#maybege writes

Sitting in the hospital bed, you tried to pass the time by ranking its comfort level. It certainly was more comfortable than the gurney in the ambulance, though the bar wasn’t high with that one. Then again, it was definitely more uncomfortable than your own bed, with his dozens of pillows and blankets and that fuzzy comforter. God, what you wouldn’t do to be able to get back to your own bed …

Your musings were interrupted by a group of doctors and nurses appearing at your bedside. The sound of the curtain being pulled back made you flinch, hurting your ears. A woman with dreadlocks pulled up on her head looked down at her tablet, clearly reading the information relayed upon arrival.

“Female, mid-twenties, sustained a head injury when, er, engaging in coitus. EMTs were called as she lost consciousness.”

You wanted to correct her that you hadn’t actually been engaging in coitus or else you could have counted this evening somewhat as a success. However, that was not a conversation to be had with the ER staff. Or anyone else, really.

The man next to her slurped from his plastic coffee cup. You frowned. Was that Dunkin Donuts? Before you could wonder whether there was a shop of them around, his entire face lit up as if she’d just told him the next coffee was on her. “Oh, you mean the virgin!”

You let your head fall back against the pillow with a groan, immediately regretting it at the sharp pain that shot through you.

The woman, clearly amused, at least tried to somehow pretend they didn’t know what he was talking about. “I’m Dr Ellis, this is Dr Shen, we’re the physicians treating you today.”

“Hello,” you waved, “Nice to meet you.”

“So,” the man sat down on the little stool, rolling towards you. He seemed very relaxed which you took as a good sign. “How are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed,” you blurted out before realizing that probably wasn’t what he had meant at all, “Dizzy. My, uh, my vision keeps blurring sometimes. I don’t know if that’s normal.”

“Did you stop bleeding?”

The hair at the back of your head was matted with blood and you tried to remember whether the EMTs had said anything to you about that. “Uh, I think so?”

Once the paramedics had arrived, the first thing they had done was wrap your head in a bandage, trying to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t a normal occurrence for you – both, being treated by medics and bleeding from your head – and they had done an amazing job at calming you down by stating that head wounds bled more than usual and that you shouldn’t worry about it. Now that you remembered that it might still be bleeding though, you worried.

“Could you lean forward for me?” Dr Shen asked, “I am going to take a look at the wound, all right?”

Nodding hurt, so you just shuffled forward, grateful for the hospital gown that covered more than the wide t-shirt Dreks had given you before the EMTs had taken you with them.   

Forcing yourself not to flinch when he peeled the bandage away, you watched Dr Ellis note things on the tablet when he said a string of words you couldn’t even pretend to understand. “You must’ve knocked your head something fierce,” the doctor said, “You will probably need stitches but I don’t see anything that’s particularly concerning now. Could you tell us how exactly you hit your head? Any symptoms you had afterward?”

Images of fumbling hands, hot breath and the murmured words of Yeah you like that, huh? flashed through your mind. Followed by the memory of how awkward you had felt when Dreks had rubbed your clit like a lottery ticket. How you had closed your eyes and imagined someone with nice hands, a slightly gentler touch and filthier words being with you there instead. And then how it all came crashing down. Literally.

Heat spread in your cheeks and your eyes fixed on the blanket. “Uh, well, it was …”

“Maybe it would be better if we had this conversation in private, hm?” Dr Ellis interjected with a pointed look at her male colleague. You appreciated her attempt to keep your privacy though all things considered, that train had departed long ago. Shaking your head no, you winced when the motion sent another wave of pain through your head, blurring your vision. Was it possible for your brain to hurt?

“It’s only a matter of time before everybody knows what happened, anyway,” you murmured, “I, uh, my … friend and I were busy lying down when his shelf got loose from the wall. It hit me right in the back of the head and I must’ve blacked out for a bit because when I came to he had already called 911.”

“Did you hit anything else?” she asked.

“Not that I know,” you answered truthfully, “Though my foot feels a bit tender. I think maybe I twisted it when I fell … off the bed.”

Both of them nodded, their faces all serious. “We’re going to keep you here for a bit to make sure it’s nothing too bad, okay?” Dr Ellis told you, though you were distracted by a new burst of action at the entrance. Someone was wheeled in a gurney, several people rushing to the new arrival.

“If you feel worse, let someone know, all right?”

And with that, they rushed to join the fray.  

*

Hours – or at least what felt like hours – passed without anything exciting happening. You were sitting on the hospital bed, tucking your feet under the blanket to keep warm and wishing more than anything for your e-reader. Your phone had given up hours ago and you were grateful that you had remembered to text you roommate what had happened so she wouldn’t declare you missing. Still, with all the excitement, there was only so much you could do to distract yourself and watching other patients suffer worse fates than you didn’t help you to calm down in the least.

Multiple cases had come and gone and Dr Ellis had come back to check on you once, making sure that your vision hadn’t worsened. Which it hadn’t – thank goodness – but your head was still pounding like you had the worst hangover of your life and you couldn’t even lie down properly.

Which is why, when the clock indicated you were approaching three a.m., you were growing restless. Just in time for some of the staff to make their rounds. You could hear the voices wander from cabin to cabin, talking to and about the patients and slowly approaching where you were sitting in –

“And don’t forget to check The Virgin in South 15”

The curtain swished away and you looked at a very handsome nurse. One you hadn’t met yet but who clearly had already heard about you. “The virgin in south 15 can hear you. “

“I, uh, oh my god, I am so sorry,” the young man apologized, clearly uncomfortable at being caught.

