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FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!
i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛
I am begging for a hurt/comfort post-Umbara one-shot with Rex coming back to Coruscant right after the said campaign and immediately going to his civilian partner's place, your fics are amazing
cigarettes after sex
rex x fem reader
summary: you find rex in a vulnerable state after umbara
warnings: sexual content, angst, hurtcomfort
a/n: drives me crazy how we don’t see the direct aftermath of this arc like how did anakin react?? how did they move on? and literally what happened to dogma… so many questions..
if there’s one rule rex has set for himself in dating you, it’s keeping your life as normal as possible. he hates to stain your life with the horrors of his, the awful truths about what it means to be a soldier. a clone soldier, at that. you wish he’d open up to you a little more—you know you’re tough enough to handle it—but he’s firm in leaving some doors locked for you’re own good. he sheds his scarred, blood-stained skin every time he comes back to you. and he gets to be someone else for a change, someone who isn’t followed by ghosts.
but they find a way to catch up to him eventually.
rex widens his eyes in surprise when you throw your arms over his neck and wrap your legs around his waist at the sight of him in your doorframe. he lets out a raspy chuckle as you bury your face into his shoulder, hugging him tight from how much you missed him while he was gone. and you tell him just that, your lips brushing his ear with a soft whisper.
“oh, i missed you…” you look up at him, cupping his tired face. he leans into your touch as your fingers caress him, stroking over the lines that detail his skin with time. he grips the underside of your thighs firmly, squeezing you gently.
he kisses your forehead. “missed you more.”
he begins walking the two of you back into your home. you smile and press your foreheads together, whispering, “yeah?” your lips graze his in the ghost of a kiss. “how bad, captain?”
rex’s gaze darkens. he answers your question by closing the distance between your mouths, kissing you deeply, hungrily as he swirls his tongue around yours. you make a soft noise of pleasure, and it’s all he needs to hear to keep going, stumbling toward your bedroom without breaking the kiss. you giggle against his lips when he bumps into the wall and mutters a low, “fuck,” under his breath. he steals that sound away from you as fast as you let it out, slanting his mouth over yours at a deeper angle, desperate for some of that sweetness. that sweet sound, always chasing his nightmares away.
“rex—” you fumble with the clasps on his armor, barely pulling away from the kiss. “help me take this off…”
“mm, someone’s in a hurry,” he teases.
you give him a pointed look, and his eyes soften as he watches you try to figure out his armor for the hundredth time, still not quite sure how to get through the right way. he looks at you through the darkness of your room, taking in your bright eyes and that smile curving your kiss swollen lips. your pretty figure in the slip dress he noticed you were wearing from the moment your door opened. you’re like a dream. you are a dream. he closes his eyes for a moment, hoping to get lost in the normalcy of this love. he craves for it to eat him alive if it means escaping from the sharp claws that draw him back into his reality, a place he can’t bring himself to acknowledge right now.
despite the rush to get him naked, you and rex take your time tonight. you lie back on the bed as he disappears under the covers, between your spread legs where he feels your heartbeat against his tongue. his mind empties of everything except for you, the way you taste and arch your back, pushing his head down to feel his sharp nose bridge rub against your clit. he licks you up languorously, leaving you a moaning, writhing mess as the heat rises and the pulse aches for more.
“fuck, i’m close,” you squeeze his shoulders, trying to get his attention. “i wanna cum on your cock, rex, please…”
he emerges from under the sheets with you dripping down his lips, leaning down in missionary as he murmurs, “well, since you asked so nicely…” his arms are large and protective around you, bracing against the bed carefully.
you look up at him, running your fingertips down his body, quietly exploring what he’s been through in these past few weeks that you know better than to ask about. you feel the lingering imprints of med patches nestled between the defined ridges of his abdominal muscles, where purple bruises and red marks have yet to fully heal. rex suddenly looks distant, his shoulders tensing up at your touch.
“is something wrong?” you whisper softly, reaching up to cup his face. “do you want to stop?”
he stares down at you, his eyes never leaving yours as he adjusts his hips to align with yours. you gasp at the way he inches his cock through your walls while murmuring, “no. everything’s fine.” you’re about to answer when he groans and drops his face into the crook of your neck, fisting the sheets so hard that his knuckles turn white.
“fuck, you’re—oh, fuck…” he pants, sucking in a breath. you dig your nails into his back as he starts thrusting into you, letting out low moans at how good you feel after waiting so long. he fucks you deep and slow, his stomach sliding over yours with every breath you share, every sloppy kiss that collides your lips together.
“mm, beautiful…” he murmurs, trailing his lips down to your neck where he sucks hard, swiping his tongue over your skin. “all mine…”
“mhm, all yours, rex. take what’s yours, baby, i’m here…”
he slams into you a little rougher, growing more undone at your words, your noises that ignite the greediest parts of him. you throw your head back and cry out as you squeeze around his cock, giving him more access to your throat. he kisses and sucks and nibbles your perfect, untouched skin, and you cum on his cock like you wanted, your pussy sore and sensitive in the wake of your orgasm. he keeps going until he breaks, gentling the pace of his strokes when you grab his face and whimper, “too—much—” and he kisses you softly, pushing himself into you with a patience that eventually collapses his body on top of yours, his cum trickling down your thighs.
you’re sleepy as he cleans you up and dresses you in his shirt. you feel him hold you in his arms from behind, your eyes fluttering shut from the passing time and the faint noises outside. you’re used to falling asleep with him like this, maybe exchanging some whispers until the night pulls you under. but rex doesn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation, tonight. an odd pit settles in your stomach as you drift in and out of sleep, scared that you might find his side of the bed empty for a reason you’re not sure of.
sometime later, you wake to the lack of weight against your body. you rub your eyes and sit up, patting around the bed for rex, but he’s not there. he’s out on the balcony that connects to your bedroom, shirtless and wearing a pair of pants that hang low around his waist.
and he’s smoking. you smell it before you see it. you slowly climb out of bed as he takes a drag, his head turning over his shoulder when he hears you come up behind him.
“i thought you hated it when i got high after sex,” you say.
he chuckles drily, but his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “guess you’re rubbing off on me.”
you frown and stand next to him, resting a hand on the small of his back. he doesn’t look at you but points his cig away from you.
“what’s going on?” you ask quietly, “do you want to talk about it?”
rex hangs his head a bit, slowly shaking it from side to side. “it’s nothing.” he touches your cheek. “i’m sorry for waking you.”
you brush his hand away, firmly standing your ground. you won’t let him push you back like this. “you think i don’t understand.”
rex glances at you from the side. “i don’t want you to understand.”
his words stun you to silence. he shakes his head again, exhaling raggedly. his gaze points up to the stars, like he’s cursing the heavens—a place he isn’t even sure he believes in. a place that’s so unknown to him that he wonders if he’s being punished in some way, for something he doesn’t know how to atone for. all this pain, this suffering, he searches for answers as to why. but they never find him.
and it’s that ugliness of life he doesn’t want you to understand. the damnation weighing on his shoulders every day, with every decision he has to make—and every mistake that costs the lives most precious to him.
“rex…” you reach over and take the cig from his loose fingers, putting it out against the guardrail. he meets your eyes as you flick the cig over the edge, neither of you watching it fall to the depths of coruscant. you’re watching each other.
“i love you,” you tell him. you say it so matter-of-factly that he just stares at you, his face blank like the words are foreign to him.
you inhale shakily, continuing, “and i think that scares you more than it scares me.”
his gaze drops away from you, sort of lingering on the distant traffic surrounding the city. you keep your eyes on him as he says, “you’re right.” then he looks at you again. “you’re always right.”
you reach for him carefully, slowly at first, but he seems to turn his body toward you in response, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around him. his hands grip your shoulders tightly like he’s afraid you’ll just vanish. he collapses into your embrace, burying his face in your hair as you rub his back, soothing him into this moment that reminds him you’re not just a dream—you’re real. everything you love him with, the fearlessness, the strength, it’s real.
and for the first time in his life, rex breaks in someone else’s arms. not his own, rocking his body back and forth to fake the embrace he’s longed for since the moment he was born. your arms, holding him as a deep sob wracks his body. “i’m sorry…” he whispers, over and over again. you wonder how many people he’s apologizing to, the true breadth of his guilt. but you don’t ask about it until he’s ready. you carry it as if it’s your own, your hearts beating together as one.
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Can you maybe write headcanons about the boys seeing you with a baby and getting ideas? Just seeing you happy and the baby laughing or something with you gets them thinking. can you write for wolffe and bacara(hardly anyone includes grumpy bacara!). No pressure though, thanks
Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, some mature comments
Wolffe
The baby is laughing. Full-body giggles, little hands grabbing at your fingers while you talk in that soft voice you only use around things you love.
And maker, Wolffe is staring.
He tries not to. He really does. But there’s something about the way you look down at the baby, patient, warm, and completely gentle, that hooks into his chest and pulls.
The kid spits up on your sleeve and you just laugh, wiping their chin with the edge of your shirt while murmuring, “Oh, you’re lucky you’re cute.”
Wolffe never thought babies were his thing. Too loud, too fragile, too unpredictable. He’d spent most of his life around soldiers and warzones, not soft blankets and tiny socks. But then he sees you sitting in the corner of the barracks lounge with someone’s infant tucked against your chest, his entire brain short-circuits.
