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batfamily14 · 3 years

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The Sun Queen

BOBA FETT X BLACK QUEEN!READER

Chapter 2

Rating: explicit

A/N: You were raised to be strong, fierce but when you suddenly come into power with the task of fighting a war and for your people’s freedom becoming queen is more challenging than you imagined. Recruiting a fearsome bounty hunter by your side, it’s up to you to restore your kingdom. Follow your journey to becoming a royal legend and perhaps find love on the way.

You caught yourself thinking...

he may destroy you.

And you know what? That’d be fine.

To be completely disintegrated by all the best parts of him. At least then you’d know what you had was real.

Even if it killed you.

You’re settled in the garden, your crown perch on your head. The thick loth cat cloak you wear stands out against the black gown that slit up both your thighs. It’s you who now caught Boba staring.

Boba.

The name so fitting. As if it were crafted for him, and him only. It wouldn’t make sense if it belonged to anyone else.

You.

He couldn’t help but to look at you. The hunter notices that your skin makes it seem like you were conceived by the night sky, the stars caught in your eyes. Sparkling when you smile. He has been with plenty of women and seen dozens of beautiful girls but when he made love to them or kissed them, it didn’t feel right. When he was a young teen he often wondered what was wrong with him, thinking perhaps he would never be capable of falling in love.

But now, he thought maybe he just didn’t recognize those other girls. When he touched you he recognized you, as if your entire essence was lost to him at some point and now you’re finally his again.

Home.

You’re complete. You’re real. A living and breathing artwork met before his eyes and all he wanted to do was memorize your details. So, then maybe he’d appreciate everything in the universe that was bright, soft, and brown.

And it’d lead him like little boats down aisles floating back to you.

Back home.

~*~

You’re sitting, gazing at your mother’s statue, you squint your face up. You did that when you’re about to cry, he noted. Which you often did when you thought of your mother. He reaches out and touches you, touches you like you’re a rare and universal treasure. Precious. Fragile.

A confronting hand on your shoulder. He did that more often now, his hands becoming an extension of you.

“Little one,” his modulated voice came. The nickname shatters you. Pleasantly breaking under the unmerciful weight of him. “Fett,” you respond, coolly. His finger traces patterns into the skin of your shoulder, another new sensation.“What was her name?” He questions , softy.

“Saphoriae,” you tell him. “ In my language it means “The loved one.” ”

“What does your name mean?”

“Shining light.”

He smiles under his helmet.“How fitting.” The hunter thinks. “It’s perfect, practically designed for you.”

He’s gone back to guarding the garden entrance behind you, blaster to his armored chest. You’re perched on a bench, eyes carefully tracing over him. His body seems as if it's sketched from charcoal like he’s art and art isn’t beautiful, it’s supposed to make you feel something, and every time you see him something blooms in you. It always did. You try to remember how this happened, when you started to wonder why he wasn’t a painted portrait hung everywhere in case the universe forgot he existed once, and that thankfully at the same time you did too. What luck that is. That you could climb up his ribs into his heart if he let you.

You shift in your seat, your hand caressing through your hair. His visor gleams in your direction, his head doing his signature tilt which you found yourself growing slowly fond of. He strides closer, walking with purpose, always moving with a reason. He stops at the edge of the bench next to you. When Boba looks at you, he focuses on you as if you’re the only person in the world. Despite how unimportant the thing you could be babbling about, he makes it seem like you’re telling him the galaxy’s greatest secrets.

Your eyes unintentionally linger on the battered scars of his armor. Dents and scrapes, you cherish them all. The armor is a part of him like an exoskeleton, a shell that you so desperately want to see him crawl out of. Not so that you’d appreciate the real him, the honest him is a bounty hunter too. Just so that you could appreciate every layer of him, peel back every exterior of his being and appreciate each surface.

“What’s on your mind, little one?” He questions. You bat your lashes at him, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Your armor, how did it get like that?” You ask, gesturing to a rather large dent on the side of his helmet. He huffs, “I’m a hunter after all.” He says matter of factly. You roll your eyes to the sky making him let out a breathy chuckle. “I mean...did it hurt?” You inquire.

He sighs dramatically, peering down at you and offers a small shrug. “All a part of the business.” Boba lets you run a shy hand across his chest plate. “I’ve seen you train in the Sparring Hall, I would...watch you.” You confess. You hear the rumbling of another chuckle bubbling up in his throat.

“I know.” He almost teases, and you think you should feel embarrassed but you don’t. If he really didn’t want you to watch him he wouldn’t let you. Boba has a way of disappearing and reappearing whenever he pleased. You awe at him,“The way you fight it’s…”

Breathtaking.

He moves fluidly, as if he was dancing. Every flick of his wrist or thrown kick and punch roll one after another. His build is strong and a bit slender but nevertheless his form showcases all his strength.

“It’s what?” He probes, two fingers smoothly lift your chin up when your eyes shift away, forcing you to look at him.

“It’s...it’s fascinating.” You answer, flush with nervousness.

“Fascinating?”

“Yes...I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“How to fight?”

You nod. “Our warriors have a particular way of battle but you...you’re ruthless. You’re brutal. I like it, the fierceness of you.” Boba chuckles putting away his blaster to cross his arms over his chest, listening. “When you fight,” you continue. “It’s a testimony to your power. I want to fight like you, I need to.”

“Why do you want to fight?” The hunter questions.

“I want to feel what it looks like when you do.”

“And what’s that, girl?”

“Alive.”

~*~

The sparring hall is carved under the kingdom, built firmly with mud brick. Heavy wooden doors open to a sweeping

aged cream colored staircase leading to a platform covered with a blue mat. There’s various weapons draped on the walls. Spears, knives, a hunter’s wet dream. You’ve changed into your mother’s old sparring clothes when she waged in wars. A manogany thicken fabric wraps around your breast and crisscrosses over your stomach and spine securely, a pair of shorts with a pooling fabric hangs in the front and back like a skirt split in half, and leathery strapped sandals lace up your legs and thighs. Your locks are pulled upward with a silk wrap revealing your whole face.

Boba wears grey sweats, and it feels like a violation to see this much of him. As if he’s wholly exposed though his helmet is still on. Boba’s body is lean and muscular, his skin tan, littered with scars like his armor. But still...art nevertheless just greatly more detailed now. You find it strange, almost comical actually. At first he wasn’t your anything, a guard if you had acknowledged him in the least, always looming behind. A second shadow. But, now he's undeniable and suffocating, he’s like…

fire.

It’s always fire with Boba, burning inside you. You’re surprised him touching you hasn’t completely disintegrated you yet. You used to go all night without thinking about him, place him far enough in the back of your brain so you could survive eight hours. But, being without him is like not breathing, even in your mind. So, waking up in the morning and seeing him bathed in the sunlight is as if taking your first breath after an eternity of drowning.

It’s a desperate gasp from the loss of him.

“Let’s start with something simple.” He says. “A punch.”

You nod focusing on him and he directs with his hand to back up. “I’m going to teach you primary types of punches, first a jab.”

Boba demonstrates a series of jabs, arms moving in a blur. You can hear the wind whipping with the force of it.

He’s strong, grateful, ruthless. He’s advised to watch his form, observe his steady movements. “When it’s a decent fighter,” he begins. “they won’t be easy to read. They’ll move their arm from the place where it is right forward , so you need to have a quick reaction time and defense saved in your muscle memory to react to it automatically. You understand?” You nod and he circles around you talking. “You won’t be able to tell which arm will strike first. So, when your punch lands, your arms should be close to fully extended, extending your striking range and improving your punching power.” He demonstrates again by throwing a quick punch that breezes pass your face and you flinch away.

“Land the punch with your index and middle fingers, with your fist rotated so that your thumb points downward on impact. Power is transferred better there, and you're less likely to break your hand.” You lower yourself into stance, but your form is all wrong so he comes up behind, his hands on your hips. “Relax your upper body and use speed instead of strength.” You let him correct your stance and he knees your thigh making you slide your feet further apart . “Rotate your body and be sure not to lean forward. And most importantly...” he trails off and you hear the smile in his voice. The sound of it makes you shudder like his breaths prickle your neck. “...protect that pretty face.” You nervously adjust your footing, squaring your feet just below your shoulders.

You throw a sloppy jab that makes the hunter grunt under his helmet. “Were you even paying attention?”