“Don’t worry,” your sudden bout of courage and sass dissipated as quickly as it came, “I am probably more embarrassed than you are.”

“Anyone wanna tell me how that nickname came to be?”

The voice belonged to a doctor you hadn’t seen before. Because you certainly would have remembered seeing him. You would like to say that the first thing you noticed about him was something like his eyes or his smile. But the truth of the matter was your eyes first fell onto his hands, thick, weathered, capable hands holding onto a stethoscope. Hands you would very much like to feel on your skin.

Only then did your eyes follow the line of his strong arms – the veins! – to his broad shoulders, clad in dark scrubs. And then his face.

God, his face.

You didn’t know what intrigued more, his silver eyes or his silvers curls, awakening something in you that your roommate would surely attribute to your non-existent daddy issues.

“This is Dr Jack Abbot,” Dr Shen introduced the strange man, “Our chief attending on this shift.”

Of course, he was. Someone who stood there, so sure of himself, and looked around like nothing escaped his sight had to be.

You gulped. “Hello, Dr Abbot.”

“So, what’s with the nickname?” he asked, looking at the tablet someone handed him. Others might have been offended at the lack of eye contact but you were glad for the reprieve. Glad for the few seconds it afforded you to gather your thoughts. To pretend to be a cool, casual person.

“I planned to lose my virginity today and so I met up with this guy to hook up. But before we could get to it, his shelf fell down and hit me in the head and so I was driven to the ER where I got to tell that story to at least fifteen people.”

So much for cool and casual.

Dr Abbot didn’t outwardly react to your statement. Instead, he approached you with a small flash light in his hand. “Keep your eyes open for me,” he mumbled, deep and quiet, and you found that you were very willing to do anything for him if he used that tone.

“Go on,” you muttered, blinking against the harsh light in his hand, “Make a joke. It seems I’ve been amusing the entire department with my mere existence today.”

“I would never,” the man said and oddly enough, you believed him. “You took quite a hit to the head. Was the lac closed?”

“Yup, stopped the bleeding,” someone confirmed from behind him.

The light switched off and you blinked, trying to get your eyes to work normally again. One thick finger lifted in front of your face and your cheeks burned at the thought that he probably wouldn’t have made you feel like Dreks did. He would’ve made you feel better.

“Follow my finger,” he instructed you, slowly moving it from left to right, then up and down. You did your best to do so, forcing yourself to keep your thoughts about the man at minimum. This man was working. You had just met him. And with his looks, he surely had someone waiting for him at home. It would be best to just … acknowledge that this man was very handsome and then move on.

“Good girl,” he praised you and your thighs clenched. Was anyone else here? You had genuinely forgotten with how this man – Dr Jack Abbot – had taken all of your focus on him. Ah yes, the moving on part of your plan seemed to be working great.

“Is he here?”

“Huh?”

“Your boyfriend,” the man rumbled, his hand dropping away and now he was just looking at you and why did that feel more intensive than the light, “Where is he?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

It must have been your imagination, how his mouth quirked up at one corner. Pure imagination. This was not appropriate. Or healthy. Or in any way helpful. This man was old enough to be … well certainly old enough to be none of your business.

“Well, then where is your not-boyfriend?”

“Dreks got, uh, I think he got discharged.”

At least that was what he had texted you an hour or two ago. More accurately he had texted you to text me when you’re free next, maybe we can finish what we started. Which meant that you would certainly not text him because you had no interest whatsoever to finish what you started.

“Dreks?” he asked. You could feel the warmth of his touch through the gloves. When had he put on gloves? “What kinda name is that?”

“He is an artist,” you tried to explain, swallowing at the feeling of his fingertips gentle pressing on your neck, “He deejays at some of the places downtown. He is more of an … an independent artist.”

“Never heard of him.”

“When do you go out to party?” Dr Ellis asked him, clearly teasing. It was a good sign that she felt comfortable enough to joke with him, right? No one would do that with an asshole boss. Which still didn’t explain why you cared whether he was a good boss or not. You should care more about whether he was a good doctor.

“I go out for the right people,” he dead-panned.

“Ouch,” came the instant reply for the handsome nurse.

“Do you go out?”

“Me?” you asked, caught off guard by the attention of the older man. Hard to believe you were ready to sleep with a man today when just this single question and his eyes on you threw you off. “Oh, um, not really. I – Id like to but it’s – that is, I am not – I just –“

“Could the stutter come from the head trauma?” Dr Shen asked, turning to you. The look in his eyes indicated he wanted to figure you out, to help you. Which made it even worse because clearly, there was no helping you anymore. You were beyond help. Today was just the proof. “Do you have trouble finding words? Can you blink for me?”

“Nah, she’s just shy,” Dr Abbot waved him off, his gaze still fixed on you, “No worry, sweetheart, I’ll get you out of your shell.”

And then he winked at you.

You were very grateful that you weren’t connected to a heart monitor or else the beeping would have disrupted the entire exam.

*

“All right, time for a fresh bandage,” the handsome nurse friendly smile announced, closing the curtain behind him. You caught a little glimpse from behind him. The ER was still quiet but it had gotten significantly fuller. None of that caught your attention though when you spotted the silver-haired doctor at the end of the room.