Wolffe’s gone after that.
Because now he’s imagining what your child would look like. If they’d have your smile. If they’d curl tiny fingers around his scarred hands without fear.
It unsettles him how badly he wants it.
Later that night, he corners you in the corridor, arms crossed, trying to act normal while absolutely failing.
“You’re good with kids,” he mutters.
You grin. “That surprise you?”
“A little.”
His eye lingers on your mouth before dropping lower. “Made me think.”
“Oh?” you tease.
Wolffe steps closer, voice rough. “Thought about you carrying one around that looked like us.”
The silence after that is dangerous. You blink at him, cheeks warming, and he notices immediately. His smirk is slow and wolfish.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That got your attention.”
When you shove at his chest, embarrassed, he catches your wrist easily and pulls you closer.
“Don’t start blushing now, cyare. You were the one making domestic life look tempting.”
Then, “Besides, I think youd look good carrying my kid.”
And the bastard sounds entirely too pleased with himself when your knees nearly give out.
Cody
Cody has always been good at adapting. New battle plans, impossible odds, sudden chaos, he handles it all with a calm smile. But nothing prepares him for seeing you with a baby asleep against your shoulder during a base gathering.
You’re swaying gently to keep the little one asleep, absentmindedly rubbing tiny circles over their back while talking to someone nearby. The baby’s fist is curled in your shirt, completely content.
Cody feels something in his chest go painfully soft. He’s done for.
He leans against the doorway watching you for way too long, helmet tucked under his arm while his mind wanders somewhere dangerous. Somewhere warm, somewhere domestic.
You catch him staring eventually and raise an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says too quickly.
You narrow your eyes. “You’ve had that look on your face for five straight minutes.”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re pretending not to think very loudly.”
That gets a laugh out of him. But he walks closer anyway, gaze drifting back to the baby.
“He trusts you,” he says quietly.
“Well, babies can tell who’s safe.”
The words hit him harder than they should. Because Cody suddenly imagines coming back from deployment and finding you in shared quarters with a sleepy infant curled against your chest. Imagines hearing tiny footsteps running toward him. Imagines home.
He’s absolutely cooked.
The baby wakes and starts fussing. Before you can soothe them, Cody crouches beside you and offers his finger. Tiny hands grab him instantly.
Your expression melts. And stars, that look from you almost kills him.
“What?” he asks, smiling.
“You’d make a really good dad.”
Cody freezes for half a second.Then his eyes darken just slightly as he looks between you and the baby. “That so?”
“Mhm.”
He stands slowly, close enough now that your breath catches. “Careful saying things like that to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I already spend enough time thinking about you.”
Your face warms instantly.
Cody grins, completely unrepentant. “Now I’m imagining you pregnant and looking at me like that too.”
You choke on air while he laughs softly, leaning down to murmur, “And honestly? That mental image is becoming a problem.”
Rex
Rex doesn’t notice it happening at first.
One second he’s walking into the medbay looking for Kix, and the next he’s stopped dead in the doorway because there you are with a baby balanced on your hip like you were born for it.
The little girl is babbling at you while clutching your name tag, and you’re answering her with complete seriousness.
“Oh really? That’s fascinating. Tell me more.”
The baby squeals happily and Rex feels his heart fold in on itself. You look so natural like this.
And suddenly he’s wondering what it would feel like to have a life outside the war. A tiny apartment somewhere quiet. You laughing in a kitchen while a child toddles after him calling him dad.
It hits him hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
The baby grabs your cheeks with both hands, making you laugh louder, and Rex is completely helpless after that.
“You break easy around kids, Captain?” you tease when you notice him staring.
“Only this one,” he says automatically.
Your eyebrows lift. You start laughing and he groans because now he’s embarrassed and you look adorable laughing at him.
But then the baby reaches toward him.
Rex hesitates before taking her carefully, surprisingly gentle for someone built for war. The baby immediately grabs his blond hair and giggles.
Your expression softens instantly.
And maker, that look from you nearly ruins him.
“You’re good at that,” you murmur.
Rex glances up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Something shifts in his face then. Something quieter. More vulnerable.
“I think…” He pauses. “I think I’d want one someday.”
Your breath catches slightly and Rex notices. His gaze drops to your lips before meeting your eyes again, warm and steady. “With the right person,” he adds softly.
The silence between you suddenly feels charged.
Then he smiles, slow and devastating.
“And if you keep looking at me while holding babies, you’re not making it easy to stay responsible about that.”
Fives
Fives notices things other people don’t. Tiny details, expressions, habits.
So the second he sees a baby crawl straight past three shinies and make a beeline for you, he’s paying attention.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hangar, laughing softly while the little boy climbs into your lap like he belongs there. The kid immediately grabs your face with sticky hands, and instead of recoiling, you kiss his palm dramatically.
“Well, hello to you too, tiny menace.”
The baby shrieks with delighted laughter.
Fives feels something dangerous spark low in his chest. Because you don’t even realize what you look like right now, smiling all soft and sleepy, holding that kid like it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. Like you were made for it.
And suddenly his brain betrays him completely. He imagines a baby with your eyes and his curls. Imagines hearing you laugh like that in the middle of the night while holding his kid. Imagines waking up beside you with tiny feet kicking between you both.
He’s staring so hard Echo has to elbow him. “You look insane right now.”
“Shut up.”
You glance over at the sound of their bickering and grin. “You wanna hold him?”
Fives tries to play it cool. “Depends. Is he gonna throw up on me?”
“Probably.”
“Alright, hand him over.”
The second the baby settles against his chest, tiny fingers gripping his blacks, Fives is absolutely finished. Completely gone.
And then he looks up and catches the expression on your face. “You’re good at this,” you say quietly.
Fives smirks automatically. “Good with my hands, mesh’la.”
You snort. “That line work on everyone?”
“No.” His eyes flick down your body slowly. “Just the people I think about having a future with.”
The teasing leaves his voice at the end, replaced with something warmer, realer.
Your breath catches. Fives notices immediately, grin turning wicked. “Kriff,” he murmurs. “You really liked that one.”
Then he bounces the baby lightly and adds, “Careful or I’m gonna start thinking about putting one in your arms for real.”
Fox
Fox is exhausted almost constantly.
Coruscant never sleeps, which means neither does he. His life is paperwork, politics, and trying to stop the galaxy from collapsing every five minutes.
Domestic thoughts don’t happen for him anymore.
Until you. Until he walks into the Senate daycare during a security sweep and finds you sitting in the middle of a pile of toddlers like some kind of battlefield medic for tiny disasters.
One kid is asleep against your side. Another is braiding your sleeve strings together. A third is demanding you read the same holobook for the fifth time.
And you’re handling all of it with this calm, patient smile that hits Fox directly in the chest.
He leans in the doorway longer than he should.
Then one of the toddlers waddles over and wraps themselves around your leg while whining sleepily, and you scoop them up without hesitation, kissing their forehead automatically.
Fox is done for.
Because now he’s imagining coming home to this.
To you waiting up late with a baby half-asleep on your shoulder. To tiny socks left around quarters. To hearing laughter instead of blaster fire ringing in his ears.
It’s terrifying how much he wants it.
“You look scary when you stare,” you tell him eventually.
Fox crosses his arms. “Occupational hazard.”
“Mhm.” You smile knowingly. “Or you just like watching me babysit.”
His silence gives him away instantly. Your eyebrows rise. “Oh my gods,” you laugh softly. “Fox.”
He exhales through his nose, already doomed. “You’re good with them.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m thinking things I shouldn’t.”
Your smile turns dangerous. “Such as?”
Fox steps closer slowly until he’s standing right in front of you, gaze dropping briefly to the baby in your arms.
Then back to you. “Such as how good you’d look holding mine.”
The words come out low and rough and your face heats immediately. Fox notices, eyes darkening just slightly before he leans down near your ear. “And now I can’t stop imagining it.”
Bacara
Bacara is not soft. At least, that’s what everyone assumes.
The commander of the Galactic Marines is cold efficiency wrapped in armour and discipline. People straighten when he enters rooms. Troopers go silent.
Then he sees you holding a baby and suddenly the terrifying commander looks like he’s forgotten how to function.
It happens on leave. Some little girl from the settlement toddles toward you with grabby hands, and you crouch instantly to pick her up.
The child presses her face into your neck like she trusts you completely.
Bacara feels something sharp crack open in his chest, because you look beautiful.
You sway gently while talking to the girl, smiling every time she babbles nonsense at you. The kid eventually falls asleep against your shoulder, tiny fist curled into your shirt.
And Bacara cannot stop staring.
He starts thinking things he’s never let himself think before. About family. About seeing you heavy with his child and knowing, for once in his life, that something good belonged to him.
It scares him with the intensity of it.
“You’ve been glaring at me for ten minutes,” you say eventually.
“I’m not glaring.”
“You absolutely are.”
Bacara walks over slowly, eyes fixed on the sleeping child in your arms. His expression softens almost imperceptibly.
“She likes you.”
“She likes everybody.”
“No,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”
Something in his tone makes your stomach flip.
You shift the baby slightly. “You ever think about kids?”
Bacara’s gaze drags up your body slowly before meeting your eyes again. “Never used to.”
Your breath catches. “And now?” you ask softly.
His voice drops lower. “Now I can’t stop picturing you full of mine.”
The honesty of it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.