You grumble under your breath a few frustrated curses before throwing another jab. He shakes his head in disapproval and grabs your arms. “Straighten up and twist your hips. Keep your eyes on your target.” You try again and though you do a lot better you almost embarrassingly lose your balance, making Boba have to catch you. He groans under his helmet frustrated but pulls you up to your feet anyway. “Try again.” He orders. You can already feel yourself prickling with irritation but you're too keen on not giving up so easily. You ultimately go at this for hours, him grunting under his helmet and correcting you, you groaning and cursing. Finally Boba has had enough and tries a new tactic, “hit me.”

“What?” You gasp, stopping your fist in mid air. You’re drenched in sweat and heaving from exhaustion. Boba feels himself twitch in his pants. “Hit me.” He repeats, voice stronger. “N-no.” You protest and he shakes his head growling. “It won’t hurt.” He argues, and admittedly that stinks but you still refuse making his cheeks burn red. “Hit me like your people depend on it.” He says suddenly, and your eyes narrow at him. “I mean it!” He growls. “Hit me like I’m the only thing standing in your way of freeing your people.”

“No!” You choke, backing away. “I won’t.”

“If you won’t hit me! How will you ever defend your people?” He insists. You push at his chest but he doesn’t budge. “I can help them. What do you know?” He grips your arms firmly. “I know alot about war, girl. There’s no mercy for the weak and hesitant.” You scold him, this time pushing past him. “I’m not weak nor hesitant!” You sneer.

“Prove it.” He hisses. When you don’t turn around he pushes at you once more. “You say death is better than bondage? What is different from giving up and living and giving up and dying if either way you’ll be remembered as the last of the Nivrols.” You hault, your skin burning, you’re practically seething at his words. Knowing they held a deadly truth. “Because we’ll die with honor.” You growl, fisting your hands at your side. Boba steps closer, his head tilting down close to your ear. “But you don’t want your people to die, you want them to live like every great leader would.” He whispers, and you clench your eyes close as you feel him tilt closer. “So, are you willing to lay down and die for your people or are you going to fucking fight?”

You don’t think, you just move like he does. Fast and fluid.

It happens so fast, he barely has time to register what happens. You hardly know what’s happening yourself before it’s too late. He lands on the matted ground with a heavy thud and you hold your aching knuckles close to your chest. D-did you just fucking uppercut him? You’re bewildered, panting and staring at him with wide eyes. He’s still...too fucking still but then you hear it, grumbling from the depths of his chest and you’re frozen. He lets out another animalistic growl at the sight of you. Horribly disheveled, a wondrous messy thing. Lock strands loosely hanging, clothes ruffled and nearly exposing the sensitive skin he’s dreamed about mindlessly. You tower over him like a true Nivrol warrior, a savior coming to cut down a sarlacc herself. Your chest heaving and stickyly coated with sweat. Mouth parted and tongue peeking out and licking the saltiness tethering down to your lips.

You could crumble right now, he’s a vision of ecstasy. Pure static plowing right through you, electrifying every nerve in your body. He’s on his hands and knees gazing upward at you, panting. Then all of sudden he’s growling and springing forward, latching his arms around you and using all his weight to knock you over. Forcing all the wind out of your lungs. He wrestles your arms over your head once you’re on the ground and you grit your teeth squirming. Great sun god he’s fucking strong! His visor glaring below at you, you give in, gasping for air. You could fight him, you feel the edge of it curling in your stomach but you release the urge. Instead relenting and letting the sensation of him hovering over you consume you. Overwhelm you.

You’re like that for a while, a sweaty messy pile on the floor. He’s snarling at you as if he's an animal, ravishing with no reason, with the desire and instinct of wanting blood between its teeth. You’re afraid to move, laying like a corpse underneath him. His blunt nails bite into your skin as if he can’t decide how to devour you yet. You feel yourself clenching around nothing between your legs, grasping at an emptiness, longing to be full. You brace yourself for whatever comes next. His head lowers slowly and you’re trembling in his grasp. His visor comes closer until it’s taking up nearly all your vision. Then suddenly you’re closing your eyes, waiting in anticipation. Agony. Then...there’s a cool icy sensation pressing against your forehead. it’s heavy and hard, shoving your head into the mat. Your eyes hesitantly peer open and you realize he’s connecting your heads together, comfortably. It’s… debilitating.

You’re certain his eyes are close and you think maybe yours should be too. Some of the most beautiful moments in life are often spent with your eyes closed. Praying. Dreaming. Kissing. Wait, is this kissing? It feels like it, spine tingling and disembodying but it’s so much more. You know it. So you close your eyes and relinquish, pressing your head back into his. His breathing shudders at the action but he doesn’t move away. Instead his hand comes to gently cup the side of your face. With your free hand you hold the back of his helmet. His fingers loosen around your wrist, thumb brushing up and pressing into the center of your palm.

You’re disintegrated.

Utterly annihilated. This is it, he’s finally done it. Like a laser beam from the Death Star he’s ripped and vaporized you molecule after molecule. So, you catch yourself wondering how long does it take for a galaxy to collapse? Because it feels like only mere seconds for stardust to flood behind your eyes as if Boba has ignited a billion supernovas inside you.

Boba’s weight is heavy on yours, his legs stretching out and on either side of your own , trapping you in. You can hear faint panting breaths beneath the hem of his helmet. Your heart beats an inconsistent thump in your ears, and you absently wonder if you’ve ever heard it this loudly. His visor is a shimmering vision of your own reflection, holding it eagerly. You see your face glancing back at him with a peculiar look of joy and adoration, as if you’ve transcended. You’ll never get over how he looks at you. How could someone ever get over how a deliciously tan man admires them, as if they're a kaiburr crystal. His strong arms help pull you to your feet. You could smell the million miles of the galaxy on him. Feel the raveled adventures and experiences buried within his heating skin. You stand entwined , his arm swung around your waist and yours looping around his neck.

You almost ask him to lift his helmet, promise him you won’t peek, that you just want him to lift it so that you can kiss him...again. This time traditionally on the lips. Your mouth stutters open hesitantly but a voice stops you.

“Your majesty.” It proclaims.

There’s a brief silence.

You turn to glance at a man standing at the doorway, his braided beaded hair is tied back from his handsome face. He wears a wool brown coat and unpolished leather boots. You recognize him as Zoid’s son, Randdem. Zoid towers directly behind him, a disdain expression looms over his face. You nonchalantly remove yourself from Boba’s grasp and the hunter follows in suit. You felt pearls of sweat trickle down the back of your neck. If Zoid wants to say something crude he stifles under his breath.

You nod to Boba who takes that as his crew to leave, he walks casually to the changing room outside the hall. Zoid and Randdem wait for you to stride up the steps with the little bit of dignity you have left. You’re quite as their judging eyes glance you over, once Zoid has emptied all the pitying remarks from his head he sighs deeply before saying, “You remember my son, don’t you queen?”

Randdem is a husky young lad, bolder and fuller in outlines where Zoid is thinner. He’s worse than Zoid, really. He’s a four part combination of Zoid’s arrogance and pity with his mother’s selfishness and pride. Talking to him is like speaking to a tornado, not much to deliberate with a thing that only wants or knows destruction and dominance. The saddest part of it all is Randdem is fairly handsome and if it wasn’t for his redundant personality more suitors would surely be in his favor. You’ve never liked him, not even when you were children.

“Of course,” you swallow. Zoid nods approvingly,”I brought him here to get to know you better, seeing as he’ll be serving at your side as a council leader once I’m gone.”

Yeah, great. “My queen,” Randdem says and he halfway bows to you. “If you’d like I’d love to request having you to dinner this evening.” You must pull a face because Zoid scolds you. “I-I’m sorry!” You try to recover. “This is so unexpected.” You rub the back of your neck, embarrass.

“I understand your majesty, which is why I made sure to ask on a day I knew you’d be free.” Randdem continues. You give him a puzzle look. How long have they been planning this meeting? “Though, I wasn’t expecting to find you here?” He goes on. You try grinning but you know you must look ridiculous because all you want to is snarl at them so you just purse your lips instead and nod. “R-right.” You answer, your hands fidgeting at your side.

“So you’ll be ok with this evening?” He asks again.