He was busy doing … something and you were busy admiring the strict lines of his face as he said something to the person next to him.

“Once you have a fresh bandage, we just wait for the test results to come back and then you should be good to go,” the nurse gathered some supplies in a metal tray and you finally spotted his name tag.

“Thank you, Mateo,” you cleared your throat, “Do, um, Could I have maybe a bit of water, too? My throat feels really dry.”

“Of course,” he disappeared for just a moment before reappearing at your bedside, a plastic water bottle in hand. You gulped it down greedily, not having realized how thirsty you had been until the cool water had hit your tongue. It did wonders to soothe the dry feeling in your mouth all the way to your stomach.

“Lean forward for me, please,” he asked you, carefully peeling back the old bandage, “Perfect.”

He worked quietly and efficiently and you didn’t even have time to worry about this feeling awkward because him leaning to the back of your head afforded you a constant view of Dr Abbot. He seemed so calm, so confident in himself, you couldn’t help but think that spending the night with him wouldn’t have landed you in the ER. (Your roommate would make a joke here about how it would have landed you in the ER because his dick was so big, it would break you.)

“All done,” Mateo announced and you blinked, trying to make sure that your face didn’t betray the thoughts you were having about his boss.

“Heard we’re all done?”

Both you and Mateo looked up at the Chief Attending that waltzed to your bed like he had plans to be here all along. Judging by the confusion on the nurse’s face, that was unusual occurrence.

“Yeah, just put a fresh bandage on,” the man confirmed, “I can have Dr Ellis check it, if –“

“No need,” Dr Abbot replied, stepping closer to you. So close, you imagined you were able to smell his cologne. “Can you sit up for me?”

Wanting to do everything in your please to please him, your legs swung out of the bed with a bit too much enthusiasm – and instantly collided with something hard and metal.

“Fuck,” you cursed, your toes curling at the pain. Your eyes landed on his leg, where your foot had met something that didn’t really feel like a warm body. How could that be possible? Maybe you had met the metal frame of the bed somehow? “How is that possible?”

Your pinkie toe throbbed. How this could hurt almost as much as a literal shelf falling on you, you would never understand. Your hand gripped the bedsheet tightly, trying to power through the pulsing pain until it ebbed away.

Dr Abbot didn’t move from where he stood right next to you. You watched as his hand lifted the hem of his scrubs. You would have appreciated a comment or something to explain why exactly he wanted to show off his footwear to you. The sneakers looked comfortable and worn, a good choice for a hospital, you guessed, but how had that anything to do with –

Oh.

He was wearing a prosthetic. You had met the metal of the prosthetic.

“Sorry, didn’t want to step on your toes,” you apologized, “I, um, can I say it’s because this whole night is an absolute disaster and I normally am way better with words?”

“You can,” he nodded, walking around your bed to check something. When he didn’t limp or show any outward signs of pain, you let out a small breath of relief. The last thing you had wanted to do was hurt him. But with how broad he looked in his scrubs, you doubted that this was a man easily hurt. He had the whole fuck around and find out mentality down to a T and you wondered whether he was the kind of man to playfully punish you. If he was the kind of man you could start teasing only to end up over his knees, sobbing and coming all over his –

“Though there are no toes to step on, necessarily.”

It took you an embarrassingly long moment to realize that the dryness of his voice reflected a humour that was just as dry. When you didn’t say anything, he looked up at you, his mouth forming a little smile that told you he was joking.

A nervous giggle escaped your mouth and you let him guide your head forwards as he inspected the bandage. Good thing, too, because it allowed you to not have to look into anyone’s eyes. Just at your fiddling hands in your lap. And Mateo’s footsteps leaving your little square in the ER.

“Oh god, I really put my foot in it, huh?”

Silence.

“Oh for fucks sake,” you cursed yourself and the older man laughed. A warm sound that immediately made you crave hearing it again. “I am so sorry, Dr Abbot.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” the man told you, “Though considering the day you’ve had, you can call me Jack.”

“Dr Jack.”

“Just Jack.”

“Just Jack,” you repeated quietly,

“Bet that’s not how you saw your night going, huh?”

“Pretty much,” you huffed, “It – yeah, no.”

Finished with whatever he was checking at the back of your neck, he walked back to your front. His bare hand ran up your forearm, gentle gripping your elbow until you had stretched your arm towards him. “See it that way, maybe that shelf saved you from some awkward experience.”

“It was already awkward,” you admitted in a mumble, watching as his thumb gently traced the vein on the inside of your arm, “It wasn’t … it wasn’t supposed to be good anyway. it was just supposed to get done. And now I am still a virgin, the entertainment for an entire ER and I am not even dressed in my own shirt.”

The frown was clear on his face. Had you revealed too much? Something about the late or early hour in this place with fluorescent lighting that reminded you of a much-worse airport waiting area, had your tongue loose and your heart open. You could tell this man anything, you would never see him again anyway.

“That’s an interesting attitude to have towards sex,” the older man stated, “Wanna tell me more about it?”

I want to tell you everything.

“Virginity is a social construct,” you replied, “I know it’s supposed to be not a big deal but if you’re trying to date, then it somehow is because they all think just because I am a virgin I want to marry them. And it’s … it’s a little scary, too, in a way. To trust someone else with your pleasure and being responsible for theirs in return. So, I just,” you sighed, a long breath escaping your lungs, “I wanted it to be done with. It’s awkward anyway so that way I don’t have to share it with a person I am trying to impress.”