Bacara notices instantly, thumb brushing briefly against your wrist.
“You’d look good like that,” he murmurs. “Safe, happy. Full of my child.”
And somehow the bluntness makes it infinitely worse.
Hunter
Hunter hears the baby laughing before he sees you.
Bright, uncontrollable giggles echo through the Marauder, and he follows the sound automatically, only to stop dead in the doorway.
You’re lying on the floor with a baby balanced on your stomach while Omega sits nearby absolutely delighted by the whole thing.
The kid is cackling every time you make exaggerated shocked faces.
“No way,” you gasp dramatically. “You stole my nose? Give it back!”
The baby smacks your face happily. Hunter’s chest aches instantly. Because this, this easy warmth around you, fits too well.
He’s spent so long protecting people that sometimes he forgets there’s supposed to be more to life than survival. But watching you with that child makes something painfully domestic settle into his mind.
A home somewhere quiet. Hunter’s completely lost in the thought before you notice him.
“You just gonna stand there looking mysterious?” you tease.
Omega snickers. “He’s doing the staring thing again.”
Hunter sighs. “Traitor.”
You laugh, and the baby reaches for him immediately.
The second Hunter takes the child, tiny fingers latch onto his bandana and tug hard enough to make the kid squeal triumphantly.
Your smile softens.
And stars, that expression from you nearly drops him.
“You look natural,” you murmur.
Hunter glances up. “With kids?”
“Mhm.”
Something vulnerable flickers across his face then disappears beneath a crooked smile. “That dangerous for me?”
“Very.”
He steps closer, baby balanced carefully against his chest while his eyes stay locked on yours.
“You know,” he says quietly, “seeing you like this is giving me ideas.”
Your cheeks warm instantly. “Hunter—”
“I’m serious.” His grin turns softer. “Can’t stop wondering what our kid would look like.”
The air between you suddenly feels too warm.
“Think they’d have your smile or my attitude?”
Howzer
Howzer falls a little bit in love with you every day already.
Seeing you with a baby just seals his fate completely.
You’re visiting one of the families on Ryloth when their infant starts crying mid-conversation. Before the parents can apologize, you hold your arms out automatically.
“Can I?”
The mother hands the baby over gratefully. And somehow within seconds, the crying stops.
You bounce the little girl gently against your chest, murmuring nonsense in a soft voice while her tiny fingers curl around yours.
Howzer stares like a man witnessing a divine revelation. Because you look radiant. Warm sunlight catches your face while the baby blinks up at you sleepily, completely calm now. You kiss her forehead without thinking, and Howzer feels his entire heart cave in.
He’s gone. The dangerous part is how quickly his mind jumps ahead.
He imagines children with your laugh running through open market streets. Imagines you teasing him while a baby naps against his chest. Imagines slow mornings and peace and a future he never thought he’d get.
“You’re staring again,” you say with amusement.
“Can you blame me?”
You grin. “I’m holding a baby, not performing magic.”
Howzer smiles softly. “Feels pretty close.”
The baby yawns, nestling deeper into you, and he physically has to stop himself from saying something reckless immediately.
Unfortunately, he fails.
“You’d make an incredible mother.”
Your eyes widen slightly. Howzer notices and steps closer, voice gentler now. “I mean it.”
There’s something devastatingly sincere in the way he says it. No teasing, no deflection. Just completely honest.
Then his gaze drops briefly to the baby before returning to you, warmer now. More intimate.
“And selfishly?” he murmurs. “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you’d look carrying my child.”
Your breath catches hard enough that he smiles instantly.
“Ah,” he says softly, delighted. “There you are.”
Then he brushes his fingers against yours where they rest against the baby’s back.
“Good. Means I’m not the only one thinking about it now.”
You traced your fingertips along the edge of the bacta patch that covered Icarus's forearm, then leaned in to drop a careful kiss next to it.
His eyes crinkled above his mask. “All better.”
“Hmm,” you hummed. “I'm not so certain. It must have been serious if you needed a mando to bandage it. Better give it one more, just to be safe.”
“Now that you mention it, it was very serious,” he said, eyes locked on your mouth as you kissed a gentle circle around the perimeter of the bacta patch.
“Life-threatening, no doubt.”
“I was very brave,” he replied gravely.
“Heroic, even,” you concurred.
“I only cried a little bit.”
“Manly tears, I'm sure.” You completed your circuit around the bandage and shifted to straddle his lap while you kissed your way up his bicep to his shoulder.
“A single, glistening—” He cut off abruptly as you tugged his mask down and captured his lips in a kiss. “Mmm.”
“Sorry, I didn't quite catch that,” you murmured, nuzzling his cheek as you broke apart.
“Was I saying something?” he asked, chasing after your mouth when you pulled away. “I forget.”
You glided your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head. “You sure you didn't hit your head? Maybe we ought to call the mando back to check for a concussion.”
He shot you a cheeky grin, then tackled you to the mattress. “Later.”
Ahhhhhh! I love this. He's such a happy lil guy (6'2" killer).
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Summary: Your mother plays matchmaker and Boba shows you just how interested he is in you. (Part 2 of Man I Need)
Pairing: Ice Hockey Coach!Alpha!Boba Fett x fem!Omega!Reader
Wordcount: 5.2k | Rating: E (18+ only!)
Warnings: Modern AU, Ice Hockey AU, A/B/O dynamics, bad/complicated parent/child relationship, reader with anxiety and insecurity issues, older man/younger woman, workplace relationship, Boba is a flirt and a tease, some dirty talk
Well hi there! Thank you so much for all the love on the first part, it is so much fun to get to share this story with you and I truly appreciate you taking the time to not only read this story but leave a comment as well. I am convinced we all deserve a cocky dom!Boba in our lives and until that is the case, I can offer the second part as some entertainment. Let me know what you think in a comment or a reblog 🥰
masterlist | crossposted on AO3
Mandalore didn’t get snow most of the time. But the air got this crisp, ice cold quality to it in the winter that made you yearn for a warm mug between your hands. Which meant that the bakehouse was just the place to go to meet up with someone for a coffee.
Ironically enough, you didn’t like coffee. You didn’t enjoy the taste of it and even the (sometimes involuntary) early morning sip didn’t bring the energy that Maudii swore by. By now, you had accepted your quirk and tried a tea now and then or a hot chocolate if the weather and mood called for it. Which was why this bakehouse, in the little alley of brick houses, was your favourite spot. Not only did they have the best hot chocolate in town, their pastries were to die for and Maudii had asked for you to bring her one of their coffees more than once.
The line on a Saturday was long, winding around the corner, and you debated whether this really was the place to go to. But Boba had asked you for your favourite coffee spot and you had a feeling he didn’t enjoy being lied to. This was not a man used to white lies but rather than intimidate you, his honesty made your heart feel lighter.
Boba Fett was a man who expected honesty but who offered it in return. Deep down, you knew you could trust what he was saying. He was respected by the team and nearly every single person in the admin department and whenever he gave post-game interviews he did not hold back about any mistakes he might have made. It was something you admired about him when he first started and it was something you were sure you would never quite stop being in awe of.
You had just secured your spot at the end of the line when you spotted him rounding the corner. He was wearing jeans that fit a little too well around his thighs and a dark green winter jacket that made you want to curl up into him.
“Hi there, pretty omega,” he flashed you a smile that had your panties melting and you swallowed nervously. How were you supposed to greet him? A handshake was too formal. A hug seemed too familiar but then again you had kissed, so maybe a hug wasn’t familiar enough? But what if you kissed him and he didn’t want to be kissed? What if the purpose of this meeting was for him to let you down gently? Maybe the best option would just to awkwardly wave at him and keep your distance?
Boba answered your inner turmoil by cupping your cheek and pressing a soft kiss to the other. His warm breath washed over your face and the smell of coffee settled your nerves almost completely. Just almost.
“Hi,” you smiled at him, relieved that you were still able to form words.
“So, this is the favourite coffee shop of someone who doesn’t drink coffee,” Boba looked around, “You have good taste, omega, it seems many people share your opinion.”
Oh stars, he didn’t like the line. He didn’t enjoy having to wait outside and who could blame him? You had made the wrong choice and this was his way of letting you know. Your face fell and the panic surged up in your chest again. Stars, you were a mess.
“Hey,” his hand reached out, taking hold of yours and gently squeezing. You could feel the callouses on his thumb as it drew a pattern over the scent gland on your wrist, “That was not a complaint, omega. The longer the line, the more time I get to spend with you.”
For a moment, you tried to believe him, you really did. Hell, hadn’t you just thought about how honest this alpha was? But there was something about someone wanting to spend time with you that just felt wrong. Like it could just be a product of your imagination that this handsome man enjoyed your company.
If living in the Coruscant elite circle had taught you one thing, it was that everybody lied.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to flatter me,” you shrugged shyly, “I already know how its gonna go.”
The coffee scent turned bitter and you looked at a couple that passed you with their to-go cups. Maybe someone had burnt a charge? “Enlighten me then, princess,” he nodded at you, his brows furrowed, “How is it gonna go?”
“Well, it’s pretty clear that you are fascinated with me because of a few different factors,” you revealed the thought process that was constantly running on your mind, “I am a younger omega and you are an alpha of a certain age, so maybe there is a – a midlife crises aspect at play where you are interested to see if you are still popular with the younger, uh, generation. I am also your boss’s daughter so it’s an opportunity for you to make a lasting good impression and use the job you have been degraded to, to strengthen your position here. And then there is the obvious sexual tension, so I am sure there is some part of you that wants to explore that dynamic before my internship is over and you can pretend like you didn’t fuck that shy intern.”