You frown,“Well, actually-”

“Of course she will!” Zoid interrupts, and it takes every ounce of self restraint in your body not to uppercut him. “Isn’t that right?” He turns to you with a look of expectancy in his eyes. And you’re left gawking between the two before mustering up the tintest smile you could without cursing at them both.

“Of course.” You finally utter through gritted teeth. “It’ll give us time to catch up.”

“As I thought,” Zoid nods. They both turn to leave but before they’ve finally left Zoid turns around and crinkles up his nose. “And please I’d advise you freshen up before the evening, if you don’t mind. You smell ranted and too much like him. ” Randdem and Zoid chuckle on their way out before letting the heavy doors slam close behind them. You turn around, sighing with exasperation. Boba stands with his arms crossed, now fully armored. “So,” he began. “You have a date?” You groan, “Shut it, fett!” He chuckles and you feel your heart flutter but you are in too much of a sour mood to truly enjoy the sound of his laughter though it is nice to hear.

Great sun god give you strength. What have you been dragged into?

~*~

The dress Galine has fastened you in is way too nice for an evening to be met in disaster. The hunter is cautious with his hand, lingering and pressing into your back lower than what’d normally be appropriate. He lets it slither away and melt down at his side when the merchant warriors come into view at the entrance of the dining hall. Randdem leans back casually against the large doors, arms crossed and an impatient expression sunken in his features. “Shall you accompany me inside?”, he began. “Without your…companion.” He flicks his hand in Boba's direction and recoils it just as fast as if his skin cells reject even being near the same air as him. Your inside grind together to mush. “If your warriors will keep him company instead.” You bargain, and Randdem scowls at you but you just smile which makes his scowl impossibly more scornful. He clamps his mouth shut and nods pointedly, escorting you into the dining hall. His brows never unfrowrow . Like father, like son you supposed.

~*~

A single marble table with a white sheet handsomely decorates the dining hall. Two chairs set out on either ending sides of the table, and bestow on top are delicate appetizers and aged wine. Randdem pulls out your chair for you before walking and plopping down on his own. He picks lazily from a bowl munching on a purple fruit. While a young peasant boy fills your goblet , before scrambling into the kitchen away from the tense atmosphere. The air is stale from the lack of conversation. “I didn’t know you took an interest in me.” You quip, taking a slow sip of your wine. “I’m interested in our people’s future.” He sneers, plucking again at the fruit. A smile stretches thin on your lips. “I figured.” His own grin is sly and conspiratorial, making your leg twitch under the table. “You’re leading an entire world now. Do you believe it’d be wise to do it alone?” You shoot him a curious glance and it’s like he relishes in watching you grow flustered. “Historically,” you began. A knowing smile tilting upward on your lips, “women led their kingdoms better compared to kings. Especially alone.” He scowls at you but you pretend not to notice, instead politely sipping more wine.

“Are you referring to your grandmother?”

You nod, “When my grandfather passed she raised my mother alone and cared for the entire kingdom. Then for ten years my mother led this kingdom before marrying my father. During that time we prospered.”

He clasps his hands. “Those women were not only queens, but warriors.” You cock your head, a challenging glint in your eyes. “Warriors can be judged more than on just their fighting.” You respond. “They can be judged on their character. I was raised by two of the most prominent warriors of our lifetime, and not just because of their fighting skill but because of their heart.” Randdem gives you a smug impression. “Our people need more than good spirits and charm.”

“Then I will be whatever they need me to be.” You say.

He crosses his arms, leaning back making the wooden chair creak in protest. “Why is it then you pranced around with that hunter in the training hall?” You squint your eyes at him. “That doesn’t concern you.” He chuckles amused.“You know I’m right! That’s why you were down there with him.” You flush warm with embarrassment. “You shouldn’t comment on what you don’t know.” You snarl. “I've seen enough of your gushy display in one of the most sacred rooms in the entire kingdom to know you have no shame. How dare whore yourself out to t-that damned cloned buckethead your father allowed to roam the kingdom and filthy it!” This time you scowl at him. “You dare speak ill to me? You’re queen! Who are you to speak to me this way and question my father?!” You shot to your feet, voice ringing out. He jabs his finger in your direction, “You are not my queen!” He growls, teeth baring.

“But I am, whether your father or you can accept it or not! I am your queen.” You hiss, gripping either side of the table. “But, you’ll never be king.” He glares at you, eyes like two black infinite portals. “What were you expecting? That I’d marry you?” You croak. “Never.”

“The kingdom needs an honorable leader.” He retorts. “And that isn’t you!” You huff, crossing slowly around the table like a predator onto its prey. Menacing and delighted to devour. “And you think that’s you?” You snarl, lifting an eyebrow amused. “You have less honor than you think. Your father would rather give in and lay over as our people become enslaved, he’s less of a warrior than he is a leader.” He’s taken back by your words, fisting his hands in his lap.

“That’s not true you lying bastard!” He snaps, rising to his feet and knocking over his chair behind him with a loud clang.

“But it is.” You sneer. “My father and I wanted to fight for our freedom, but yours wanted our people to suffer again. And you accuse me of being the weak one? So, don’t you dare question me or him.” You growl, closing in. “And don’t dare talk about the hunter like that again or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?!” He interjects as he rounds the table all fuming anger and resentment. “Don’t make me laugh, boy.” You huff. “You think you’ll bring back our honor? You’ll have no honor left if I find out your father had anything to do with my father’s death. You and your whole family will be banished!” Randdem stills, paling at your accusation. “N-no!” He can barely spit out. “No! That’s isn’t t-true! M-my father is a man of honor!” He screams, like a child throwing a tantrum. You know the help is listening, who wouldn’t. You’re sure there’ll be rumors spreading like vicious fire tomorrow. You turn away and he’s left trying to follow after you but he’s so angry and confused he stumbles over his own feet having to use the table as leverage as he walks, while cursing loudly behind you. The dinner hall’s doors abruptly open and the hunter and merchant warriors usher themselves inside. You carefully maneuver yourself around them, making a hasty exit while Randdem spits more cruel insults. The hunter half expects you to turn around but you don’t budge. Instead you walk calmly out of Randdem’s sight and request the guards not let him enter the castle again without direct permission from you.

~*~

“What happened?” Boba spoke first and you’re startled by the gentleness of his voice. Your chambers are dark and quiet, chilly from the wind blowing in the open window. You perch yourself on the edge of your bed. “We had an argument, and he said some rather distasteful things...and so did I .” You groan and run a tiresome hand through your locks. “It’s clear Randdem and Zoid don’t want me to be queen.” When he steps closer you shift your eyes away. The hunter tilts his head.

“What else is bothering you?”

“He...well he insulted you.”

“So?” The hunter shrugs and you roll your eyes to the ceiling. “So,” you mock playfully. “I defended you.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

He huffs as if scuffing down a laugh and you glare at him. The hunter looks down as if his shoes suddenly needed a close inspection. His shoulder shaking lightly, the corner of your mouth quirks up. “I thought you once saw me like you saw dirt on the bottom of your shoe.” He suddenly comments and you flick your eyes at him in shock and this time you make a quiet sound that made him peer halfway up at you.

“I see you like I see the sun, blinding. Even when I’m not looking at you, I feel you.”

The hunter’s head snaps up at you and you take a breath.

You wondered if he was smiling, imagined his eyes crinkling with the force of it. As if reading your mind a hesitant hand reaches out and touches the bottom of the helmet. You suddenly seem incapable of moving, face deliberately blank. He waits and there’s a brief moment before your eyes grow wide. You rise and walk close to him and your hand covers his own. His gloved hand is warm underneath the rough leather. You’re trembling with pure adrenaline, heart fluttering. You let him guide you into lifting it, you go slow enough for him to stop you if he wants to, but when he doesn’t you see his soft lips first and you almost lose your composure and kiss him right then but instead you take a deep inhale. Dark trimmed facial hair prances across the lower half of his face and his upper lip, it prickles against your fingers. Dark hair brushing under his ears and trimmed and faded almost down to his gorgeous sharp jawline. Some of his hair extends long over the back of his neck, then his broad nose comes into view, straight and wide. And suddenly...his brown eyes meet yours and you realize he’s more breathtaking than you could’ve ever dreamt. Handsome and sculpted as if everything in the universe that blooms from a certain beauty that commands your attention cracked open and offered you him. Now that you see him for the first time...smiling at you...you realize

like the moon he’s a stealer of light but you know nothing better that could hold light like the smile upon his face because just like the moon he’s crafted to glow. So, maybe he’s collected borrowed time, star dust, and gunpowder. Enough wisdom and morals to fill a holy scripture but enough violence and death to also burn the same book to ash by the touch of his fingertips. Enough adventure to last lifetimes and fill children’s heads with a mindless abundance of wonder and fantasy. Enough vulnerability hidden away to quiver at your hands and melt like an ice sculpture to his knees. There’s so many ways this could end, but with him in front of you like a heavenly body, you know it’s barely begun, whatever universe that was slowly being born into existence between you two. You knew you’d be tethered to him by it forever.