He made a non-committal sound but it still had your hackles rising. “What?”

“Maybe I’m too old for this,” he shrugged, “But sounds to me like it can be a big deal. Big enough that you shouldn’t just give it up to anyone.”

Reminding yourself that he was currently examining you, you forced yourself not to pull away from his touch. But the frown on your face couldn’t be hidden. “I am not giving it up to just anyone,” you protested, “And even if I were, it’d be none of your business.”

His eyes jumped to yours and he didn’t say anything. Which was somehow worse because you were pretty sure he could read your thoughts.

“You are right,” he said finally, voice quiet and serious, “It is none of my business.”

Instantly you missed the little bit of banter you just had. You wanted to hear him laugh again, or talk, or anything really. Anything but this awkward silence.

“So, I guess your not-boyfriend won’t get the chance of a repeat performance?”

The dry delivery made laughter burst out of you. “Hell no,” you laughed, wincing. There was a brightness in his eyes that your heart tried to match at the sight of him smiling. You had the very unhelpful thought that you hoped the next guy you would meet up with was more like him. Or, even better, him.

“I guess I will try to find someone the old-fashioned way.”

He tilted his head, his hands pausing on your wrist. “Going out?”

“Apps,” you deadpanned and kept the thought of raising the acceptable age range to yourself.

“Look at you, making jokes,” he rumbled, “Must be feeling better already.”

“It only hurts when I move too fast,” you offered.

“I fear that won’t be going away quite so soon,” he stepped away and you instantly missed his touch, “But once the test results are back, you can at least go home.”

Someone shouted for him and you watched his face harden. “Gotta go, sweetheart,” he murmured, nodding at you before leaving you alone in your bed, wondering if he called all his patients that.

*

You had accepted your fate of forever remaining in the ER when Dr Ellis appeared before you. With the tablet in her hands, she announced that “Your tests are all clear. You can go home now.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, feeling momentarily overwhelmed at the prospect of being able to just … leave now. This limbo between night and day, cut off from anything that went on outside these hospital walls, almost felt comforting to you now. Once you got home, you would have to face the fact of just how disastrous this whole night had actually turned out to be.

She handed you a little bottle of pills. “Take these twice a day with a glass of water, try to avoid screens if you can,” she instructed you, “and there is a set of scrubs you can pick up at central, just to have something to cover yourself with. Do you have anyone coming to pick you up?”

“Um, yeah,” you lied, though technically it wasn’t a lie. The bus driver was someone who did pick you up – and several other people taking public transportation. At least it was early (or late?) enough that the morning rush timetable was already active and you didn’t have to wait an hour for the bus.

“How can I help you, doll?” a red-haired nurse asked you, mustering you from behind her glasses.

“Uh, Dr Ellis said there is a pair of scrubs I could pick up to cover up …” you trailed off, gesturing to the oversized shirt you were wearing.

It must have rung a bell with her because she nodded, turning around. “Of course, let me just –“

“Here.”

You looked to the left, where out of nowhere Dr Abbot had appeared, holding a pair of black scrubs. “They should fit you well enough,” he commented, his eyes roaming over your body, lingering on your legs and you could feel your ears burn. Did he like what he saw? Did he even look to see if he liked it or was he just … checking you for injuries?

“Thank you, that’s kind,” you smiled, taking the pile of fabric from him. His fingers brushed yours and your hand twitched – as did his mouth.

Before you could say anything else to cover the fact that you were way too attracted to a man you hadn’t spent a lot of time with, your stomach let out a loud rumble.

“God, I’m starving,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your belly, “Sorry, don’t mind me. It’s just … “

“It’s been a long night,” he finished the sentence for you, nodding while he turned to survey the room. For a second, you were afraid that he was looking for a reason to leave. The next important case that demanded his attention. But he remained standing right in front of you and that made your heart skip a beat.

“And not the kind I wanted,” you snorted.

Dr Abbot mustered you up and down. Again. And this time you couldn’t keep yourself from squirming. To hell with it, you would never see him again anyway and you had had the longest night of your life in the worst possible way. So what if he realized he caused something in you? By the time his shift was over, he would forgotten about you already.

(You tried to ignore the sharp tug at your heart at that thought.)

A small card, gripped between thick fingers, was held out to you and you took it without thinking too much of it. That is, until you actually read what was written on it.

Dr Jack Abbot MD

Chief Attending, PTMC

And then 10 little numbers scribbled on the paper.

“My number,” he clarified, “In case you want to try again with someone who knows what he’s doing.”

Oh, you had no trouble believing that. What you still couldn’t believe was that your friend was dating one of them but you bit your tongue. The day Chants had come home, grinning from ear to ear and waving a scrap of paper with a scrawled number on it, you had not expected it to lead you here, five months later. Right into an empty hallway of the ice hockey rink.

It was time to officially meet Din Djarin, the man your friend called his boyfriend. Secretly, you had questioned whether immediately after a home game was the right moment to be introduced to a strange alpha. Then again, you were pretty sure there was never a “right” moment to meet a strange alpha, especially not one who regularly got into brawls on the ice. But Chants was so happy and despite your TK, you wanted to support your friend.