“Who said anything about leaving?”
“What?”
“I am just here flirting with the too pretty for her own good omega and all she thinks about is why I could not be interested in her and that I am already planning on leaving. You know what that tells me? Tells me I have to work harder to make you see what I see when I look at you.”
He had been flirting with you?
You stood stock still and your heart started racing in a panic as you tried to relive every interaction you ever had.
Boba just smirked, approaching you when the line moved forward and you still could not move. “Let me tell you something, little one, you can tease me about my age all you want and search for reasons why I would not be interested in you. But I was raised to follow rules and I made few for myself. And the first one is that if I have you in my bed and in my life, there is no way I am the one who leaves first, understood?”
You swallowed thickly, your brain working hard to process his words. He was so open and so charming, you wondered what it was like to go through life and just be brave enough to say what you thought all the time. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face up so you met his eyes. It felt way too intimate to be appropriate for a coffee shop line.
“I asked if you understood?” His eyes were dark, looking at you so intently it made you shiver even with your thick jacket on.
“I understand, alpha,” the title slipped from your tongue without thought. Shame made your ears burn at having exposed yourself this way. Calling him alpha … it was clear that it wasn’t the first time you had thought about using the title. But Boba just growled, a sound that shot straight to you pussy.
“Good ‘mega, learning to trust me,” his thumb tugged on your bottom lip, “Now, tell me your go to order, it’s on me today.”
Five minutes later, you were strolling through a nearby park, warm cups in hand and a raspberry croissant that Boba had seen you look at in a bag.
“Will you tell me why you are so nervous?”
“What – What do you mean?”
Brown eyes looked at you and he didn’t need to say anything more. You could hear it yourself, how your voice had gone up to an unnaturally high pitch.
“Tell me about your parents,” he said, instead of insisting on his original question, “How come nobody knew you were the daughter or our new owner until he showed up?”
There were ducks sleeping by the pond, their little head tucked under their wings to keep them warm. You considered whether you really wanted to go there. After all, you hadn’t opened up to Maudii, your closest friend in Mandalore, until you had to. Was this really the moment to open up about your family history to a man you were trying to impress?
Then again, Maudii would probably tell you that if he didn’t want to see you based on your family, he didn’t deserve to see you in the first place.
Also, if he was going to leave you anyway, it might be nice to get some things off your chest.
“I’m … My father bought the Minotaurs because of me,” you started, “I kind of distanced myself from my parents for and I moved here because I knew they would never leave Coruscant if they had a choice. And it worked for a while, I finished my degree with my own money and I got to try out different job opportunities without being the daughter of, you know? I … have trouble standing up to them so living here on my own and actually managing was a pretty big deal.”
“Then he bought us,” Boba nodded, “I was surprised by the sudden takeover. Seems he offered an amount that no one in their right mind could refuse.”
You winced. That sounded exactly like your parents.
“They’re used to money getting them everything.”
“And you’re not?”
From anyone else the question might have sounded judgmental but there was genuine curiosity in his voice and when you glanced at him, his face was open and friendly.
“I won’t lie and say that it’s not more comfortable to have money,” you shrugged, “But I learned from a very young age that having their money comes at a price and it’s not necessarily one I’m willing to pay.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said and you took another sip of your hot chocolate. “Parents should be the ones supporting us in where we want to go, not hold us back.”
You smiled sadly, “Well, that’s just how it is. I know they mean well by trying to get me back to Coruscant. But my internship runs for a few more months and I hope once my mother sees how happy I am here, she will put in a good word with my dad. She … He always had a soft spot for her.”
The hot chocolate warmed your chest or maybe it was the fact that Boba did not offer any advice. That was always the worst part. When you opened up to someone and they suggested things like you hadn’t ever considered to “Just talk to your parents” or “Just never talk to your parents again”. He had just listened and you didn’t even know if he knew how much that meant to you.
Suddenly feeling like you had taken up way too much space in this conversation, you cleared your throat, trying to get rid of the warm feeling this man awakened in you. It was time to switch topics.
“How, uh, how do you like being coach?”
Boba did not answer for a while. You watched him take a sip of his coffee, allowing your eyes to roam over the lines of his strong profile. What wouldn’t you give to trace your fingers over the bridge of his nose, over his jaw, the wrinkles by his eyes. You could just see yourself sitting in his lap, all wrapped up in him, and spend the entire night looking at the marvel that was this man.
Girl calm down, you’re literally just going out of a coffee.
“Way more than I thought I would,” was what he finally settled on and at the sight of your tilted head, he elaborated, “When I was a player, I thought I could never not be a player, you know? That if I wasn’t on the ice, I wouldn’t be in the room at all. But when I retired,” he tapped his left leg. You knew that he’d had an injury at some point, one that that contributed to his decision to retire. But you could not quite remember what it was. Were you supposed to research it? Was that weird, researching a man you were romantically interested in?
“I realized the joy wasn’t necessarily being on the ice, it was being part of a team.” He looked at you and your heart skipped a beat. “I enjoy being part of this team.”
“They really like you,” you found yourself saying, “Every time the players go for pre-game interviews, I never … I never hear a bad word about you. That’s rare. They really admire you.”
He sent you a blinding smile that had you struggling to breathe, your chest felt so tight. You did that. You made him smile. And for a minute, you were convinced it was your greatest achievement to date.
Boba took the empty paper cup out of your hand and threw it in the trash with his. With your hands unoccupied, you felt a little unsure of what to do. But before your anxiety had time to thrive, he took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers, and tucking your joined hands into the fur lined pocket of his coat.
“Let’s go for a walk, ‘mega,” he rumbled, “And you can tell me what your favourite interview was so far.”
*
It did not take long for your mother to show up in Mandalore. Four days, to be exact.
Which meant that the next hockey game you attended wasn’t because someone from press needed to be there, it was because your mother tricked you into going to brunch with her only to clap her hands and go “Oh darling why don’t you join me for a game? Your father told me your duties end before a game.”
You wondered if your father really knew that or if he had just gone along with whatever idea your mother had had. Going to a game together would be kind of sweet but you couldn’t help but think about what kind of impression it would make on your co-workers. You would immediately be branded as the owner’s daughter. There was no way you could avoid conversations about it then.
“Mom, I don’t think –“
“None of that now,” her voice left no room for questions, “It has been ages since I’ve seen you, honey. The least you can do is go to a hockey game with your old mother.”
You knew she meant well, you really did. This was her way of showing you she was hurt that you hadn’t reached out and you knew that, sooner or later, if you wanted to build a relationship with your parents that worked for you, you would have to spend time with her. You just weren’t sure if now was the right time for it. Stars, you had googled the expiration date of pesto this morning before you had met her for a Michelin star brunch.
Then again, if you were to go to the game, you would get to cheer on not only the Mandalorian Minotaurs but also their coach … and wasn’t that just what you needed right now? A look at that handsome older alpha would surely keep you in a better mood than if you went out for a meal with her.
Hours later, you were sitting in the owner’s box right next to your mother. The team was on a roll and you watched as Djarin held goal after goal, causing the crowd to go insane. But you only had eyes for the alpha standing by the side of the rink, looking focussed and dashing in his suit.
“Your father said that he is very happy with how the team is progressing.”
You bit your tongue to keep from commenting that their success had nothing to do with your fathers’ acquisition of them but you were not ready to have that discussion today. One battle at a time.
“This coach is really doing wonders,” your mother continued, oblivious to the thoughts that were raging in your mind, “He must be very good.”
Now that was something you could agree on.
“He really is,” you nodded, not taking your eyes off him. You were so high up he wouldn’t be able to see you and it was not like he would be looking for you in the first place. “He is doing a really good job with the team as well, the players really like and respect him. He did a self-led practice once, trying to see what the players required that he was missing.”
“Speaking of players,” your mother started, “I heard that this Berenson player is single.”
“Who? Joe Berenson?” you frowned, your eyes still on Boba who was currently whispering to some of the assistant coaches. You wondered if he would switch Din out for the new goalie. They were far ahead enough to try out some riskier stuff …
“- and your father went golfing with his father just a few years ago, isn’t that such a coincidence?”
It took you a moment to realize that she was still going on about Joe Berenson and not admiring Boba’s jaw line like you were doing.
“I am not sure Berenson and I could connect over golfing,” you muttered, your eyes following his form on the ice. You were pretty sure you had seen him out and about with that omega that Paz Vizsla continued to eye like the last brownie on the plate.
“But you could connect,” she shot you a meaningful look, “Maybe over dinner?”
The coin dropped. The curtain fell. And suddenly everything made a lot more sense.
“Mom,” you swallowed back the frustration that threatened to rise to the surface, “Did you come to the game with me to set me up with someone?”
“Setting up is such an ugly word,” she huffed, “I prefer the term matchmaking.”
You preferred the term meddling. But that was neither here nor there.
Remaining silent seemed like the best option as you tried to gather your options. You enjoyed spending time with your mother and you didn’t want to ruin the mood by causing a fight. But you also did not want to let her think that it was okay for her to meddle like this. She knew your weakest point was not wanting to disappoint her and your father.