“Come with me.” You whisper softly and his brown eyes gleam, heart thumping against his chest.

“Where?”

“Outside.”

You point to the window and he rubs a slow hand up his arm while the other holds his helmet against his side.

“It’s cold.” He protests and you giggle to yourself as you begin to clamper out the window anyway. The ledge is much smaller compared to you now of course, though you still manage to crawl out and sit near the window. You lean back on the kingdom wall carefully, knowing Galine would kill you if you soiled your gown. Your thighs rest on the ledge while the rest of your body hangs over. You close your eyes but the corners of your mouth twitch up in a small victorious grin when you hear his defeated sigh. Boba comes out more smoothly than you as if the womp rat has done it a thousand times and he rests himself beside you.

After a moment of staring into endless space he utters, “Tell me about the stars.” You bite your bottom lip. “The stars have secrets like us my mother used to tell me, but they also have stories.”He tilts his head, waiting. You smile, closing your eyes tighter and breathing in deeply. You remember your mother taking you into her lap at the window and oiling your small braids and scalp. “She’d say the sky and the world fell in love. That the sky hung the moon for the world, and that the world in return gave the sky, flowers. My mother said the sun god was born first, then all the other gods followed.” She’d tell you each god’s birth and their purpose as her soft massaging hands lulled you to sleep.

“You believe that?” He questions, lifting an eyebrow . You look at him, baring a cheeky smile. “That two powerful lovers created a universe of their own? I witness it all the time.” You gesture to the hundreds of homes stretching out in the grasslands of the kingdom. Boba chuckles, smiling at you and leaning his head back against the wall and you couldn’t help but stare at the subtle movements. You know he wasn’t doing anything extraordinary but you could tell he was the god of his life, of his own destiny. We’re all the gods of small things, even if it’s just ourselves. With an upturn face you peer at him. If you both were gods you wanted to meet him halfway to an astral plane where both your heavens collided.

So...you kiss him, mouth slotting over his gently, soul transcending to the stars. Your mouth becomes an open exhibit for his tongue to explore through. Instead of his eyes, his wet warmth admires the best parts of you. Flicking and tasting the dirtiest details with the filthiest sweetness he’s ever known. Your fingers curl into the nape of his dark coarse hair, tugging. As if teasing the strings from an instrument it pulls a wondrous sound from his lips, an orchestra rumbling in his chest. His heavy groan quiet against your lips, a song only yours.

If tonight you could make love to him, you’d push him over the sheets of your bed, lay him bare and golden like a horizon. Kiss his scarred skin and lick the stardust from his flesh. Let him wither you down into a vulnerable shaking pile on the blanket and obliterate your ego and the rising sarcastic remarks on your tongue and so maybe then when he’s laid warm on top of you, weary and desperate, you suddenly appreciate everything in the universe that is...

...metal, quiet , and green.

And it lead you like little boats floating down aisles back to him.

Back home.

#boba fett #boba fett smut #boba x reader #boba fic #boba fett x reader #boba fett fic #boba fett x you #star wars #boba fett fluff #boba fett x y/n #boba fett x female reader #black reader #black writers #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x black reader #Boba fett fan fiction series

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iv-kplpt · 5 years

Text

any way you want me, i’m all yours

mac gargan (from the 2018 marvel’s spider-man game)/original female character frankie

this one is kind of a test run for those 2. an out of context vignette about one of their many reunions and abrupt farewells.

“why is mac so tender in this one” because he loves frankie and because of story-related reasons i’ll be sure to explore in a possible longfic exploring their relationship.

rated e. 7484 words.

It was around four in the morning on a warm, April day when Mac snuck into Frankie’s apartment. Getting inside the building was way more difficult than getting inside that particular flat - but he managed to sneak past random people on the sidewalks and in the hallways, finding his way to cozy little apartment number 812.

Frankie woke up the moment he closed the door behind him, as quietly as humanly possible; he didn’t make a single sound louder than his own, hushed breath.

“Who’s there?” he heard her voice coming from her bedroom; and his heart skipped a beat and a smile bloomed on his face. Frankie - his Frankie, his baby, his love - sounded both sleepy and agitated; an endearing combination. “I’m gonna fuck you up.”

“I sure hope so.” he replied as she shuffled out of the bedroom, wielding a baseball bat. She was wearing a black, fluffy robe and even fluffier slippers; and her hair were a tangled mess. “Fuck me up any way you want, baby. I’m all yours.”

Frankie woke up the moment he closed the door behind him, as quietly as humanly possible; he didn’t make a single sound louder than his own, hushed breath.

Frankie scoffed, walking up to him. And just when he was about to pick her up to greet her properly - she swung the bat, hitting the wall next to his right cheek. It was a solid swing - strong enough to nearly bust a hole through the wall. Sudden enough to make him freeze in place.

“Where the fuck have you been?” she finally asked; the bat still rested next to his face, and Frankie’s voice got high-pitched and whiny and so, so vulnerable.

“In jail.” Mac replied, cautiously putting his hand on the bat and pushing it away; Frankie didn’t protest, so he took it out of her - shaking - hands and dropped it on the ground. “Fifty years. No parole.”

“You broke out a month ago.” Frankie said quietly, biting her lip nervously and not looking at him at all. “A month! And… And I was… Waiting…”

She paused; he waited.

“Why didn’t you say something?” she asked finally.

“Because I didn’t want the cops to catch the wind of us.” he replied; God, he thought. She’s gorgeous.

“But you could’ve give me a call. Or text me.” she insisted, gripping his hand instead. “I was worried!”

“You don’t need to worry about me, baby. I just… Needed some time to lead them astray. Make them think I left the city. You know. Same old smoke and mirror vanishing act. Same old me.”

In response Frankie pursed her lips tightly; she turned her head when he leaned down to finally kiss her for the first time in months, and his lips crashed against her temple as she stood there.

“Baby.” Mac said pleadingly; that was not how he imagined their reunion. “Come on, doll. Don’t be like that.”

“Am I a liability to you, Mac?” Frankie asked finally; and he raised his brows. “Because that’s how you’re treating me, tesoro. Like I can’t handle myself. Like I can’t handle you and your fucking bullshit.”

Mac sighed. He then took a step back, straightening his back; fuck, he thought. She’s so short compared to me. She’s so tiny.

(Everything and everyone seemed so fragile when he was in his suit, so easily ruined; his gloves had knife-sharp claws and the exoskeleton running through the suit made him a god.)

He looked down at her in silence, and she had to tilt her head to actually look him in the eye, and in her bright - mesmerizing, magnetic, hauntingly reminiscent of full moon - eyes he saw something indescribable; something angry, and sad, and loving, and impatient, and disappointed, and anxious.

“You’re not a liability, Frankie.” Mac said, thinking about all those people he had left behind because they weren’t fast enough, strong enough, ruthless enough, cunning enough. “I love you. I care about you. I don’t want you to be a person of interest for the cops. To be constantly watched. Interrogated.”

“I can handle it, Mac. My father works for Hammerhead.” she reminded him. “I worked for Wilson Fisk. My brother worked with you and Rhino. Also - you’re paranoid. I’m not finished.” she added, seeing him open his mouth. “Pull this shit again and we’re done. Also, put me on your visitors list next time they put you in the Raft. Those were the longest six months of my whole fucking life.”

She clenched her fists; hard enough for her golden skin to turn white.

“Understand?” she asked him quietly; she didn’t sound hesitant. She sounded confident, and menacing, and almost impossibly calm.

“Yeah.” he breathed out, trying to force himself to focus on anything but how badly he wanted to kiss her. “I’ll… I’ll get you a new phone, one of those old brick models. No network adapter. I’ll secure it, make it undetectable. You’ll keep it off and turn it on only when I break out. Alright?”

“Alright.” she said gently. “Now… Catch.”

