No Disintegrations

OBI-WAN KENOBI

ANOTHER HAPPY LANDING - You and your husband Obi-Wan Kenobi have to sneak around hiding your marriage at an event. (f!reader, fluff)

ONE LAST TIME - An invitation to spend the night with your former flame, Anakin Skywalker, is the perfect opportunity for you and Obi-Wan to locate his base. (f!reader, smut with Anakin)

DRABBLES/PROMPTS (all gn!reader): Obi-Wan gets jealous Surprising Obi in his quarters Comforting Obi-Wan after Episode III

CAPTAIN REX

Easy to Love (gn!reader drabble) Breaking up and getting back together (gn!reader prompt) Rex proposing to you (gn!reader prompt) Rex learning he’s the best you’ve had (f!reader)

COBB VANTH

Rumor Has It (f!reader, smut) Melt With You (f!reader, smut)

MISC

STAR HOES: ATTACK OF THE CLONES - F!Reader x Fives, Cody, Rex (smut) How Boba, Din, and Cobb Propose

MOON KNIGHT - STEVEN GRANT

Nice and Easy (f!reader, smut)

You and Boba had slept in that morning after the gala. It was always heaven to open your eyes and take in the world, with your first thoughts being that you were safe and warm in your husband's arms, with your cheek resting on the hot skin of his shoulder. To leave that heaven and to be accosted by tabloid garbage? That feels like being thrown from a speeder bike.

"Hold on, there's another one coming in," Boba grumbles, navigating the holopad. "It's a video."

It's Leia, caught on her way to another speaking engagement. Stars, did she ever go to sleep?

"The princess is a dear friend of mine, and it's nonsense, really," she tells the pushy reporter firmly. "It is also unfair to characterize the Fetts' relationship as stemming from an affair. They are good people. Let's focus on matters that are truly important now. That is all I have to say."

A wave of relief washes over you. Having someone like Leia Organa vouch for your character was the most helpful thing at this moment.

"Thank you," you message her quickly from your comm.

"Only telling the truth. Come to Alderaan's consulate as my guest, if you would like to make a statement to the media. They are all waiting outside, hungry to catch a glimpse of the faces of the New Republic," she replies.

"I'm coming with you," Boba says immediately, reading the message in time with you. "I'm not letting you walk alone into a frenzy."

You can't argue with that. You each dress quickly, making yourselves look presentable and like you had always planned on showing up at the right place at the right time for this impromptu press conference, and Boba helps you into your speeder before taking his seat as driver. You spend the ride in near silence, your brain moving a million miles a minute preparing what you are planning to say, but the best course of action seems obvious: there is nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide, right? Both of the allegations were nonsense, and you decide the best course of action is to say your truth.

“It will all be okay, princess. We have nothing to hide,” Boba says to soothe your wildly apparent nerves, reaching for your hand.

He offers his hand to help you out of the speeder, peering at you through his visor. You walk arm in arm towards the consulate and the thirty or so journalists and paparazzi waiting outside to intercept guests walking into the event. When they all seemingly shout the same question asking for your thoughts on the viral article, you stop decisively.

"First, I want to make it known that Jamie Barso died a hero," you begin with a shaky voice. "He sacrificed his own life to save mine when I was taken prisoner by Jabba the Hutt. He had been held prisoner for months and was used as cruel entertainment; I'm sure there are witnesses to that, and I would imagine his body was given to the pet rancor, if that needs to be investigated.

Fuck, talking about Jamie already has you choked up. You take a breath and feel tears pushing at the corner of your eyes, the result of making one of your darkest, and most private moments known under public pressure.

"I did not kill Jamie," you conclude. "That was a story circulated by the Empire to frame me for murder, so that they could place a more sympathetic bounty on me as a rebel."

The crowd roars with followup questions, and with questions about the rest of the headline. Boba places a subtle protective hand on the small of your back.

"Second, I would like to set the record straight that the romantic relationships with both of my husbands never overlapped," you declare.

Technically that was true, omitting the fact that you and Jamie never truly had a romantic relationship, which was something you could never make public.

"Boba did serve as my bodyguard during my engagement to Jamie, but like I said, I was never romantically involved with both of them at the same time. Unfortunately, that is not something I can prove to you. However, I will remind you that relationships started on infidelity can rarely survive, and if they do, they certainly cannot thrive. We have thrived."