The buzzer sounded and you both clapped as the game was won. Your mother turned to you, her face serious, “Just try it out. Who knows, maybe he turns out to be your true mate?”
“Aren’t you supposed to recognize them the first time you smell them?”
Faint notes of coffee filled your nose and you turned your head, trying to spot a familiar alpha. But he couldn’t be up here, the game had just ended, he would most likely be in the locker room or at the post-game interviews.
“You haven’t had your scent for a few years now, darling,” your mother unnecessarily reminded you, “It is safe to assume that once you meet them, it might take a little longer for you to realize it.”
“Now I feel great, thank you,” you smiled sarcastically, your heart. You knew your scent was weak, it was something you had noticed early on, when all your peers gained their presentations, their own individual scents came in.
After your first heat, there was still nothing. Your parents had done their best to assure you that there was nothing wrong with you and gotten all the expert medical opinions. But nothing changed the fact that you didn’t smell of anything to most people.
“I am sorry,” her hand touched your upper arm as you exited the owner’s box, “I just think it is important to keep in mind that you will find happiness out there. And you cannot find it if you don’t go out there.”
“If I promise to go out with Berenson, will you leave me alone with any more matchmaking?”
Her eyes twinkled, lighting up her entire face. “You won’t regret it,” she smiled, “I have made a reservation for you in the best restaurant in town, none of that take-out you depend upon here.”
The argument that you didn’t depend on takeout and that your cooking skills had significantly improved since your move, was on the tip of your tongue. Just this morning, you had bookmarked a recipe for a salad you wanted to try and meal prep for next week.
By now, you had made your ways downstairs, the mass of people leaving the arena while you continued down to the lower levels. It was busy, the hallways crowded with staff, players, people from the press and the occasional colleague from admin.
“I will go find your father,” your mother squeezed your arm, “Will you meet us for dinner tonight? We have a table at that fusion place by the opera.”
Once again torn between the desire to spend time with your parents and the knowledge that said time wouldn’t pass without them wanting to convince you to return to Coruscant, you could only smile tightly at her. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
The disappointment on her face was clear and broke your heart. But your mother only smiled at you, a knowing look in her eyes. “Take your time, darling,” she said, “We will be there.”
Watching her leave, made your chest feel tight and you looked around, relieved when you immediately spotted the bathroom. Maybe you would have been better served by at least pretending that was not where you were rushing. But as soon as you saw the door, you knew you had to get a few minutes alone.
But you weren’t alone.
“Is this our bathroom now?” you joked as the man besides you washed his hands.
“I like the sound of that,” Boba laughed, his gaze meeting yours in the mirror. You watched his strong hands move as he dried them with a paper towel. They were strong and thick, much thicker than your own, and you wondered what they would feel like inside you.
“That … that was a good game,” you swallowed back the sudden dryness in your throat, “Congratulations on the win.”
“You watched?”
“Yeah, my mother asked me to join her,” you trailed off, remembering how she set you up with someone who was not him, “She, uh, she wants me to go out with Berenson. On a date.”
Boba hummed and you carefully scanned his face for any trace of displeasure. He looked carefully neutral, though, and that disappointed you. You weren’t sure what this was between you, whether you would be exclusive or if he even wanted to be exclusive. What you were sure of was that you didn’t really want to be going out with anyone that wasn’t him. And you wanted him to want that do.
“What, uh, what do you say to that?”
“I say you go on that date,” he shrugged, a little smile on his lips, “And spend it thinking about how much better it would be if you went out with me instead.”
“Are – are you asking me out?”
“What if I am?”
Then I would be pretty fucking happy.
Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. “I … I don’t think I’ve been asked out before.”
“Many things you haven’t done before.”
“How do you know?”
“How do I know you haven’t been taken care of properly?” he asked you back, taking a few casual steps towards you. You watched in the mirror as he stood at your back and shivers ran down your body when you felt him behind you. “Maybe it’s because I can smell how needy you are every time we’re in a room together,“ his nose brushed over your throat and you tilted your head to give him more space, “Or how I can still hear your little gasp when you saw me stroke my cock, thinking of that pretty ‘mega that kept bringing me the names,” his hand landed on your hips and you arched your back, feeling him hard and heavy behind you. The fabric of your panties felt damp and you squeezed your legs together, trying to focus on his words and not the fact that you would let him do anything to you right now.
“Or maybe,” he continued, his lips moving against the sensitive skin of your neck, “It’s because every time I pay you a compliment, you look at me like the world just completely turned on its head.”
You let your head fall back against his shoulder, the view of you two together in the mirror too much. “Maybe I am just not used to someone complimenting me?”
“Which is a crime in and of itself,” his knuckles brushed over your cheek and you turned your face to look at him. He was warm and you could see the exhaustion in his face from the game. But you could also see the warm glow there that made your heart skip a beat. Before you could question yourself, you pressed your mouth to his in a gentle kiss.
A kiss that Boba reciprocated, the knuckles on your cheeks turning to fingers on your jaw. The noise in your head quieted down until all you could hear and feel was your heart beat – slow and steady. His mouth moved against yours completely unrushed, tasting you, feeling you, coaxing you open when you sighed against him.
“C’mere, princess,” he said, turning your whole body around until you were facing him, trapped between the cool porcelain of the sink and the heat you could feel through his suit. “Tell me what you dream about.”
“Wh-What?”
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against you, his brown eyes staring into your very soul, “I know you’re holding back, little omega. Tell me what’s on your mind that you want to explore, hm? What do you want to do?”
“I,” you swallowed nervously, “I want to not worry about my job. Or my parents. I want to … not have to think about anything at all. And I want to go out for dinner with you and wear a pretty dress and for you to take what you want and – and I want you to want me, alpha.”
It was interesting what voicing your deepest, darkest desires could do with you. You felt proud of yourself, opening up to someone about what you wanted from them. You were also scared shitless because what if you had everything completely wrong? What if he hadn’t kissed you because he was interested in your but for some other completely platonic reason that you could not think of right now?
“Believe me,” he growled, both hands pulling you back against him, “If I were to take what I want right now, you would be around that corner, your pussy clenching around my knot.”
Your walls clenched around nothing and your hips bucked against him. “I would take you out all over the city, wherever you want to go, you just name it, princess,” he continued, “I would have you wear the prettiest dresses so I can just pull them up and eat you out whenever I want to. Or sit you on my cock when I have to watch the training tapes. You ever been knotted before, little one? Just imagine how much fun that would be, hm?”
His simple question already had you on edge. You shook your head quickly, turning your face so you could bury your nose in his neck, breathing in the scent of coffee. “No, I … never. But I want to – with you.”
The feeling of his hands running down your back to cup your ass had your pulse racing. The air between you was hot and heavy and you wanted him to take you right here. Right in this bathroom with all these people outside, you wanted him to touch you and fuck you and knot you and stars, maybe you could re-enact that scene in the shower and you could finally do what you wanted to do back then.
“I bet you want many things,” he whispered hotly against you, “And I want to make them come true for you, pretty omega, okay?”
“Okay,” you nodded, your noses brushing, “Okay, alpha.”
“And don’t worry about your date,” he winked at you, “I got it handled.”
*
If he had to listen Vizsla ask Djarin about that omega one more time, Boba would make them skate suicides.
A glance at his watch told him that practice was almost over and he thanked his ancestors that he had managed to keep it together today. There were few things worse than an alpha in love and one of them was an alpha who was in denial about being in love. Paz Vizsla was neck-deep in denial but there was no mistaking how his scent spiked every time he saw or even spoke of a certain omega. If this would go on for much longer, he might have to ask Djarin to initiate an intervention.
Thank the stars that could never be him.
At the thought of you, with your shy yet sweet smile and the faint scent of vanilla, his shoulders relaxed.
He realized the moment he first spotted you coming into his office, bravely asking him for Djarin and Berenson on interview duty, that you were special. He hadn’t been quite able to determine why yet but ever since then, you had not left his thoughts.
And then when you had caught him under the shower, with his hand wrapped around his cock, his mind on you, he had smelled you. That sweet, faint vanilla scent that made the world seem like a puzzle that suddenly fell into place.
There was no denying that you were Boba Fett’s true mate and he was pretty sure that he was yours. He was also sure that you were terrified out of your mind and not used to being pursued the way he wanted to pursue you. There was this cloud of anxiety around you that he knew would take time to get through, especially if your parents decided to put stones in your (and subsequently his) path to happiness.
Another look at his clipboard and he decided everyone was done for the day. Except for one.
“Berenson,” he called to the young player that was about to follow the others back to the locker room, “Stay back for a minute.”
The blonde man grinned at him and he had to force himself to remain civil.
“Is this what about what I think it is?”
“If you mean that fact that you are taking the owner’s daughter out for dinner tomorrow night, yes it is,” he confirmed, his fingers twitching around the board in his hand, “Because I hope you are aware of the responsibility you carry, Berenson, so you better listen to what I am going to say to you.”
Title Inspired By: Sympathy Magic - Florence + The Machine
Summary: Your life gets infinitely more complicated when your overbearing parents decide to meddle in your professional life and you accidentally catch your crush in the shower. (Part 1 of Man I Need)
Pairing: Ice Hockey Coach!Alpha!Boba Fett x fem!Omega!Reader
Wordcount: 5.8k | Rating: E (18+ only!)