Besides, you had never been to an ice hockey game before and it was a very fun experience. You had to google most of the rules of the game while it was happening and you had lost sight of the puck more than a few times but the crowd around you was full of energy and you loved to see Chants’ proud smile whenever his boyfriend held the goal.

It had almost let you forget your anxiety about meeting some new people.  

“You know when we get married, we are going to many more games,” Chants commented just as you were fiddling with the tiny jewellery bags in your hands.

Oh my stars what?

“I found a ring in his pocket,” he laughed at the shock on your face, “And I think he is getting ready to pop the question.”

Before you could say anything else (such as “Are you sure it’s the right decision to get engaged after five months of dating?”) the door to the locker rooms opened and you were hit with a wave of alpha scents so strong, your eyes started to water. It was not like you had never met an alpha before but you had curated your life to include many good and wonderful friends and sometimes a boyfriend. And none of them happened to an arrogant prick of an alpha who disturbed your peaceful bubble with hope of finding your true mate.

One after another, different hockey players filtered out of the room, freshly showered and wearing some very comfortable looking sweats. They acknowledged you and your friend with a nod but none of them stopped to chat with you and none of them seemed to be the ones you were waiting for. You knew what Din looked like from Chants’ many Instagram posts and you had seen the headshot of player #87 (Vizsla) on the ice today. Yet, as time passed, you grew more and more nervous.

This was important to your friend and if things were progressing as Chants expected, you soon would spend much more time with Din and his friends. So you needed to get off to a good start with both these men and make a good first impression. It did not help that you were a nervous wreck and that you were sure your anxiety was already colouring your scent but you were sure you could put on a nice smile and keep your hands from shaking. That had to be enough-

The door opened again and Din Djarin stepped out. The man was just as handsome as Chants had described him, his dark hair wet from a fresh shower and a serene smile on his face as he spotted his boyfriend.

“Hi, babe.”

Chants practically melted next to you and you could not blame him.

A kiss later, Din’s attention shifted to you and you introduced yourself with a steady voice and a strong smile (you would count this was one of your greater achievements this week). “I, uh, Chants mentioned you liked the chain I gifted him for his birthday so I got a similar one for you.”

You handed him the pouch. “That is very kind, thank you,” he said, the gold jewellery falling into his wide palm. The lady from the small jewellery store around the corner had been overjoyed when you had returned to re-buy the gift you had gotten Chants and you could not wait to tell her that the other two recipients had liked her work as well.

“I got one for your friend, too,” you tacked on, “Chants mentioned that it is some kind of good luck thing for you two?”

“Really? That is awesome. Vizsla, you hear that?”

A tall man – taller than anyone you had ever seen – turned around from where he was talking to another group of players and your breath caught in your throat. This man was nothing compared to the little picture they had shown on the video cube.

Player #87, Paz Vizsla, approached you and it was like your body experienced a glitch. Not only was he incredibly tall. He was broad, too. Would he even fit through a normal doorway? How did he hold his entire body on just some thin skates? That should not be possible.

Words got stuck in your throat as your eyes roamed over his frame. He was wearing grey sweatpants that made your cheeks heat and his black t-shirt was not loose enough to hide how it was straining over his shoulders and there was a shadow of stubble on his jaw and his hair was curling at the ends, still wet from his shower and –

The scent of pinewood slammed into you suddenly, your heart stopped for a second. And then another. And another. In fact, your heart stood still for so long, panic began to creep in that you were having a heart attack. Was that what it felt like? Weren’t you too young to experience a cardiac event like this? It would be so embarrassing to die the moment you were introduced to the new people in Chants’ life.

And then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, your heart started beating again and everything had realigned to be focussed on just him.

Your fingers felt numb. Could it be … was this what your parents had always talked about when they told you about their first meeting? True mates were rarer these days but not unheard of and maybe he had felt it, too, this shift and fuck, was this your alpha?

It certainly felt like it.

Paz Vizsla came to stand in front of you, his face betraying nothing while you could not hide your excitement and nervousness. You wondered whether he had felt it, too, this shifting of the universe and whether your scent was just as tantalizing to him as his was to you. This time, there was no stopping the tremor in your hand as you waved at him.

“Hi,” you smiled shyly, “I am, um, I’m Chant’s friend.”

“You’re my,” he frowned, the slight shake of his head brought drops of water to the strands of his hair, one of them landing on his cheek, “You’re an omega.”

You had never heard someone sound so hostile and your smile froze on your face. “Uh, yeah?” you held oud the little pouch, “I got you the same chain as Din. Chants mentioned it is a superstitious thing?”

The chain tumbled into his large and you caught a glimpse of his tattooed hands. Of course, he had tattooed hands. Of course. His frown deepened as he eyed the simple gold chain. “I only wear silver.”

You hated that your heart cracked a bit at his obvious rejection. “Oh, um, okay. It’s just a gift, you don’t have to wear it, of course. It’s just –“

You were very much aware that you were rambling. But you weren’t prepared for the fact that he would simply turn around mid-sentence and leave you without another word. Shame burned through you and you did not know how to deal with someone so … insultingly hot and rude at the same time.

At this point, the best thing would probably have been to turn around as well and join Din and Chants even though they looked like they were in their own little bubble. But apparently you were a glutton for punishment because you watched Paz Vizsla re-join the group of players.

“Who was that?” another player eyed you, obviously interested, “Your stress relief for the night?”

“Nah,” Vizsla growled, “Just another desperate omega trying to get a sniff. Mind your business, Berenson.”