The vicious energy of the crowd shifts. It feels as though the air clears, as the demeanor of the reporters change. You had gotten everything you had to say off of your chest, and that alone feels uplifting; it was time for you to exit on your positive note. "If you'll excuse us, we must get going inside," you conclude, stepping towards the consulate.

"Boba! Boba Fett!"

You are determined to keep walking amongst the new ambush of press, but you find that Boba stays planted behind you. You are surprised by Boba's willingness to cooperate with the reporters, but then again, it was wise to appear open and approachable.

"Is it true you escaped prison while serving time for the attempted murder of Jedi Master Mace Windu?"

You stare at Boba with your mouth slightly agape. You have no idea what they are talking about, apart from knowing that Mace Windu was the man who killed Boba's father, and Boba turns to look at you as if you are the only person he sees in the crowd. You feel time stand still around you both — to Boba, you were the one person whose opinion matters, and through his helmet you feel his need to communicate his acknowledgment of how this must have hurt you.

To Boba's surprise, you subtly offer your hand to keep walking forward with you. He does not take it and chooses to face the accusation head on.

"Yes."

Gasps echo throughout the crowd. You swallow and attempt to conceal your surprise, wondering why this stings so bad. Escaping from prison for attempted murder sounds harsh — because it is — yet, you had known what Boba was capable of. He had killed the man from your planet responsible for betraying it to the Empire in cold blood, all to take revenge for you. And stars, the man had killed his father.

But to not tell you — you, his wife, his love, his person with whom he could exist freely — of something as big as this from his past? That drop in your stomach you couldn’t place before could now be identified as fear and as hurt.

"I was twelve years old at the time. There are no consequences to speaking of it now, as the statute has ran its course and the Republic Judiciary Detention Center is now defunct under the New Republic. My history as a bounty hunter is common knowledge, as is my work in recent years with the Rebellion. All I ask is that you keep an open mind to see me as a man who has made mistakes, but has also made small steps to contribute to the greater good."

The crowd chatters amongst themselves, and Boba proceeds to take your hand to lead you inside the building.

"Boba..."

"Please forgive me," he mutters softly.

As if both of you silently know what has to be done, you stay away from the event happening downstairs, and instead find a private place to talk away from the crowds in an empty conference room upstairs, neither of you speaking a word until the door closes behind you.

"You tried to murder your father's killer when you were twelve," you repeat softly. "Boba, how didn't I know this?"

Boba sighs, in a strange mixture of shame of frustration. He guides you to a chair and encourages you to sit down, as he sits next to you to explain. "It is not always easy to tell you the things about my history that contradict what I know of your heart," he admits lowly, hanging his in shame. His breath shakes, and as you put your hand to his cheek, but he closes his eyes and turns from you.

"Boba! You were twelve," you coo, bringing your other hand up to steady his face. "I love you and I know who you are... I'm... I'm not trying to punish you for that. My heart breaks to learn that, and I want you to tell me everything when you can."

Boba's hand comes up to engulf your smaller hand, and keep it resting firmly against his cheek.

"You've told me all about your life and upbringing, except for something as big as going to prison as a child, and escaping," you start. "It hurts to think you were unable to tell me this, and it makes me scared of what else I may not know."

"I know. I know, riduur," Boba mutters. "It felt like a drop in the bucket of the rage I carried throughout my adolescence, if I can give you any sort of explanation of my omission. But I should have told you, my love. I did not give it the thought it deserved."

You nod your head slowly and take a deep breath. You lean forward to bring Boba into your arms, and he holds you there without speaking. There was nothing more to say, but he wanted you to feel his love. You understood the weight of him calling you riduur, a reaffirmation of how sacred your partnership is, and you kiss his cheek softly.

"I don't know if I can live with the public pressure like this," you start, the tears finally pushing their way to your eyes. "We're being ripped apart under a microscope. Sometimes I think we should just go live in the cottage together and disappear from the galaxy."

"We'd get restless, princess, you and I both know that," Boba says. "I want you to do whatever your heart is telling you. You want to keep serving the people. I will step away from being your guard, that is what you still want, and I will go back to my old ways with this... job Organa has given me. We will acclimate."