Warnings: bad/complicated parent/child relationship, reader with anxiety, descriptions of a panic attack, dirty talk, voyeurism, explicit sexual content, older man/younger woman, workplace relationship, slight verbal degradation, pet names
Good morning!!! I hope you are all doing well and that you are having a wonderful week 🥰 I have the luxury of recovering from a small (truly v small!) surgery which means lots of rest but also lots of reading, (hopefully) writing and daydreaming. And also posting this part early because I am awake lol Anyway, a very special shoutout to @daimyosprincess because her thots majorly inspired a certain scene in this part 👀 and also what would the Boba fandom be without her? I hope you enjoy this little premiere. Let me know what you think in a comment or reblog, those really do mean the world to me ❤️
masterlist | crossposted on AO3
“Did you hear about it yet?”
“Hear about what?” your colleague-slash-friend-slash-roommate, Maudii, sat down next to you, offering you some of her chips. You declined her offer with a quick shake of your head, suddenly feeling very anxious. Like the precarious place you had just carved out for yourself was already in danger. The space of your tiny cubicle filled with the sound of her chewing and your skin tingled with the instinct to flee.
You had worked a long time to fight against the constant feeling of unease and had managed to suppress it for the last few months, ever since you had started your paid internship in the press/marketing department of the local ice hockey team.
Still chewing, your friend pointed to the headline on the newspaper she had brought with you. “We got a new owner. Some private investments company or something.”
Maudii continued to talk but you did not continue to listen. Mandalorian Minotaurs Taken Over By Media Giant!!! Was printed in large letters, right there on the paper. It wasn’t that headline in particular that had your heart stopping but the fact that it was your last name staring back at you from the title page.
Or, to be more accurate, your father’s last name.
“I have to go,” you stood up, feeling faint, “To … the bathroom.”
And off you went.
At least you weren’t lying. You were going to the bathroom. Just not the closest one.
The Minotaur headquarters were situated in their own arena. A large building in the middle of the city, its insides resembled more a maze than anything else but it had become familiar to you in the last few months. Ever since you had finally managed to finish your postgraduate degree – without dipping into your trust fund – you had sought out job opportunities that would put you as far away as possible from the family business on the east coast. A hockey team in a random city on the other side of the country had seemed like a safe bet.
Now all you had ended up doing was losing the one little corner where your parents had left you in peace.
Practice was done for today already, so you allowed yourself to venture into the lower levels, hurrying down the stairs until your legs were burning and the hardwood floors switched into durable light grey vinyl flooring. Passing through the metal door in the stairway, you ended up in a hallway that was painted a stark white.
Team photos from the past few decades accompanied you on your way down the hall. By now, your heart was pounding so hard in your chest, it was all you could do not to sink to your knees in plain sight. The wall was interrupted by a door and yeah, your sight might have been blurry, but you would recognize the little white stick figure anywhere.
Sanctuary.
Deep breaths, you tried to encourage yourself, deep breaths. In an out. In. And out. All will be well.
The door swung closed behind you and you rested your hand against the tiled wall. It was cool to the touch and you bent over, trying to regulate your breathing to no avail. Maybe some water would help?
Giant mirrors covered the wall over the sinks. The aesthetic of this room could be best described as 1980’s high school locker room chic, some of the tiles were chipped and you could see rust on the fittings. It wasn’t the best maintained room which is why it had quickly become your escape when you needed a place to breathe way from everyone else. Knowing that this secret space existed, just waiting for you to seek it out, had done wonders for staving off any panic attacks during your first few weeks here.
Although you had grown more confident in your position, it did not change the fact that – right now – you could not stand to look at yourself. Facing yourself would mean facing a lot of truths and fears you had run away from the past few years and it would not help that you looked like a mess. And felt like one, too.
With ignoring the sinks seeming like the better option, you rounded the corner to the showers. Either the quiet, tiled space would make you feel calm and settled or like you were in an 80’s horror flick version of an insane asylum.
Only, the space wasn’t quiet.
Your eyes followed the puddle of water and landed on two bare feet.
How odd, that would mean that somebody was standing –
Somebody way standing there.
Naked.
There was water coming out of the fixed showerhead, steam filling the room and your eyes widened in panic. How had you not noticed that? How had your head been so preoccupied with your approaching panic attack that you hadn’t noticed that you were not alone?
And not just alone with anybody. You would recognize that scent – woodsy with a hint of coffee – anywhere and even if you didn’t, the shape of his broad shoulders would betray him. Boba fucking Fett was standing with his back to you. Retired hockey legend and recently announced coach for the Mandalorian Minotaurs.
One forearm was braced against the tiles, his other arm was covered by his body but you could see it moving, almost as if –
Fuck.
Your cheeks blazed with heat at the realization that Boba Fett, national treasure and former captain of the Tuskan Raiders, was jerking off. This was probably the moment where normal people would (1) quietly disappear or (2) apologize loudly and then disappear.
You did neither.
No, you just stood there, your eyes raking over his form, taking in the sight of him. And what a sight it was. He was all muscles and fat and breadth. Thick. Sturdy. A man who no longer had to keep up with his physique for his career but who was still strong as fuck. There was a tattoo on his shoulder blade that seemed to wrap towards his chest too, his ass was exquisite and his thighs were trunks and –
Stars, you needed to leave right now.
He groaned and the deep sound reverberated through your entire body. You could feel a gush of wetness between your thighs, the arousal covering your panic for just a moment. You liked men who were vocal during sex, there was just something about it that made your blood thrum. Maybe because you were always quiet? A ying to your yang?
Your last boyfriend, Dreks, back in college, had just rolled his eyes at your quiet comment that it made you feel good to hear him. “Why do you wanna hear me if you barely get your mouth open, hm?” he had asked and closed that part of the conversation for the rest of your relationship. Somehow, you had the feeling that this problem would not occur with Boba Fett.
As if he could sense you thinking about him, his face turned. Brown eyes found yours immediately and you could see them widen in surprise for just a moment. But the water didn’t stop beating down his back and his hand didn’t stop stroking .
His eyes fixed you where you stood. You had never felt more like caged prey, being eyed by a predator. Although prey usually wanted to escape. You didn’t know what you wanted. Maybe you wanted to step closer, actually.
“Came for a show?” he asked, his mouth forming an amused smile. One that you were sure would haunt you in your dreams.
You swallowed thickly, desperately trying to find words to answer him. You needed to do something. You needed to apologize. You needed to leave. You needed to quit your job and hope your parents would not find you where you escaped to next.
Instead, your feet remained rooted to the floor. The sound of water hitting the tiles echoed in the room, it was almost loud enough to cover your heavy breathing and racing heartbeat. The steam wasn’t enough to cover his scent, though, or yours. Maybe it even emphasized it like some kind of diffuser. All you could smell was him.
Boba Fett was unfairly handsome for a man his age. For a man of any age, really. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t even know how old he was. Probably too old for you, although when had that ever stopped your brain from conjuring up the filthiest fantasies with a man old enough to be your father?
And then, as if you had not suffered enough, he fully turned around to face you.
It was as if the universe was giving you another chance to do what was right. To turn around. Avert your eyes. Apologize for the misunderstanding (whatever that was) and leave.
Instead you opted for the inappropriate option. His arms flexed with muscles, strength hidden under a layer of softness that made you want to touch him. Water was running down his chest, soaking the hairy trail leading to where he was squeezing his thick girth. How in the world could a cock be beautiful? He was long, thick – thicker than anything you had seen before – and the mushroom tip had a little drop of precome on it that made you want to sink to your knees.
His fingers squeezed his base and you could see the hint of his knot forming. He was close. He was so close and you were just a step away. Fuck, would it be an option to just ask him nicely if you could join him?
You wanted nothing more than to wash away the panic and anxiety and the racing thoughts and focus on something pleasant. Something warm. Like another body. Another pair of hands. Another pair of lips that would whisper sweet and filthy nothings into your ear until you were no longer the failed daughter of a media giant but instead the desired omega who did such a good job taking this big co-
Spooked by your own thoughts, you suddenly realized what you were doing. You were standing in a team bathroom – a room where you had no business being in the first place – and had walked in on the coach, naked. And instead of leaving him in peace, you were looking at his cock like your mouth was begging to have him between your lips. That was at least 25 HR violations.
Oh, you were so fired.
“Sorry, alpha,” you squeaked out and then finally your body moved, turning around and hurrying out of the bathroom, down the hallway, out of the arena, and straight to your apartment.
*
“So how big is he?”
“I am sorry I just told you my father is the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the country and most likely bought this team just to spite me and you ask about the coach’s dick?”
“Well yes,” Maudii shrugged, picking up another piece of pasta from her plate. You had needed to sniff the pesto to see whether it was still good but both of you had determined that the sauce was still edible. “Because you also told me you saw the Boba Fett naked and jerking off. So forgive a girl for focussing on the really important things.”
You had focussed on them more than you’d like to admit but you didn’t tell her that.
“He was … adequate.”
“Adequate?” she raised her eyebrows, “I don’t believe a word you say. You have a crush on that man ever since he was introduced this season. Hell, you’re even the one who volunteered to discuss which player we send to the press before each home game. A job so hated, they usually pull straws for it!”
“I don’t have a crush,” you mumbled, your fork scraping over your plate, “And he is not that bad. Just …. Strict. Focussed, I guess. And today I was just … surprised.”