She jumped, wrapping her arms around his neck; he grabbed her and picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him.

He kissed her, and she bit his lip; he could taste her lemongrass-scented toothpaste in her breath - and after months of isolation that small thing he’d normally ignore had an almost embarrassing effect on him. The shiver that ran down his spine, the sudden tightness of his pants, the sound that escaped his lips - that shouldn’t happen after a kiss.

Frankie noticed - of course she did, she was an attentive little mouse - and laughed in his face, even though she wasn’t much better, with her flushed cheeks and shaky breath.

She was still laughing when he threw her onto the nearest chair, and when he kissed her again, bent down, frantically trying to to untie her robe’s belt; she playfully kept pushing his hands away, or catching and holding them, or covering the knot with her hands. Eventually he lost his patience, and grabbed her wrists with his hand; and she grinned with satisfaction, already spreading her legs as he untangled the knot with his other hand.

“Hold still.” he said, taking a step back. “It’s been six months. I want to look at you.”

“Alright.” she replied, rolling her eyes. “But be quick. I’m horny as fuck.”

He didn’t respond, too busy staring at her.

She had visited him in his dreams quite often; nights at the Raft were lonely and long and Mac welcomed her imaginary company, the nonexistent presence of her warm, gold-colored body, her petite hands, her jet black hair. And days at the Raft were not very stimulating; they were harsh and monotonous and repetitive; so he appreciated the invigorating images of her perfectly hand-sized breasts, and raspberry-colored nipples, and full, soft lips, and the pink and warm crevice between her legs.

(Or maybe it was the other way round?)

“You’re killing the mood, Mac.” Frankie said, bringing him back to Earth. “You know what I look like. I hadn’t had a breast job, so quit starin’ and get to fuckin’.”

“Ah, but baby, I hadn’t seen you in half a year. I think I deserve some eyecandy time.” he said, trying to not sound defensive. It’s not like he didn’t want to fuck her - he simply wanted to let his eyes enjoy a little something as well.

Frankie scoffed.

“You’re a sap.” she said mockingly. “A gentle giant. A big softie.”

“I’m not a sap.” he protested, even though there he was - staring lovingly at his girlfriend instead of fucking her brains out after half a year of separation. “And you, baby, are in for it.”

He took a step towards her, and she grinned; he grabbed her and picked her up and threw her onto the couch; and soon he was kissing her neck and his hands began a hasteful journey across her body; his fingers and his mouth were so hungry and impatient and he felt like he might eat her alive just to satisfy that burning, gnawing, six months old hunger.

(She seemed to also be quite ravenous; she clawed at his back and thrusted her hips and kept pulling him closer, closer, closer.)

“Baby.” he whispered, taking his lips off her neck for a moment; he pushed her legs apart and started to slowly rub her clit with his thumb. “Sing for me.”

Frankie opened her mouth - and let out a long, howling yawn.

“Oh, come on.” Mac said, taking his hand away and sitting up on the couch. “Really, Frankie?”

“It’s five in the morning!” she said defensively, muffling another yawn. “And I went to bed around two a.m. It’s not my fault you decided to show up at four in the morning.”

She got up and shuffled towards her bedroom, leaving Mac behind.

“You can sleep on the couch.” she said, standing with her (beautiful, smooth, golden) back to him; and his eyes fixated on her round, firm ass.

“I was hoping you’d let me sleep with you.” he said; and she looked at him over her shoulder and her expression made his heart drop. She looked at him like he just suggested a week long hard BDSM play session on the first date; had the abrupt separation turned them into strangers?

Suddenly - she laughed.

“I was just joking.” she said, turning around and walking up to him. “Take me to bed, big boy. I missed you.”

In bed she asked him to hold her.

“Hold me.” she said, pushing her back against his chest. “I missed you, Mac. I forgot what it’s like to be in your arms.”

“And I never forgot what it’s like to hold you, baby.” he replied, pulling her even closer; he meant it. He never forgot, and he wasn’t happy about it; it made the lonely nights unbearable. His body remembered what it’s like to hold hers, what it’s like to feel her heartbeat under his fingertips; and her absence was a torture. “Hm. Did you lose weight?”

“Maybe.” she muttered; and he sighed. “Goodnight, tesoro.”

At first he was sure he’s going to simply lay there, and hold her; he wasn’t sleepy, or tired. But the bed was soft, and smelled of her; and it’s been a long while since he had last rested in a comfortable bed. His bed at the Raft was hard; and for the past month he had been hiding in an abandoned warehouse, and could only choose between a cold stone floor, or a very old mattress.

“Just five minutes.” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Just a quick nap.”

***

Frankie woke him up ten hours later.

“Rise and shine, big boy.” she said, straddling his hips. “You hungry?”

His empty stomach gurgled in response.

“Yep.” he said, lifting himself up slightly and leaning on his elbows. “Mmm. You look nice.”

She was wearing a plain, vastly oversized black tshirt that exposed her right shoulder, a pair of jean shorts that accentuated and exposed her beautiful, long legs and a simple, black choker that made him want to tug at it and pull her closer.

“Hell yeah I look nice.” Frankie replied, sounding very pleased with herself. “I look nice in just about everything.”

“That’s true.” he agreed. “I really missed you, Fran.”

“I know.” she said, setting a paper bag down on his stomach. “I got you breakfast. Cheddar and chicken salad sesame bagel from that place down the street. I went shopping.” she added as he bit half the bagel off in a single bite. The bagel was perfectly soft, the sharp cheddar was perfectly salty and the chicken salad was perfectly creamy. It felt like it’s been ages since he last had some decent food; he devoured the bagel in three bites.

“I love you.” he said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin; she grinned with satisfaction and shuffled slightly, rubbing her bottom against his crotch.

“I sure hope you do.” she said, putting her hand on his belt buckle; his breath quickened and she began toying with it, not taking her eyes off him. “Because if you didn’t… The fact you got hard just from he sitting on you would be pathetic. But, since you love me… It’s actually cute. And kind of hot.”

Mac laughed, desperately trying to not grind against her; he wanted her. He wanted her bad.

“You’re so cute when you’re pretending you’re not horny.” she teased with a cocky grin that made him want to grab her, throw her onto the bed, shove a hand down her shorts, just to make her writhe and squirm, to make her his.

He grabbed her by her shirt and pulled her towards him; and just as he was about to kiss her - she put her index finger on his lips.

“A-a-a.” she said mockingly. “Not yet.”

“But why?” he asked mournfully as she got off him. “We hadn’t seen each other in half a year. We hadn’t fucked in half a year.”

“You look like a hobo, Mac. And kind of smell like one too.” she said, rolling her eyes; and Mac scoffed, knowing she’s right. “Where have you been hiding, in a dumpster?”

“An abandoned waterside warehouse. Years ago I turned a basement there into an emergency shelter. It’s… Habitable.”

(It had running water that was an icy cold slow dribble; a place to sleep, which was just a mattress held together with tape; a tiny pantry filled with freeze-dried and canned food; and that was it. No electricity, absolutely no luxuries, cold and kind of damp and very very dark; the room looked like a shithole, hundred times worse than Mac’s cell at the Raft - but in that basement he was free.)

“Take a shower, Mac. I’ll order us some Chinese.” she said, walking out of the room. “And… Check the bathroom closet. I keep some clothes and other stuff for you there.”

This was, quite possibly, the longest shower he ever took. He missed warm water, and shower gels that smell nice, and blissful solitude; the water at the Raft was lukewarm at best, and the shower gels had no smell, and every shower meant being accompanied by nine other men.

After showering he felt like a new man; he left the bathroom wearing only a pair of sweatpants, completely ignoring each and every shirt in the closet - Frankie always appreciated the view, claiming he looks “like a sexy brickhouse”.

(He was muscular, in a slightly bulky way; he also had a lot of scars on his back and his shoulders.)

She didn’t say anything seeing him enter her living room; but her cheeks turned dark and she bit her lip, and he remembered the first time she saw him like this.

(Spider-Man nearly got him, and Mac was bleeding and hurt; and Frankie saved him. She took him home, and got some Maggia doc to patch him up; and he was bloodied, battered and shirtless and she didn’t even try to pretend she’s not into him.)

“I’m seeing some new scars.” she said, seeing him. “Prison fights?”