So, it was decided. You and Boba would have separate lives carving out your careers, as most couples do, and come home to each other night. You won your position as Senator shortly thereafter, and Boba officially accepted his job with the New Republic. There would be just two weeks before Boba takes off on his first hunt.

The two of you conducted joint interviews over the course of the next week to choose the right head of your security detail. While you would gather information on their lifestyle, their personality, and the way you seemed to communicate to each other to see who you would mesh with and be comfortable with, you left Boba in charge of judging them by a completely different set of standards of how equipped they were to see to your protection. None of the applicants were too inspiring, and for a moment you thought perhaps it was a mistake to give up Boba's offer to continue on as your bodyguard.

That's when, upon the last interview you had scheduled, the man who made your jaw drop entered the room.

It was Boba — but not Boba, this was Boba after living another lifetime. He had to have been at least sixty, or sixty-five years old.

Boba took one look at the man calling himself Corky, and nearly told him to get out as soon as he entered the room. But once he let go of whatever that feeling was — be it shame, insecurity, resentment, old orders from his father — he saw a man who looked like he had worked hard in life, and who had a familiarity about him that inspired at least a basic understanding of what Boba could expect from him.

"Well, I suppose we should address the bantha in the room," Corky starts, taking a seat.

Boba hadn't taken off his helmet for any of the interviews. He knows, however, that his identity was no secret to a clone and he removes the helmet and grimaces, setting it down with an apprehensive look to stare back at his lookalike. "Thought I'd seen the last of you," Boba quips.

You glance sideways at him with an unease to his brash reaction.

"I was one of the last ARC troopers the Kaminoans produced — 96th out of a hundred, actually," Corky explains. "I'm one of the last relics of the Old Republic standing."

You can't help but look in awe at this man. So this is what Boba will look like when he is old and grey; this is what his father would look like if he was alive. Corky's body had filled out more, his head was shaven, but he had the same strong eyebrows as Boba and the wrinkles around his eyes had settled in. It is endearing... and absolutely frightening to finally see one of the clones after all you had lived with Boba.

Corky smiles politely at you, and you know you can't control the bewildered expression on your face as you smile back at him. "Congratulations on the victory, Senator," he tells you.

"Thank you very much..." you reply, then pausing to clear your throat. "So, tell us about your qualifications, Corky."

"I served during the Clone Wars. Came of age just in time for the Battle of Coruscant, and made it to the rank of Captain. Then, those of us who had survived who had a good few years in us left were relegated to mundane jobs they didn't want to spare any stormtroopers for. I was put into prison security. So, that said, I know how to make sure no one gets past where they are supposed to be."

"You," Boba rasps. "It was you who released me the day Arcada went down."

"Yes, it was," says Corky.

"You didn't have to release me. You chose to, didn't you? You acted against orders."

"Like I said, Arcada was no longer under the jurisdiction of the Empire."

The two men stare intently at each other. After all of your pleading to free Boba from prison, the man sitting in front of you simply let him go. "Why? Why would you help me?" Boba asks insistently.

"You were innocent. And you... were blood."

Boba sits back in his chair, seemingly mulling over the man's answer, yet unreadable in what his opinion was. The mentioning of their shared blood pulls Boba in two different directions. On one hand, he felt his knee-jerk detest of being thought of as one of the clones when he was Jango's son and legacy. Then again, if Boba had come across a clone facing death and had it in his power to change the course of their fate, he would have done the same.

"Then I am in your debt," Boba eventually states.

"I don't want the job like that," says Corky. "Buy me a beer, sure, but I want to be hired because I'm qualified."

You take one look at Boba and see the tight, crooked line of his lips and the squint in his eyes to know he had found the man for the job.

“That scar you have there,” he starts, gesturing to his temple. “Did you get it removed?”

What it was, you had no idea.

“I did. Killed my General first," Corky grimaces. "But when one of my brothers found me weeks later, he got through to me somehow, and I voluntarily went under to get it removed."

"Can one of you please stop to explain?" you ask, frustrated.

"The clones were all implanted with a bio chip that contained orders to kill all Jedi when it was activated. Didn't matter how they felt, it made them act against their own will," Boba jumps in quickly, mindful of keeping you informed. "No one knows if there were other orders. You did the right thing to get it removed."

"You've got your intel on us," Corky points out.