Your fists clenched and you tried to ignore the burning in your eyes and chest. Never before had you felt this humiliated and it had taken Paz Vizsla just three sentences to make you feel like the stupidest person in the whole wide world.

Shifting your focus to your friend, who seemed ready to leave, you walked away from the alpha and spared him no glance and no more thoughts.

Paz Vizsla was a jackass and you would happily live your life without ever having to talk to him again.

*

Alcohol made you do stupid things.

Like that time you had almost booked one-way tickets to the other end of the world because you and Chants thought you could totally make a life for yourself there.

Or like agreeing to a juvenile game of seven minutes in heaven at a house party of some of Chants’ hockey friends and landing in a small, enclosed space with none other than Paz fucking Vizsla.

The latter being slightly more recent than the former. Like currently happening recent.

You had done a good job avoiding the tall alpha until now and you were pretty sure it was because he put just as much effort in it as you did. But the empty bottle Din had spun to the cheers of what felt like everyone in the house had picked the two of you because, clearly, the universe wanted to test you.

Which was how you found yourself pinned to the wall of the empty closet by none other than Paz Vizsla. His hand was at the base of your throat and there was tension thrumming between the two of you that you really could not explain. The loud bass from outside made your ears hurt and the short hem of your dress itched against your thighs.

“Aw, little omega,” the alpha rumbled and you hated how it made your stomach flutter. How had a simple heated exchange led to this already? “Did you miss me?”

“Never,” you bit out through gritted teeth. Your palms were flat against the wall behind you. Because you liked the cold of the wall, not because you wanted to keep yourself from touching him (or ripping the shirt off his body so you could finally find out whether the tattoos on his knuckles had any companions).

“Tell that to your pussy,” he teased you, the tip of his nose running over your cheek “She’s wet as a fountain. I can smell her from here, omega.”

Other, more mature people, might admit that the grin on his face made him look softer, more handsome, than before. You could only think that he looked evil. Positively menacing.

Which didn’t explain why your pussy clenched at his proximity.

“I despised you the moment I saw you,” you hissed up at him, “And I will never ever grow to like you, Paz Vizsla. Of that you can be sure.”

His eyes blazed and you swallowed heavily. If you did not know any better, you would have said there was reluctance in his movements away from you. That his forehead gently touched yours for a moment before he pulled away. That his fingers brushed over your scent gland and down your chest briefly before his touch left you. That his eyes softened when he took in your heaving chest.

It was all just alcohol-induced imagination, though.

“Good,” he rumbled, “Because if you know what’s best for you, omega, you better stay far away from me.”

*

You told yourself that you didn’t listen to him out of spite and not because some pathetic needy part in you craved his proximity like you weren’t the first omega in history to be rejected by their true mate.

It was like you could neither live with or without him. With wasn’t an option, clearly, with how he glared at you every time he spotted you in the ranks. Without wasn’t an option either because if you went a few days without seeing him, something ached in your chest so strong, you went to the doctors the first few times it had happened.

When the realization sunk in that it was heartache, the humiliation had followed soon after and now you were like an addict, getting your fill of Paz Vizsla every few days even though you knew it was wrong and would only make his rejection hurt more in the long run.

Chants had made it his personal mission to merge his and Din’s social circles and that meant that Paz Vizsla saw you way more often than he wanted to. And he let you know that every time (until Din pulled him away at one dinner and had some very strict words with him from the looks of it) until your heartache was accompanied by a pit of anxiety each game you attended. Your best friend had even started carrying your go-to headache medication "just in case”.

You wanted to say you hated Paz. You wanted to hate him for the glares he sent your way or how he teased you about your “boringly safe” desk job more than once. But the truth was you hated how you could not bring yourself to hate him.

You hated how he never made any attempts to talk to you or how he blocked yours but then grumbled at the waiters when they got your order wrong and you were too shy to say anything. You hated how he mocked you when Chants mentioned you hadn’t expected the ice rink to actually be cold but then a dark blue and white scarf was delivered to the seat you usually occupied.

You hated how when Chants walked into the café you met at for brunch with a raised left hand, showing off his engagement ring, your first thought was that you would get to see more the infuriatingly hot alpha. The other women around you (WAGS, you had learned, wives and (girl)friends) started to squeal excitedly and the other guests looked at the giant group hug that refused to let go off each other.

“Congratulations!” you laughed, sitting back down, everyone’s eyes on him.

“It was the most romantic proposal,” Chants gushed, taking a sip from his mimosa, “He took me out to the restaurant we went to for our first date and I thought for sure that would be the spot.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No! He took me to a museum and I thought at this hour? But turns out he booked the whole thing just for us!”

“Paz told me all about it,” Katrina, a beautiful redheaded figure skater, nodded, “Din kept brainstorming the perfect place for a proposal and Paz suggested the museum, it makes for the best pictures, doesn’t it?”

Do not focus on the pretty woman who is dating your alpha. Do not focus on –

“Hey,” a hand on yours snapped you out of your thoughts and blinked at Chants, “You with me?”

“Uh sorry, what was that?”

“He asked you if you want to be his maid of honour, silly,” Katrina laughed.

Forgotten was the heartbreak and the jealousy and the anxiety. It was all replaced by pure joy at the hopeful look on your best friend’s face and the knowledge that you could help him make the most important day in his life a reality.