“You didn’t even tell me why you were down there in the first place.”
You shifted on the loveseat you were currently sharing. One day maybe you were in a position to get a bigger couch or squeeze an armchair into your cramped living room. “It’s my … safe space.”
“From what?”
“Everything,” you shrugged, feeling the all familiar-shame rise up in you, “Sometimes, things get a bit too much and I need to go somewhere quiet. That bathroom is usually empty.”
“And this time it was too much because ….“
You rolled your eyes, unable to keep your mouth from quirking up. Maudii was the kind of friend who would never let you lie to yourself. In another time, she would have made for a great therapist.
“Because I spent the last four years trying to distance myself from my parents and pay for my own way. And I thought I managed to do that until I found out my dad bought the sports team which means they won’t leave me to my own devices.”
She nodded, washing down her bite of pasta with a sip of soda. “And then you fled to your safe space where you saw your crush buck naked and jerking off and yet all you say about him is that he was” – she drew bunny ears in the air – “adequate …. but okay. I will let you keep your secrets. Now, what are we gonna do about your dad?”
Now that was a question you didn’t have an answer to.
*
Turns out, it didn’t even matter what your answer to that question would have been. Because, like it had happened so often before, your father had already made his move.
The sun was just starting to rise above the city skyline when you set your stuff down on your desk. Your mental to do list was already figured out and your fingers were itching to write it down on a sticky note and make your way through the day, one task at a time.
But as soon as your computer booted up, you were hit with an appointment reminder.
Meeting, Small Conference Room
That was all you needed to see to know that your father had found you. And it was all you needed to see for your day to completely derail. How could you focus on interview prompts and photoshoot schedules when you would meet your father in less than an hour and most likely would have to defend every life choice you ever made?
Before you knew it, you were crossing the threshold to the meeting that had your heart racing. The small conference room wasn’t really that small. It was just smaller but with only two people in it, one of them often described as the land’s most influential man, it felt gigantic. Like an ocean was parting you from one of the people who had known you the longest. Only that the ocean was a long, long table.
“Hi dad.”
“Hi darling,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Long time, no see. Sit.”
You sat down opposite him. It was clear where had set up his office, there were papers strewn across the surface and a few to go coffee cups. You wondered where his assistant, Briggs, had wandered off to. Probably to get more coffee.
“Yeah, I’ve been … busy, you know.”
He just hummed, not really acknowledging what you said. “Your mother worries. You could’ve called.”
“I did,” you reminded him, “Last Christmas. And for your birthdays. And mine.”
“Four phone calls are nothing.”
You weren’t brave enough to point out that they could have called you, too. Sitting opposite him, you felt like you were eight years old again, gathering the courage to tell him that you didn’t care for the riding lessons, you’d much rather join the swimming club. The only difference was that eight-year-old you hadn’t known yet that it didn’t matter what you wanted.
“You knew where I was the entire time, I told you you were welcome to visit me,” you swallowed, “I, uh, I graduated last summer, like I told you.”
They had not showed up for your graduation. A fact that you had spent months preparing yourself for. When the seats you had reserved for them up to the last minute were still empty by the time you received your certificate, your heart still cracked.
“And now we are here,” he sighed like he was already tired of his stint in Mandalore, “What is it you do here anyway?”
This was it. This was your moment to shine. To show him what you had been up to ever since you had left Coruscant behind. To show off the purpose of your work and the happiness your life here brought you.
“I work in the administrative branch of the team,” you explained, your heart swelling with pride, “I am currently doing an internship in the press –“
“Internship,” he scoffed, “You could have had a managing position already with all the bells and whistles that you want.”
“I told you I don’t want –“
“Your refusal to take advantage of the family business is admirable,” he interrupted you again and your jaw clenched, “But you and I both know that the sports world is no place for an omega like yourself. What would our friends think, seeing you working for some mediocre sports team? You’re throwing your life away for some quest for independence that won’t matter in ten years.”
“That’s not true,” you protested quietly, your hands clenching, “We could win the cup this season and I have a lot of fun here and – and I do a good job. My boss told me there is a good chance they will be hiring when my internship is over and –“
“I am the one who decides when and who they will be hiring,” your father snapped. His eyes were hard and you shrunk into your seat. “Your mother is worried, sweetheart, and the sooner you realize that all we want is to see you succeed, the better prepared you will be to return to the capital.”
Tears stung in your eyes. The most frustrating part was that you knew he meant well. Both your parents did everything out of love for you, you knew that, even if that was oftentimes hard to recognize. Yet. it did not take away from the fact that they had no clue what it was you wanted in life. Their definition of success was just that: theirs.
You had spent years of your life coming to that conclusion, would it take just as long for you to finally free yourself from the weight of their judgement?
Pondering just that (and trying to keep the tears at bay), you didn’t notice the door cracking open and another person joining you. Only when the scent of woods and coffee grounds drifted through the air, did you realize that it was none other than –
“This is Coach Fett,” your father smiled like he had not just destroyed your confidence and future plans in one sentence, “I have asked him to join us. Come in, Boba. This is my daughter, I am sure you’ve met.”
Boba Fett was dressed a bit more casual than usual, wearing dark grey slacks and a white button down that glowed bright under the fluorescent lights. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing veiny forearms and you tried to focus on whether or not you could see his tattoo through the fabric of his shirt.
(The answer, sadly, was no.)
“I believe so,” he approached you confidently, a twinkle in his eyes when he held out his large hand for you to shake, “Still, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
You felt small in his grip, drawing comfort from the warm, solid contact, before he sat down at the head of the table. Right between you and your father.
The universe was laughing at you, you were sure of it.
“So … why am I here?” Boba asked, completely light hearted, “Kept me from putting on a show for the boys downstairs.”
You knew it was meant as a joke. He was talking about the team and practice and hockey, not about the show he had offered to put on for you last week. Stars, had it really only been a week since then? You felt like you had aged at least three years in that time.
He probably hardly remembered. He didn’t spend his sleepless nights thinking about it like you did.
“My daughter is of the opinion that an internship in this team is the best use of her time,” your father’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was looking at the coach intently, almost like they were both in on the same joke. The joke being you.
Boba’s face hardened and you watched as he shifted in his seat, straightening his back. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked back, “We’re the most successful team on the West Coast, we have good chances at the Cup this season and the press department has been an excellent starting board for a few sports journalist.”
Silence.
That was all that followed.
You couldn’t remember the last time someone had openly opposed your dad and gotten away with it. Judging from the sour expression on his face, neither did he. But Boba Fett also wasn’t the kind of man you could speak down to like your father spoke to you. They were roughly (maybe?) the same age, successful in their own right and you knew one of the most important things to consider after a takeover was not to antagonize the staff.
“Be that as it may,” your father cleared his throat, “Her time here is short with her internship ending soon.” Your heart started to race again and you looked around, trying to see if there was a glass of water standing around anywhere. “And her mother and I want to make sure that she doesn’t embarrass our good name –“
“I am sure she won’t.”
“– so I would be very grateful if you could keep an eye on her when we can’t.”
You should be used enough to your parents’ antics that nothing should surprise you anymore.
But hiring the Boba Fett to keep an eye on you. That was a new low.
Worse than that was the incredulous expression on his face. He didn’t seem enthusiastic about it at all. And who could possibly blame him? Not only had your father basically degraded him to the job of babysitter, it also implied that you weren’t good at your job.
“Consider it done.”
The words had your shoulders falling and you stared at the woodgrain on the table. You didn’t know what felt worse: That your parents were meddling again, that they involved Boba in it or that Boba seemed to believe them.
Your dad clapped his hands together once, a sign you knew meant that you were dismissed. “That sounds good. Thanks, Fett. Now I will let you both do what it is that you do.”
As you stood up, Boba caught your gaze and your cheeks flushed, feeling completely embarrassed and undermined.
“Goodbye, sweetheart.”
“Bye, dad,” you bent down to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Don’t forget to call.”
“I won’t.”
And with that you and Boba were out in the hallway like you had just been sent out by the principal. It was barely ten in the morning and this was already the worst day of the week. Hell, the worst day of the entire month.
When the alpha next to you didn’t move away but remained standing next to you, you allowed yourself two things. One, to breathe in his scent and let it calm down your racing heart. Maybe you should invest in a coffee scented candle if it helped with your anxiety this much? Two, to actually speak to him.
“I’m – I’m sorry about that,” you started, “My father has a way of getting into people’s business without really meaning to.”
“Well, I meant I wasn’t expecting to get showered with praise,” he winked at you, “But I’ll be thankful that I have an excuse to talk to you more, pretty omega.”
Your eyes widened with realization when he walked away from you. He definitely remembered.
*
The coach’s office was by some considered a small room but compared to your cubicle upstairs it was as spacious as the ice rink itself. With Boba Fett standing in the room, though, it felt like there was no place to stand in which you weren’t in danger of touching him.
Which was bad, if you wanted to be mad at him.
“Okay, this needs to stop.”
“What needs to stop?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the edge of his desk. If you weren’t so furious you might have appreciated the way the fabric stretched over his broad chest or how the silver watch on his wrist made his hands look even thicker. His entire game day outfit belonged in the trash, or on the floor. Anywhere but on his body, really.