"I've always found it in my best interest to know what the Kaminoans were up to," says Boba. "Well, Corky, I'd like to make some assessments with you to my wife's security. Come with me."

The two men spend about an hour together, walking and talking, interacting curiously with each other as they talked shop. Corky was a very pleasant man — far more pleasant than the others you had interviewed — and be it genetics or simply a sunny disposition, you find yourself comfortable with him.

"Is it him? Is he the right guy?” you ask Boba quietly as Corky inspects your balcony.

"Yes. If it can’t be me, I would trust you with him," Boba says. "Do you like him?"

"Yes, very much.”

“Good, cyare,” says Boba, leaning over to kiss the crown of your head. “See? Told you everything would be okay.”

-----------------

It would be fair to say you are nervous for your first night without Boba. The work he was doing was far from his most dangerous of endeavors, though you would always be praying for his safety while he was away, but it was your first night with Corky being at the apartment.

It was strange to be sitting at the table, working on replying to letters you had received, as you occasionally glanced up at the other occupant of your home. He wasn't your husband but was, kinda, genetically your husband, and the feeling is both unsettling and comforting. Corky had a fatherly disposition towards you that Boba did not possess, however, and you were curious to get to know more of his story in due time.

"Call?" Boba writes you suddenly.

You glance at the time, and find it is very fair for you to call it a night and go into your bedroom, though you doubt you'll be soon to fall asleep. "Corky, I think I'm going to get ready for bed," you inform him.

"Alright, miss. Sleep well," he tells you, with a polite bow of his head.

"You as well."

You scurry off with excitement to the privacy of your room to get Boba on a holo call.

"Princess," Boba rasps, with a naughty smile at the corner of his mouth.

"You're in a good mood!"

"I am. Pulled in my first bounty, and now I'm on my way to the second in Corellia."

"Already? In just a few hours?"

"Empire shills are a lot less sophisticated than they'd like you to believe. This will be the easiest job I've ever had."

"I'm glad," you smile, settling into your bed. "It's so strange spending time with a clone here."

Boba hums in acknowledgment. "Life works in mysterious ways, doesn't it, princess?"

"I suppose so..." You hear the roar of Slave I in the background. By the light reflecting off his helmet, you can tell he's traveling through the privacy of hyperspace. "Our bed feels massive with just me in it," you tell him. "It's been a long time since we've had to sleep apart."

"Do you want to have a little fun?" Boba proposes.

"Yes, but Corky's in the other room, so we can't do anything too crazy," you giggle. "I would die if he heard this."

He stares at the little creature, bundled up in her crib as you get some much needed sleep. For the last few days, it had been you, the nurse droid (who was currently down for repairs), or sometimes Boba with you or the droid around to help him out and keep an eye on the child. Now? Now this baby is entirely in Boba's care for the next hour or two.

They say that men don't feel as connected to their child as the mother does from the start, and that it takes time to build feelings — Boba always dismissed that as hogwash for assholes. He did, however, possess an unease that you didn’t seem to have. How does he know he’s doing it right? How can he be a nurturing father to his daughter, and be someone she could talk to as she gets older?

Boba would kill anyone who posed a threat to you or this tiny creature, and he really didn’t need any more protective paternal instincts, but something about her being his child keeps him in this feeling of disbelief. Boba could see you in the little baby; he recognizes the same feeling of love that he feels when he sees you, when he sees this little child. But how could Boba have made this little helpless creature? How could he be a father?

Boba picks up the baby, just to feel her close to his chest and to get a better look at her little face. He sits there in the silence, glancing over at your sleeping form as he instinctively rocks her — yes, the paternal instincts really did kick in— when suddenly, the baby cocks an eyebrow up at her father and glances at him through side eyes.

Boba chuckles, stifling himself quickly to not wake you. Yes, there was that little spark of himself in his child that suddenly makes it feel real.

The baby starts to squeak and babble in response to the interaction, and reaches up for Boba. "Shhh, little one, let's give your mother some rest," Boba coos with a smile, letting her grab on to one of his fingers with her whole hand. "Yes, yes, she has us Fetts to put up with, she needs to sleep.”

Boba’s mission was successful. You slept for a full three hours, and Boba was glad to give you all the time you needed to recharge, discovering his confidence taking care of his newborn.