“Prison fights, not cooperating with the cops, and so on.” he said with a shrug. “Raft is not at all what S.H.I.E.L.D says it is. It’s brutal.”

“I see.” she said softly. “Then I guess it’s good you broke out.”

They watched a movie; Mac didn’t register the title, or the plot. He was too busy focusing on Frankie, who sat next to him and loudly commented on the movie between bites of her rice noodles and beef stir-fry; he watched her and listened to her - and wanted to pull her closer, get rid of her clothes and burrow his face between her legs.

The mere thought of her naked body - her perfect breasts, and sensitive nipples, her long legs, her wet flower - got him painfully hard again.

Frankie, naturally, noticed.

“Oh my god.” she said, sounding very amused. “Did you just get a boner when watching The Dark Knight?”

“No, I got a boner from thinking about you.” Mac replied, trying to save the last shreds of his dignity. “You look… Nice.”

“So do you, baby.” she replied; and his heart - his hardened, cold, dead heart of a criminal, a sadist, a monster - fluttered hearing that. “So… What’s the plan?”

“I’ll reach out to my contacts, see if someone has a job for me.” he said with a sigh. “They confiscated my suit and I can’t afford to pay Black Cat to steal it. And I need a lab. And some supplies.”

“That’s nice and all, but I meant the plan for tonight.” Frankie said, rolling her eyes. “You know. It’s been six months. I say… Let’s make tonight special.”

She turned around to face him and put her hand on his chest and began to absentmindedly tap at his skin with her fingertips.

“Mmm. Special… How, exactly?” he asked, trying to focus. “Every moment spent with you is special, baby.”

“Cheesy.” she said, rolling her eyes. “I was thinking… A candle-lit dinner, some wine… You know. Like normal people do.”

“Only if we do this here.” he said. “I’d rather… Not show my mug at a fancy restaurant. People might scream. Spider-Man might show up.”

“You worry too much, big guy.” she said, taking his face into her - tiny tiny tiny - hands. “We’re not going out. We’re staying in.” she added, placing a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll cook dinner, and you… You just relax. You deserve it.”

“Mmm. Yeah. After all, I’m a hard-working, honest man who would never hurt a fly.” he said jokingly; Frankie rolled her eyes, but smiled afterwards, and that sight made him smile sheepishly as well.

***

He wanted to help Frankie in the kitchen, he really did.

“Hey.” he said, walking up to her and putting his hands on her waist. “Need a hand?”

“I’m good.” she replied, peeling a carrot. “Get out.”

“You sure?” he asked, not budging. “I have two hands and nothing to do… And you smell really nice.”

In response she swatted his hands away and waved her knife at him; so he backed out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

On his way out he tripped over the bag he had brought with him; it made a loud, metallic clank which reminded him of an idea he had earlier.

“Do you have a drill?” he asked, walking back into the kitchen.

“Why do you need a drill?” Frankie asked, furrowing her brows. “Did you break something?”

“It’s a surprise.” he said. “Do you have one or not?”

“It should be in the hallway cabinet.” she said, resuming doing whatever she was doing. “Have… Fun drilling holes, I guess.”

About one hour later his magnum opus was finished and two pulleys had been securely mounted to the ceiling of Frankie’s bedroom.

“Cool.” Frankie said, entering the bedroom. “So… Why did you do that?”

“It’s a surprise.” he said evasively, checking the hooks one last time. “Alright, those shouldn’t fall off.”

“I’m going to take a shower.” Frankie announced; her voice suddenly got just a bit shaky and Mac looked over his shoulder in surprise. “Care to join me?”

“Sure.” he replied, following her. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?” she responded quickly; too quickly.

“Frankie…”

“Let’s just say I’m also preparing a surprise for you.” she replied with a sigh, entering the bathroom; he tried to follow - but she stopped him. “A-a-a! You can come in once you hear the water’s running.”

“But I like watching you undress.” he said as she closed the door. Naturally he meant it; but to be fair - he liked watching Frankie do absolutely anything. She was beautiful, and her body was absolutely gorgeous, and there was particular, almost boyish charm to the way she moved and talked and smiled; accompanied by the fact she seemed to thoroughly enjoy having his full, undivided attention - it turned her every action into a one of a kind private show.

“I know.” she said; he could hear her opening and closing the closet where she stored his clothes. A few moments later he heard her open and close the cabin; and finally - he heard the water running.

“You can come in.” she said as he opened the door. “Mmm. You seem… Impatient.”

“No, really?” he asked; he was already naked, having undressed in the hallway, waiting for her sign. “What gave it away?”

“It was just a wild guess.” she said as he squeezed into the cabin. “God, Mac. You’re hard.”

“Yeah.” he agreed breathlessly as she brushed his length with her fingertips. “What, are you going to… Help me out?”

“Nah.” she replied, taking her hand away; he groaned, resting his forehead against the slippery wall above her left shoulder. “Not yet, anyway. But… Maybe I’ll blow you after dinner.”

The fact she said it, and the way she said it - lightly, playfully, quietly - almost sent him over the edge.

She noticed, of course she did - and she laughed as he kissed her neck desperately, his hands shaking from this burning hunger. This hunger had been with him for months; at the Raft there was absolutely no privacy - and while masturbation wasn’t forbidden, someone was always watching; and Mac found that thought repulsive. It didn’t make the hunger go away - but it made him keep his hands away from its core.

Even after escaping he didn’t do anything about it - and suddenly he was right next to the only cure for his condition, their bodies pressed together, rubbing against each other, her voice promising him the sweetest of releases in that bright, cocky tone of hers. It was unbearable - and he savored every second.

“Say it again.” he pleaded; and Frankie smiled with satisfaction, putting her soapy hands on his ribs.

“Maybe I’ll blow you after dinner.” she hummed, slowly sliding her hands across and down his stomach. “Maybe I’ll make you sit down, and maybe I’ll kneel before you… And maybe, just maybe, I’ll suck you. Maybe I’ll do it so slowly it’ll drive you mad. But hey - maybe.”

“You’re unbearable, Frankie.”

“I know. And that, big boy, is why you love me.”

“True.” he agreed breathlessly. “I love you, Frankie. You’re what kept me from going insane at the Raft.”

“You’re not the only one who was lonely, Mac.” she responded quietly; so quietly it was barely audible over the sound of running water. “I waited for you, and I’ll wait for you again… But I don’t want to wait. But I will. I know I will. I’ll always wait for you, baby.”

“And I will always come back to you, Frankie.” he assured her; in response she burrowed her face in his skin and cried and sobs shook her body as she gripped his shoulders tightly with her hands.

“How could you?!” she wailed desperately. “I was so worried, Mac, it’s been a month! I thought you died, o-or got bored of me and found yourself another idiot willing to deal with your f-fucking bullshit!”

She punched him in the chest; he only felt it a little bit. He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t land another punch on him; he kissed her the moment she turned the water off.

“I love you.” she whispered. “I love you so much it hurts. You should get dressed.” she added in a normal tone. “And so should I, actually.”

It took Mac about ten minutes to get dressed - and it took Frankie about thirty. For some reason, she kept one of his old suits in her closet; Hammerhead made all his men follow a strict dress code. Wearing a suit again, after months of pretending he had never worked with Hammerhead felt weird - but also good.

He ditched the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt; he kept the tie though.

Finally she left the bathroom - and she looked absolutely gorgeous.

Her simple, black dress exposed her shoulders and back, while hiding everything else from his prying eyes; her high heels made her legs look almost impossibly long; and her makeup drew attention to her beautiful, moonlight-colored eyes and heart-shaped lips.

“New perfume?” he asked, sniffing the air next to her neck quietly. “Hmm. Is that… Cinnamon?”

“And some other things. But mostly cinnamon.” she said as he took her hand. “Oh, you look good.”

He kissed her hand, looking her in the eye; she laughed and took her hand away, not letting him pull the old trail of kisses trick.

After five months of practically tasteless, unseasoned, perfectly bland prison meals and a month of canned mush - dinner made by Frankie smelled and looked and tasted like a Michelin Star-grade delicacies.

It was not, by any means, bad by itself - everything was perfectly fine. After all, everyone sometimes puts too much parmesan shavings in a salad, glazes carrots with way too much honey, overcooks their steaks or forgets to add salt and pepper to mashed potatoes; cooking mistakes happen to everyone. Sometimes they all happen at once, to a single person.