“You cannot just keep teasing me every time we see each other. This has been going on for weeks now, you making comment about getting or putting on a show or showers or … or anything really!” You threw your hands up, your pulse racing, “This is my place of work and I am tired of people not taking me seriously, including you. Yes, okay, I saw you in the shower and I had no business being there anyway and sure, I might have looked way more than I should have and interrupted you doing something very … intimate. But isn’t it enough that I can barely meet your eyes as is? Do you have to remind of it every single time we see each other? My father ordered you to look out for which I am still very sorry, by the way, but I am trying my best and I cannot do my best if I am constantly reminded of your … your, uh …”
You trailed off, heat rising into your cheeks because why could you not stop thinking about his cock?
Sensing a new opportunity to fluster you, Boba leant forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “My what?” he asked, “Go on, say it, pretty ‘mega. Gives me something to think about at night.”
“That! That is what I mean!” you accused him, your finger meeting his chest and he laughed. Your chest rose and fell with strenuous breaths and you felt winded, like a balloon that had been popped. You were just … here. Boba, on the other hand, was still the epitome of smugness.
“That everything, princess?”
You huffed, moving to cross your arms over your chest but he stopped you. As if in slow motion, you watched as one large hand landed on yours, keeping it on his chest. Your fingers flattened and you could feel his heat … and his strong heartbeat.
“What is that supposed to mean?” you glared up at him.
Boba leant back again, still holding you, and you followed until you were standing right between his legs, cradled in by him. Close enough to smell the mix of his aftershave and the coffee scent that haunted your dreams.
“Just wanted to let you get it all out before I bend you over this table.”
You did not know whether to be angry at him or ashamed at the images that immediately flooded your mind at his words. Your body decided on the not-so-secret third option and focussed on the arousal that spread through you, gathering between your legs. “And what in the world would ever make you think that I would let you, Coach Fett?”
Boba rose to his full height, then. Breadth, too. He was a large man and sometimes people forgot about that when they talked about the giants of the team like Paz Vizsla. But right here, right now, it was Boba Fett who just took up every one of your senses. He was all you could see, all you could smell, stars, even all you could taste. You wondered if his taste would be stronger if you were to put your mouth on the scent gland on his neck …
No damnit, you were supposed to be mad at him!
And, in a way, you were mad. Just not about the things you were talking about. You were mad that he looked through you so easily. You were mad that even when you tried to intimidate him, he did not shy away from pulling you closer. You were mad that his proximity, the one he so casually coaxed out of you, made you feel safer and more seen than ever before. And you were mad that you did not even have to tell him that. He already knew.
With one infuriatingly smooth move, he turned you both around. His grip on you tightened and your breath hitched when you felt the edge of the table digging into the back of your thighs.
“Because I can smell you dripping right through those little panties you've got on, sweetheart.”
You bit your lip and watched Boba’s eyes darken at the move. Something flashed in your mind, an idea, a desire, so strong, it would have knocked you off your feet if it had not been for the hand on yours. This was the worst – or possibly best – idea you ever had.
“Who says I am wearing panties?”
“I do, princess.”
“Oh?”
He hummed, the sound reminding you of the groan he had let out in the shower, and suddenly your skin felt too tight for your body. It got even worse when his face got so close, his nose touched yours. “Because if you’re telling me right now that you’re not wearing any panties under that pretty dress of yours, there is no way you’ll leave this office without my come dripping down your thighs.”
Your breath hitched at the image. Was that a promise? Why did you want it to be a promise? Stars, this was game day. His team was outside. You needed to leave, you needed to distance yourself from this man who had snuck his way into your filthiest daydreams. You needed to not ask him any more questions.
“What makes you think I would let you?” you breathed out, searching his eyes for … something. For confirmation, maybe, that this affected him just as much as it affected you.
“Because I think you are used to being in a room where people overlook you,” he rumbled, his scent washing over you, “But I do not overlook you. Nor do I underestimate you. I see you, omega, and I don’t know if you need someone to challenge or pamper you. This is me finding out.”
The raw honesty surprised you. Brain running through option of what you could say without exposing yourself.
Pamper me! Your brain screamed. Take care of me, please!
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you swallowed heavily, “Somebody – somebody could see.”
“Let them,” he replied easily, his mouth brushing over yours in the lightest of kisses. “Because I think, omega, we absolutely should be doing this.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” And then he kissed you.
His mouth was on yours and your eyes fluttered shut. Everything in you was tense, a string pulled taut and the only thing that could release you was his touch. You could not remember the last time a kiss had taken you up so completely.
Boba let go off your hand but you still kept in on his chest, feeling his heartbeat speed up under your touch. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks so gently, you felt like the most precious thing in the world. When his tongue brushed over your mouth, you opened up for him, letting your tongues meet and revelling in the delicious feeling of his stubbled chin against yours.
The urge to get closer grew stronger and you lifted your hand to the back of his neck, trying to pull him to you.
But Boba Fett was not a man easily moved. If anything, he moved you.
“Up,” he ordered against your mouth, his hips grinding against yours. A shot of electricity ran down your spine when you felt him heard and heavy between your legs. Arching your back, you wiggled up onto his desk and spread your legs.
“Good girl,” he praised you, “Opening her legs for me without having to ask.”
Never in your life did you think a compliment – a filthy one at that – would have your panties wet. Yet here you were, feeling positive that if he were to look now, there was no way he wouldn’t notice the wet patch on the grey fabric.
His hand landed on your thigh, gently pushing it to the side, spreading you even more and you kissed him again. You could spend all day just like this, being touched by this man, kissed by him, thinking of nothing else but how good he felt against you.
A knock on the door made you flinch and Boba pulled away.
“Coach, are you there?” That was Berenson. “Vizsla and I had a question about that play you wanted us to try out.”
“Be there in a minute!” he called out, his voice rough.
Your lips felt swollen and your nipples were aching, rubbing against the inside of your bra and not his chest hair. Had that really happened? Had you really just kissed him?
“Give me your phone,” he said quietly. He took a step away from you and your legs immediately snapped shut. To hide yourself from his gaze or try and get some pressure on your clit, you did not know. What you did know was that you handed him your phone without question and that when your fingers brushed against his, there still was that spark that ran over your skin.
“What are you doing?” you asked,
“Putting my number in,” he explained, his large fingers deftly moving over the screen, “And when this game is won, I want you to text me your favourite coffee place.”
“Why?”
“So that we can meet for coffee,” he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Your phone landed back in your hand and your eyes slid to the prominent bulge in his pants. He was hard. You had made him hard. Stars, would he spend the whole game just like that? “And so that I can pamper you the way you need. Because that’s what you need, isn’t it? You need someone on your side, princess, and to take care of you the way you need.”
Blinking, you looked up at him in surprise. How had he –
“See?” he winked at you, “We definitely should be doing this.”
Title Inspired By: Bluest Flame - Selena Gomez, benny blanco
Some of my favorite quotes from Artemis ii so far:
"Copy. Moon joy."
"I have two Microsoft Outlooks, and neither one of those are working."
"Houston, if you could give me about 20 new superlatives in the mission summary for tomorrow that will help out my vocabulary a little bit, that would be great. Thank you."
“If you’ve ever seen the top of the spotlight of the top of the Luxor at night in Vegas, this looks like what it wants to be when it grows up.”
"To all of you down there on Earth... we love you, from the moon."
"We just went sci fi."
"It is so great to see Earth again. To Asia, Africa, and Oceania: we are looking back at you. We hear you can look up and see the moon right now. We see you too."
"We will always choose Earth. We will always choose each other."
“It’s a bright spot on the moon, and we would like to call it Carroll.”
Reading through your favorite tag, trying to find more blogs to follow. You find one, they even have several one-shot stories in one post featuring your favorite characters.
You're reading along and notice a few inconsistencies, hands bound are suddenly free with no explanation. Suspicious but meh, sometimes authors get wrapped up in their stories and forget details, it happens.
You continue to read and notice a few more, kind of similar inconsistencies in another one of the stories. Hmmm okay odd, but again, it happens. You hit the 4th story in the post and see it.
After using short dashes in other stories, suddenly there's a random-ass long dash. You think for a minute then scan through the other stories and finally notice the pattern.
Your heart drops. No. This isn't happening. How could you let this happen? You wasted time you'd never get back! You're smarter than this, how could you be so blind?
You remove your engagement with the post the best you can. Blocking the author's blog.
...
But nothing can erase the embarrassment of wasting your precious time reading an AI generated story.
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when people are like "i didn't come here to make friends" i'm like thats sooooo unrelatable. i am always on the look out for some girl friends. I would be in that hunger games cornucopia like "your ex boyfriend did WHAT."
So for years black girls have had to read fanfics where y/n was automatically described as being paled skinned with long flowing hair and blue eyes. We couldn’t relate to it exactly, it excluded us, it ignored us. But we read it cause it was all that was out there. Now when we start writing fanfics for other black girls to feel included and represented, now you all are saying that you ‘‘can’t relate to it” therefore don’t support black writers when we were supporting your work all those years even though you were acting like we don’t exist within these fandoms.
It’s incredibly frustrating because I’ll be reading about the characters turning shades of pink and I’m like. I don’t turn pink. Black people don’t blush. If this is suppose to be reader insert why the hell is it saying that? I don’t have blue eyes or flowing hair? The actual heck.
Bruh don’t get me started, we’ve come a long way but why are ppl complaining when we got something to ourselves? Jeez. You have trillions of stuff, let us have our own.
