknown, Color: Glassy Pitch Black (Basing the color on how the actual stone looks.)

(I wish I knew who came up with this name because I absolutely loved it. I feel like it fits perfectly and black matches well with purple as villain colors)(if you are reading this, please comment so I can credit you properly for having mentioning the name first.)

Trevor- Everyman Key, User: Unknown, Color: Brown(chosen because it’s a basic color)

(credit for the role goes to @bananacakepie. Post: https://www.tumblr.com/bananacakepie/743283540605747200/so-theres-a-webtoon-called-cinderella-boy-by?source=share )

(This name is kind of a joke but also not really. I saw a post by the creator about how all the servants were named Trevor no matter what they did for a living and I found that a little funny. I used that idea for a key that was copied into many keys so that random members of Ex Libris could walk around in the story without any real hassle and spy on anyone with a main key to make sure they were doing their job properly. It’s a blank key with no little person but it’s still named the “Trevor” key by low ranking members as an inside joke. I then saw a post here on tumblr about different possible roles for the keys, saw Everyman role, and was like as a joke, Trevor should be the name of that key too. Anyways, still going to keep my original idea for Trevor because I kind of got maybe two fics that involve the blank keys but I wanted to share my thoughts on possibly names/Key roles)

I will add more keys as we learn of them/come up with them and update any information. Comment whatever Key roles/names so that I can add them as well. I want to add personalities to them too but I’m bad at describing them so also comment that if you want to.

[brainrotwriter]

Another unedited Cinderella fic I have in the works! Watch out people, there is so so so much pining in this one XD This one is going to be pretty short since a song inspired me for it lol

For Buddy, climbing trees wasn't a task.

 

Like walking and swimming. He learned it once and then it was second nature to him ever since. He liked being high up. He liked being hidden from everyone in the shadows of the leaves. He liked the pure comfort and safety it brought to him.

 

He liked being invisible almost as much as he loved the limelight.

 

No one could give him orders up here just like no one could pretend. Everyone's true nature is revealed the second they think they are alone. That's how he protected the Ex Libris. That's how he became the Elder's favorite.

 

So, why, why must his burden be so...transparent?

 

Buddy is used to two-faced lies, he is used to backstabbers and people who try to hide away narration for themselves. He is used to it. He deals with them. He knows what to do. He knows how to stalk them for weeks without getting tired. He knows how to blend in with the shadows of the trees. He knows they will eventually reveal themselves. He knows he will be there to catch them when they do.

 

But Chase isn't like that. Chase is transparent. Honest. Outspoken. Sincere. Frank. Open. Direct.

 

Everything Buddy isn't and more.

 

So, he does what he always does. Tucked between the vibrant green leaves and sturdy trunk of a mighty tree, he watches. Chase probably isn't aware he is in the book. The villainess hasn't debuted yet, after all, and Buddy tries not to temper with the story too much. They will meet when they meet.

He looks bored as the prince goes on and on about his love to the princess. Mostly survaying the vast garden, warm brown eyes occasionally following a butterfly or a bird as it frolicks around the flora.

And Buddy can't help but stare.

[daimyosprincess]

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

<Part IV — Interlude>

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"

<Part IV — Interlude>

[mrghostrat]

Hi Bilvy, I don't know if you remember but I was the one who drew you an Ex Libris for your 30th birthday. Thanks to you, I started drawing and writing again and finally gathered enough courage to post my first GO fanart today (the fic should be up on AO3 soon, too!), so I just wanted to thank you once again for inspiring me to come out of my 15+ years hibernation 🤍

this makes me happier than you could ever knowww 😭💛💛💛💛 now i've finally set my printer up at the new place i'm SO amped to frame that ex libris over my desk

SO STOKED AND PROUD FOR YOU AHHHHH

[joycieillustrations]

“…there are a couple of scenes that we shot in this new season that are kind of hints at what they were like when they first met.”

I’m ready to see the hottest couple in Westeros canoodle like teenagers 🙌

A sketch from chapter one of Ex libris

Please do not repost without my permission!

[peculiarpeace]

Did you feel like having an existential crisis today/tonight but weren't sure how?

Now you can! With Buddy Angst!

Description:

Buddy's first ever report: On why he joined the Ex Libris at fifteen.

TW: Mentions of Mentally abusive parents and their behaviors.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54818311

Thank you to the people with kind words and advice, I really appreciate it!

Fan Favorite Quote From The Fic According To A Comment:

'I almost believe that one sliver of autonomy is the stuff of legends, because no one seems to ever actually do anything with it.'

(By the way, Buddy is talking about freedom given when you turn eighteen.)

Anyway, let me know your thoughts everyone! (I don't think this will make you cry, don't worry.)

[backjustforberena]

List of started/incomplete Corlys x Rhaenys drabbles and fics I have in my Google Docs in the hopes someone might shame me into finishing them:

Rhaenys and Corlys discussing Laenor joining Corlys at the Stepstones

Laena and Rhaenys discuss TQWNW nickname

Corlys arrives in King’s Landing after Baelon is named heir

A continuation of the 1x10 reunion scene

Aemon and Rhaenys ride their dragons (an add-in to the wonderful “Ex Libris”)

Corlys and Rhaenys saying goodbye before he returns to the Stepstones, after Laenor and Laena’s deaths.

Corlys and Rhaenys hear of Laena’s passing.

AU where Corlys receives Otto at Driftmark, as Rhaenys is still a prisoner of the Greens.

Corlys bestows a dragon-saddle to Rhaenys as a wedding gift.

Rhaenys visits High Tide for the first time.

Rhaenys visits her dying grandfather. She tells him all she thinks and all she has kept hidden from the world - that it will be her actions that will alow for Viserys’s succession. Her actions prevent war, not his. He mistakes her for Alysanne. Rhaenys leaves.

Corlys and Rhaenys’s wedding celebrations at Driftmark; a feast at High Tide.

Modern AU extravaganza; divorced Rhaenys and Corlys are brought together after six years after Corlys is caught up in a boating accident. Full on exes-to-lovers stuff, with angst and granddaughters. 

Persuasion-inspired AU; Corlys returns to King’s Landing after a broken engagement with Rhaenys years ago. She broke it off after listening to talk that it would undermine her claim. But when Corlys returns as the newly-minted Lord of the Tides, it’s in the aftermath of her father’s death and her disinheritance. Can they bridge the gap and get over past hurts?

AU where Corlys dies and Daemon confronts Rhaenys at High Tide as she refuses to leave the island.

AU where Corlys refuses to pledge for Rhaenyra, but Rhaenys does.

AU where Rhaenys is kept a prisoner and forced to bend the knee at Aegon’s coronation. Includes a lengthy description of her dress and a face-off with Otto.

[inkvoices]

I wrote a thing for @cloud--atlas which was meant to be my last fic of 2023 and instead is my first fic of 2024!

Retail, Love, and Other Festive Poems

Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff, Background Steve Rogers/James Barnes; Teen & Up (no archive warnings apply); 3382 words

Summary: A December day in the life of Clint Barton - poetry lover, Assistant Manager at Ex Libris bookshop, and Natasha Romanoff’s partner.

Set the morning after Ex Libris by CloudAtlas, and towards the end of the remix Anthology by inkvoices. This will make much more sense if you read those first!