“Of course,” you said, feeling tears stinging the back of your eyes, swallowing back the lump in your throat, “Of course I want to, Chants. Thank you for asking me.”

Your friend squeezed your hand, his eyes filled with the love that you felt for him. Everyone around you aww’ed and you could hear Katrina order another round of mimosas. “Here’s to our newest member!”

“Thank you, everyone,” Chants looked around, “Din and I are so happy to share this moment with you. We booked the ice rink for our unofficial engagement party next weekend and I hope you can all make it. We got a few food and drink stands, too, so even you can’t skate, there’s something to do.”

“Can you imagine living in Mandalore and not knowing how to skate?” Katrina threw her head back and laughed, “That would be so embarrassing.”

“Yeah,” you cringed, “So embarrassing.”

*

If there was one thing Chants knew how to do, it was how to throw a party. Your friend worked in event planning, after all, so there was no way that is own wedding festivities would be anything short of amazing. Starting with the engagement party.

Titled as a “lowkey get-together”, your friend and his fiancé had rented out the ice rink of the Mandalorian Minotaurs because of course they had. And to top it all off, it had been transformed into a cosy winter wonderland with lights strung across the ceilings and a little stand that offered hot beverages while music played from the speakers.

It was undoubtedly the most romantic event you had ever been to.

When Joe Berenson, one of Din’s teammates, had asked you out on a date for this exact event, you really could not believe your luck. Sure, he was not really your type and you were pretty sure that you were not his. But he was kind and funny and kept you from having to show up alone when a certain player brought a famous figure skater as his date.

Really, at this point, you were just fighting to not humiliate yourself.

Which might also be the reason why you were not on the ice, but instead on the bench, watching all the couples skate round after round, holding hands and laughing at some of the silly music choices. You could see Din twirling Chants and you smiled. Your friend deserved nothing but happiness and you were so happy to finally see him get it.

Ice flew in front of your face and you flinched as the unmistakable figure of Paz Vizsla came to a stop in front of you. He was wearing dark jeans and a green hoodie that complimented his dark hair. It should be illegal, the way his hair was a bit tousled from how fast he was skating. You wanted to do nothing more than to run your fingers through it.

“What’re you doing here?” he grinned, “Sulking cause I didn’t ask you to be my date?”

This question deserved nothing but an eyeroll. “I don’t care about your pretty ice-skating friend,” you denied, “Not everything in life is about you. Why are you even here anyway?”

“Oh, c’mon now. You can’t blame me for wanting to check on the lonely omega sitting all by herself. My date might think me an unempathetic piece of shit otherwise.”

“You are an unempathetic piece of shit.”

His eyes twinkled and you turned your head away. You didn’t want to see him in a good mood, it made your insides feel all funny despite knowing he hated you.

Praying that he might leave you in peace if you told him the truth, you took a deep breath. “I can’t skate.”

“What?”

You swallowed back the shame and focussed your eyes on his skates. You could not look up and face the obvious judgement that awaited you. Paz Vizsla was not a forgiving man and you had just given him another thing to tease you about. And yet, you repeated your confession. “I can’t skate.”

“Does Berenson know?”

“Course he knows,” you huffed, “That’s why he let me sit here in peace.”

Paz just grunted and when you chanced a glance up at him, his face was unreadable. You tried your hardest not to pay too much attention, to read too much into it, to try to decipher what he was thinking now. Because chances were high that he was thinking something unfavourable and you really were not in the mood to face your own failure.

But all he said was, “Okay then.”

And then he skated off.

You did not know why that left a worse feeling in your stomach than before. Clearly, Paz Vizsla had something that made you dizzy and flustered and warm and shiver-y and –

Shaking your head, you took a sip of your hot chocolate and did your best to forget that whole interaction. Din and Chants skated past you, hand in hand, and you smiled at the happy couple.

For a quick moment, you wondered if maybe you should try to make your way onto the ice but the thought disappeared as soon as it had occurred to you. Everyone was having so much fun and you didn’t want to bother them to get you to teach you how to skate.

Besides, so many people were constantly taking breaks and if they did, they came to join you on the bench for a quick chat. So, it wasn’t as if you were really lonely.

A pair of skates landed in front of your feet and you frowned, looking up at the alpha who had clearly thrown them for you. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you how to skate, what’s it look like?”

“I don’t need to know how to skate.”

“Maybe you don’t need to but you should know. Part of an ice hockey friend group and not knowing how to skate?” Paz shook his head solemnly, “It’s embarrassing.”

Heat filled your cheeks. It was almost exactly what Katrina had said a few days ago but there was no way he could know that. “Okay,” you muttered, “but don’t laugh at me.”

“Never, sweetheart.”

You did not believe him.

Putting the skates on was embarrassing enough, it felt foreign and the strings were worn with use. It got even worse when Paz fucking Vizsla knelt down on one knee, his hands shooing away yours. “Let me,” he asked, his voice way too gentle for how rough he usually was. You watched silently as he tied the knots for you, checking that they would hold up, before tucking them inside the skate. “Gotta have them out of the way,” he explained, “I don’t want you to fall.”

Oddly enough, there was pure honesty in his voice and when you stood up on shaky legs, he did not shy away when you gripped his forearm. No, his hand even cupped your elbow, supporting your journey to the ice. You took a few steps towards the edge but just as you were about to step on it, Paz stopped you.

“Right foot first.”