None of the dishes was perfect - but they all tasted delicious. And, most importantly - every single dish was made with love.

“Dessert?” Frankie asked, seeing him put down his fork. “I… Didn’t mess dessert up. Mostly because I didn’t make it.”

“You didn’t mess anything up, baby.” he said, watching her. “Also… Nope. Not yet.”

“Alright.” she said, picking his empty plate up. “In that case… I’m gonna take those to the kitchen. Where I’m going to stand, all alone and helpless. It would be a shame if someone were to sneak into the kitchen and take me to bedroom.”

“That would be awful.” he agreed, already getting up from his chair.

He sneaked up to her, stood behind her for a moment, listening to her breath - and picked her up and carried her to bedroom. She didn’t struggle; but she did squirm an awful lot.

“What’s under the dress, Frankie?” he asked, trying to lift up her skirt and take a peek; but Frankie kept pushing the fabric down, so Mac turned her around and held her wrists behind her head as he unzipped her dress with his other hand.

“Do you like it?” she asked the moment her dress slipped off her and formed a small, black puddle around her feet.

“Yes, yes, yes and yes.” he replied, looking at her lack of bra, simple, white, lace panties, a matching garter belt with stockings and a - admittedly a bit sloppy - knotted web of rope decorating her stomach and chest and forming a tight crotch rope with a knot at the critical spot. “Mmm. When did you pick up kinbaku?”

“About a month after they caught you. I was feeling miserable and lonely, and I had this piece of rope in my closet and… Well. This happened.” she said, turning around in place. “I needed something to do. Something to keep me busy. Something to… Make me feel a bit less lonely. Do you like it?”

“I love it.” he said, even though his heart was heavy, burdened by her loneliness. “Wait. When did you put it on?”

“A few hours ago.” she said, folding her hands behind her back. “I’m a present wrapped in rope… A present that’s dying to be unpacked.”

She winked at him; he squinted, pretending to be thinking.

Frankie seemed to be very eager; and so was him, naturally. Just as he was opening his mouth to tell her to turn around so he can untie the knot holding everything in place - he remembered her teasing.

“I shall unpack my present now.” he announced. “And then I’m going to have a lot of fun with it.”

“Great!” she said, jumping in place impatiently. “Wait. You’re going to have fun? What about me?”

“You, my baby, will also have fun.” he said, taking an additional piece of rope from his bag. “And if not… Sucks to be you, I guess.”

He tied her hands behind her back using the same piece of rope she used; he made sure to bend her elbows first, to make it impossible for her to get her hands in front of her, like she did a few times before. Afterwards he covered her eyes with a blindfold - and took a moment to appreciate the view.

(She looked gorgeous; and he could tell she’s trying to wiggle out of her bondage.)

“Get down on your knees, baby.” he said, pulling some more rope out of his bag. “And give me five minutes.”

He quickly set up the main attraction of the night - all while Frankie kept complaining about not wanting to wait any longer.

“Alright.” he said, crouching in front of her and taking her blindfold off. “Time to shut you up for a bit.”

“It’d take Spider-Man to make me shut up, big boy.” she replied, looking around. “So… What’s all that?”

“A torture device.” he replied; Frankie raised her eyebrows skeptically and rolled her eyes. “What?”

“This doesn’t sound convincing.” she said with a - somewhat restrained - shrug. “Is that how you tortured people for Hammerhead? With some rope and a magic wand?”

“Can we not talk about this right now?” he asked, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. “It’s… We’re… We’re on a date right now. Maybe let’s not talk about my old gig as a torturer.” he said pleadingly. “Tomorrow morning - sure. I’ll gladly tell you my secrets. Tonight though… I’d rather talk about literally anything else.”

“Anything? Alright.” Frankie said with a wicked spark in her eye. “Let’s talk politics. Who has your vote? Personally I’m torn-”

He covered her mouth with his hand.

“You’re insufferable.” he informed her. “Don’t get me wrong, baby, I love you. But you’re insufferable. And I think it’s high time someone taught you a lesson in silence… And humility.”

Frankie cocked her head; his hand followed, keeping her silent.

“See this?” he asked, picking her beloved Hitachi off the floor; Frankie nodded vigorously.

Attached to the vibrator was a long piece of rope; it went up - towards the ceiling - where it had been led through the pulleys he had mounted earlier and back down, where its end dangled just a bit in front of and above kneeling Frankie. If his calculations were correct - and he knew they were - his invention should work perfectly under one, simple condition.

“Spread your legs, baby. No, no, no questions yet. Just spread them.”

Clumsily Frankie spread her legs; and Mac grinned with satisfaction.

“Good girl.” he said, placing a kiss on her forehead. “See this rope?”

Frankie nodded.

“Long story short… It’s a simple mechanism.” he said, pulling the rope. “If the rope is held like this… The wand will be pressed to you. If the rope is let loose…”

He let go of the rope, letting the vibrator fall onto the floor.

“Open your mouth.” he said, taking his hand away; Frankie opened her mouth, staring at him. “Good. Now, bite the rope… And don’t let go of it.”

“I won’t.” she mumbled without letting go of the rope. “It’s not on.”

“I know.” he said, getting up from the floor. “Patience.”

She kept mumbling as he walked up to his bag and fished out the last part of the attraction - a simple-looking black box made out of metal, with a black knob at the top, a long cable ending with a standard American electric plug coming out of one side and a standard outlet mounted on the other side.

“What’s that?” Frankie mumbled as he plugged the box into the nearest power outlet; the small diode next to the knob lit up in green.

Mac sat down in a chair right in front of Frankie, still holding the mystery box. Without a word he picked up the cable of her Hitachi - and plugged it into the box. He then turned the knob; the vibrator sprung to life and began to buzz against Frankie’s clit.

“W-why not just plug it directly?” she muttered; her cheeks were quickly turning darker and her breath got shaky and he could see her nipples are getting hard as she squirmed in her bonds, getting closer to the edge.

“Because it wouldn’t be half as much fun.” he said, turning the knob again; the vibrator turned off and Frankie let out a long, low growl. “Frustrated already? Baby, baby, this is only a beginning.”

He always liked being in control; and he always liked making people miserable. Usually he accomplished it through less-than-pleasant means; but Frankie was different. Whenever he was with her, his usual, harmful, pain-inducing habits and methods went away; he loved her. Harming her - causing her pain, or even making her sad - was out of the question; but he liked taking control. He liked teasing her, making her desperate, making her beg - and she seemed to enjoy it as well.

“You dick.” she muttered as he grinned at her. “You piece of shit. Turn it on!” she demanded. “Turn it on!”

“Alright.” he said, turning the vibrator back on. “You really look gorgeous tonight, baby.” he added, watching her. “Especially… Now.”

He tormented her for a long while, turning the vibrator on and off, never leaving it on for long enough for her to come. He knew what it looks and sounds like when she’s about to come, he knew it well - and the six months of separation didn’t make him forget it. He knew her sighs, and trembling legs, and sudden twitching - and he used it all to keep her on the edge.

“Do you like it, baby?” he asked; Frankie muttered something in response. For the past thirty minutes she had been kneeling with her neck bent; the lower her head was, the firmer the wand was pressing against her.

“Fuck you, Mac.” she muttered in response; but she didn’t let go of the rope. “Hhhh… FUCK!” she groaned as he turned the wand off again. “FUCK!”

“Don’t yell, baby. Your neighbors might not like it.” he said, turning the wand on. “And they might call the cops. And the cops might come here… And see you tied up and accompanied by a wanted criminal. Do you want me to get arrested, baby?”

“No!” she exclaimed loud and clear; she let go of the rope and the wand fell onto the floor, letting out a loud buzz that was both piercing and dull.

Mac laughed, turning the wand off.

“FUCK!” Frankie screamed. “GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!”

“Language, baby.” he said, getting up from the chair; Frankie kept trying to catch the rope with her teeth again - but she didn’t get up from the floor. “Aww, just look at you. So frustrated.”

“Don’t be a dick.” she pleaded as he walked up to her and crouched down in front of her, setting the box on the floor. “Come on, Mac. Please?”

“Please what, baby?” he asked, brushing her chin with his thumb. “You know I can’t read minds.”

Frankie pursed her lips and looked away; Mac chuckled and leaned in and kissed her deeply, turning the vibrator back on with his other hand.

“Just a bit more.” he whispered into her lips, pressing the wand against her. “Be a good girl and don’t scream.”