“Look at you,” you croak as you wake up to see Boba sitting in a chair, feeding the baby a bottle, with his chest partially exposed through his robes.

“Warmed it just how you showed me,” Boba beams. “And we had some skin to skin time too, so that she doesn’t forget I’m her buir.”

“She won’t forget that,” you smile. “Come here.”

Boba saunters carefully towards the bed and lays the baby down between you both, before coming to lay down. “I’m going to be different than my father was. She’s going to be safe and sheltered. I want her life to be whatever she chooses it to be, and know that we’re here to guide her,” Boba declares. “And I want her to know how much I love her mother, so that she’ll know love when she sees it.”

It wasn’t an attack on his father, but it was a wise declaration of what his instincts were telling him, and it sounds like a perfect plan to you.

“Did you ever think you’d have a girl?” you ask.

“If I envisioned anything of having children, I think the image in my mind was of myself as a boy. So, no,” Boba admits. “I’ll admit, having a girl has me even more lost than I already am.”

“Well, maybe she’ll be the reminder that you are not your father raising his son. She’ll be different. And you’ll do just fine, sweetheart.”

“How do you know?” Boba asks, using a playful tone to mask his serious question.

“Because I know how you love me, so I know how you are going to love our girl.”

Stars, it was true. Boba’s love for you was the same love that extended to his daughter, and hearing you say that makes his worries melt away. He takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

You had expected fancy dresses, and you get fancy dresses to your heart's content. Racks upon racks of clothing are presented to you in an empty room, along with rows of fabric for any custom designs. Boba remains busy in the throne room attending to dozens of meetings, and so you get to spend your day playing dress up with no worries of the costs.

"Oh, Lady Fett, you have not yet seen the selection of extras I've brought for you," one of the dressmakers explains, opening a wardrobe. It is full of the smaller items of clothing; scarves, bags, jewelry, and lingerie.

Oh, this was going to be good. The word "extras" feels exactly right, however. It feels like excess, and Boba has already been so generous to set you up with all the dresses, shirts, and ensembles you were keeping.

"How am I supposed to know how much I can keep?" you quickly write to Boba on your comm.

"You don't have to know. It's all there for you. Enjoy it."

Well, it was hard to argue with a daimyo.

-------------

You had gotten yourself ready for the night as Boba wrapped up his duties downstairs. You stare at yourself in the mirror, dressed head to toe in your new bounty. Your lingerie starts as a bra, structured around your breasts in tones of copper and gold, and a sheer gold fabric drapes down from it to your ankles. A gold chain links at the center of the bra and dips down to frame your hips on either side, and you wear a matching arm band, anklet, and earrings to complete the look. Truly, you have never felt more decadent in your life.

"Shimmering gold, like the sands of Tatooine," Boba muses behind you. "Let me see you, mesh'la."

You turn around to give him the full view. Boba saunters towards you slowly, his head moving slowly up your body, clearly appreciative of what he is seeing. He wears only his black robes without his armor, and something about the way it absorbs the light and makes his skin shine golden, highlighting the taper of his hips and dipping just below his collar bone, pleases your eyes.

"This was very sweet of you, Boba, but you don't have to spend this much on me," you say, with a knowing smile turning one corner of your lips.

"I want to. Besides, this is a gift for you and for me," he replies, finally inches away from you and pulling you in by the waist. "Look at you, princess. You deserve to be spoiled."

You take Boba's face between your hands. Despite his new appearance, looking older and worn, you catch a glimpse of your young bounty hunter looking back at you with eyes that say more than his words.

"Then you'll have to let me spoil you," you whisper, pulling him in for a kiss.

It never took more than that for Boba to lead the way to bed. You were very serious about spoiling Boba, and you are prepared to take reigns from him. Might as well put the outfit to work, right?

You see yourselves from the mirror as you make love on the sofa. You ride Boba through your clothes and get to watch as his large hands roam your body, and see the way his hungry eyes trail up from where you are connected to finally meeting your gaze.

Your lips meet in a frenzy as he continues to bounce you on his cock; despite your determination to do the work while on top, Boba still can't help but thrust into you from below and guide your body through the sheer strength of his hands. Like old lovers do, your bodies find their release together.

"I like this dress shop," Boba says through heavy breaths.