He reached down between her legs and pulled her - soaked, now that’s flattering - panties to the side before pressing the wand firmly against her wet, pulsing center.

He kissed her again; she groaned and moaned and whined into his lips and almost screamed when he turned the wand off for the last time.

“Mac.” she pleaded desperately. “Come on. Please? Please?”

She gave him her best kicked puppy impression, batting her lashes at him and pouting; he pinched her left nipple lightly, deciding he’s definitely going to keep her in this state just a bit longer.

“No.” he replied, getting up from the floor.

“I’m flipping you off right now.” she informed him. “And I know you can’t see it, because my hands are tied, but I’m flipping you off.”

“Uh-uh.” he replied, unzipping his pants. “Say aaaaa.”

Admittedly - getting one’s dick out of one’s pants is kind of difficult, when said person already has a boner. Usually it didn’t take Mac half as much time to accomplish that feat - that night, however, he found himself struggling.

His hands were practically shaking - and Frankie noticed. Of course she did.

“Ha!” she said, sounding more than mildly amused. “Holy fuck. What’s the problem, Mac? Did you forget how to do it?”

“Quiet.” he replied, trying to sound commanding, rather than pathetic and whiny; and Frankie laughed.

“What’s the problem, Mac?” she asked mockingly; and he gulped quietly, trying to hide the fact her tone is turning him on even more. “Need a hand?”

“I’m not untying you.” he replied, finally winning the battle with his pants and underwear. “Open your mouth, baby.”

She tried to suck him off slowly; she tried to tease him and to hold him on edge. She did her best to torment him, just a bit; it wasn’t her fault he didn’t last.

He tried to hold it - but to no avail. Her soft lips, her teasing tongue - it was too much.

He came in her mouth after few moments; with a loud, desperate, ashamed groan.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Mac.” Frankie said after unceremoniously spitting everything out. “What was that?”

“Five months of celibate.” he said defensively. “Plus a month of living in a dumpster.”

“Holy shit.” she said, cocking her head slightly. “So you hadn’t… You hadn’t came in half a year?”

“Well, yeah.” he said with a sigh. “There’s no privacy at the Raft. We’re being watched at all times. Kinda kills the mood for me.”

“And wasn’t there anyone willing to… Help you out?” she asked hesitantly; Mac furrowed his brows.

“Women are in a separate block.” he said finally. “And I’m not… I’m not into men, Frankie. What about you, baby?” he asked, desperate for a change of topic. “Did you wait?”

(Were you faithful?)

“No.” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry though. I hadn’t cheated on you, I only… Masturbated. A lot. But I stopped when I heard you broke out.” she added. “And so I waited. For a month.”

“A month.” he repeated mockingly. “A whole month! What a colossal sacrifice. How noble of you.”

(she waited she waited she waited she waited)

“Just admit you’re jealous.” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “Because you are jealous. Right, big boy?”

“Maybe a little bit.” he admitted, helping her stand up. “And you’re being obnoxious. I think you should suffer just a bit more.”

“You’re lucky I’m tied up.” she said as he sat her down at the edge of the bed. “You wouldn’t be so cocky if my hands were free.”

“Look at yourself, trying to be menacing.” he said mockingly, looking down at her petite body, her soft skin, her huge eyes. “Alright though, I’ll bite. What would happen if your hands were free?”

He unhooked her left stocking and pulled her panties off her leg.

“You’d be the one begging.” she shot back as he pushed her legs apart. “And I wouldn’t even have to tie you up. I know you wouldn’t dare to force me to do anything.” she finished with a smug smile.

“That’s true.” he admitted. “So I guess it’s good you’re still tied up.”

He kissed the inside of her right thigh, not breaking the eye contact; she bit her lip in excited anticipation.

From his sitting position he could very clearly see and smell her arousal; it was a one of a kind scent, deep and impossible to describe and almost intoxicating.

“Enjoying the view?” she asked, squirming slightly; Mac grinned.

“Yeah.” he said; and he truly, deeply meant it. Everything about Frankie was beautiful and soft; but her soft, smooth flower always left him mesmerized. And how sensitive it was! A simple stroke of his fingertip was enough to make her gasp quietly. He had always marveled at her sensitivity - it made turning her into a quivering, gasping mess so, so easy.

All it took was a few minutes of slow, meticulous teasing to make her stomp against the ground in frustration.

His tongue and lips danced all across her center, and his fingers slowly moved in and out of her; she was soft and sweet under his touch, even if she kept calling him names in that trembling, high-pitched voice he loved so dearly.

“You dick!” she exclaimed as he dragged his tongue across her clit slowly, too slowly. “You absolute, complete-”

She let out a whiny moan as he reached up with both his hands and pinched and twisted her nipples lightly.

“M-Mac.” she said pleadingly. “Come on. Don’t be a dick. Don’t leave a girl hangin’.”

“But I’m not leaving you hangin’, baby.” he said, switching his tongue for his thumb and massaging her clit lightly. “I’m keeping you this way.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t keep me like this forever.” she said; her breathy voice was breaking and she kept making short pauses. “Also I think my hands are asleep.”

“Sucks to be you.” he said with a shrug. “You know, I consider myself bit of an artist. Do you know what’s every artist’s motto?”

“What’s every artist’s motto?” she asked, sounding resigned.

“Can’t rush art.” Mac replied, burrowing his face between her legs again.

This time - he let her come.

It was a long one; long and loud and ecstatic. She arched her back, and practically screamed out in pleasure; and Mac laughed, not even trying to keep her quiet.

“Is that what you wanted, baby?” he asked, sitting next to her; Frankie nodded, visibly out of breath.

“Yeah.” she said finally. “Mac…”

“Yeah?”

“Untie me. And bring me some Red Bull from the fridge. I’m far from done.”

“So am I, baby.” he said, untying the knots; Frankie stretched immediately and plopped down onto her back. “I’ve missed you for six months. Tonight’s gonna be very long.”

“Just the way I like it.” she replied as he got up. “A long, sleepless night… And just the two of us.”

“With luck this won’t be our last night like this.” he said, handing her the ice-cold can; she pressed it to her forehead, between her breasts and to the back of her neck before finally cracking it open and immediately spilling some of the drink all over herself. “Mmm. Need a hand?”

“Yeah.” Frankie breathed out after chugging rest of her drink out of the can and throwing said can away. “Get it off me, big guy.”

He kissed the overly sweet drink off her that night; and he kept kissing her even once her skin was clean. He pulled her into his lap, and she practically ripped his shirt off him; and her hands wandering across his skin and his scars felt infinitely soft and gentle, and so did her nails piercing his skin. It felt like the gentlest, most heart-wrenching, bone-rotting poison; and by gods - he craved that poison, that tenderness that came with it, that peace of mind as their bodies crashed against each other and his teeth found her neck and her nails found his back and she tilted her head back and cried his name out.

“Shhhh.” he muttered, still thrusting his hips. “Shhhhh.”

“Make me shut up.” she responded, wrapping her legs around him.

He didn’t make her shut up; why would he? He loved her voice. The mere memory of it kept him sane at the Raft.

They were both covered in sweat and bitemarks and scratchmarks when they were done; Mac’s back looked worse than it looked after his last fight with Spider-Man, and Frankie’s neck looked like she had annoyed Rhino one too many times - but none of it mattered.

“Baby, baby.” Mac breathed out, pulling her closer. “Aren’t you tired of living like this, baby?”

“Let’s run away together.” she replied, resting her cheek on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

“But what if they find us?”

“We’ll just keep running.”

Absentmindedly Mac brushed her bangs off her face.

“Goodnight, baby.” he said; the sun was high up in the sky. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

They captured him one month later; his first night back at the Raft was sleepless.

“We’ll just keep running.” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall, remembering Frankie’s soft body next to his. “And we’ll never stop.”

In another part of Manhattan Frankie sat in her bed, her legs crossed, her head resting against the wall, her eyes closed.

“We’ll just keep running.” she whispered to herself. “And we’ll never stop.”

Mac’s scorpion armor gathered dust in the secluded warehouse; and his pillow in her bed gathered her tears as she pretended she’s not crying herself to sleep.

“Until next time.” they both whispered under their breaths.

Fin.

#mac gargan #marvel #marvel's spider-man #insomniac games #ff #eng #oc #sorcione

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