You tilted your head. Was this really the right technique to get on the ice? Was there a right technique? Your brows furrowed and you pressed your lips together. You knew you were about to embarrass yourself but you didn’t know you could already do things wrong.

Sensing your confusion, Paz’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, it’s for good luck.”

The knowledge that Paz Vizsla had superstitions made your heart flutter. How could a grown alpha like him become cute, all of a sudden?

Before you could ponder whether your face betrayed the affection you felt for him despite knowing better, you were on the ice. Immediately, your legs wobbled and you gripped the edge of the rink tightly. Some might say you were refusing to move. You would like to think you were refusing to fall. Not falling would be the baseline of success today.

But apparently not in Paz’s book.

“One foot after another. C’mon, omega,” he ran his hand through his dark curls, “What are you so terrified off, hm?”

“I am afraid of falling,” you hissed, “I – I don’t want to hit my head. I have seen enough clips of blood all over the ice, I don’t need that to happen to me today of all days, thank you very much.”

That had him silent again. Maybe this was your ticket to finally getting where you could bear his presence without the rejection burning deep in your belly – disarming honesty. If you were already aware of your flaws, it would be harder for him to make fun of you.

Clearly, that was what he was pondering at the moment. The frown on his face could not mean anything other than annoyance at your sudden ability to deal with him. He had not shaved this morning because his stubble was a bit thicker and you wondered if he ever grew it out long enough for it to be soft.

(For it to leave burns on the inside of your thighs.)

Done with whatever he was thinking about, he stretched his arm out. With his palm facing up, you could see that there was a small scar on the side and you bit back the question where he had gotten it from. You could wait out his stretch routine without trying to find out more about this stoic man.

When he did not move, not even to switch arms, you grew restless. People skated past you and he just kept looking at you. Almost as if he wasn’t stretching at all but holding out his hand. To you.

Before you could question your sanity, you reached out and grabbed it. His fingers entwined with yours instantly and you took a deep breath. You could feel the rough callouses on his palm, how his skin was dry and warm and he held on to you so securely, you almost trusted him not to let you fall.

Almost only because as soon as he started to move (and pull you with him) you gripped his hand with both of yours like your life depended on it.

“I got you, ‘mega,” he murmured, his voice warm “Slow and steady, okay?”

That was easier said than done.

But Paz Vizsla was surprisingly patient as he placed himself in front of you, holding both of your hands as he carefully skated backwards. People eyed you in passing but he did not pay them any mind and so you found yourself doing the same.

If Paz Vizsla acted like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, it probably was because nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Even when he smiled at you encouragingly as you started to mimic the movements the others made around you. Even as his thumb brushed over your scent gland, sending shivers down your spine. Even as you passed Katrina, who looked more offended than anyone, and he did not spare her a single glance.

“I won’t let you fall,” he assured you as you rounded the first corner, his eyes never leaving yours, “Trust me. I will keep you safe.”

I will keep you safe.

Why did that sound like much more than a promise?

“Chants told me you helped with the engagement,” you decided to change the topic and navigate the conversation back to neutral territory, “He was very happy. Thank you.”

“Thanking me for something? Today must be my lucky day.”

You rolled your eyes, an easy smile playing on your lips. By now, you had picked up in speed, though you were still no match to the other guests gliding across the ice with ease. But your amusement at his joke had pulled your focus away from what your feet were doing and before you knew it, you were struggling to keep yourself upright. Your skates were slipping beneath you and your arms flailed in an attempt to catch yourself on the ice.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist like a vice and you came to a standstill right against his chest. Paz Vizsla had pulled you to him, his chest pressed against yours and you could feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothes.

Stars, you hoped he couldn’t feel how fast your heart was beating from shock and from him.

“I got you,” dark eyes jumped all over your face, as if to check you for injuries, “I got you, omega. You’re okay. Breathe for me.”

It was only his instruction that alerted you to the fact that your breath had, in fact, caught in your throat. Your chest expanded as you filled your lungs with air, pressing closer to him, and your nose twitched at his familiar scent.

Being so close to him was dangerous for your heart even if your head knew he couldn’t stand you one bit.

“Good girl,” he rumbled, his hands on your waist tight, “Breathe. You’re okay. You did it, a full lap around the rink and you didn’t fall once.”

His words sunk in with a bit of a delay but when you spotted your abandoned mug of hot chocolate on the bench, you knew he was right. You had done a full round around the rink.

“I did it,” you smiled to yourself and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. Just to thank him, of course, and not because it brought your nose closer to his scent gland. And certainly not because it felt nice to have his arms wrap around you tighter, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Hey, alpha,” a smooth voice had you flinch away from him and your cheeks blazed in embarrassment as you spotted his beautiful date for the day, “Can you show me that slapshot thing you did the other game? You promised you’d teach me.”

There was a sexy pout on her face and your embarrassment morphed into something uglier at the pit of your stomach.

“Uh, yeah,” Paz’s voice sounded hoarse and his eyes were still on you, slightly hooded, “Of course.”

She took his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and your heart cracked a bit again.

“Bye, ‘mega,” he waved at you, looking back even as he was skating away from you.

Bye alpha.

May's Recommended Reading Order (and also current writing playlist)

OK Love You Bye – Olivia Dean

So Easy (To Fall In Love) – Olivia Dean

Bluest Flame – Selena Gomez

Sympathy Magic – Florence + The Machine

Man I Need- Olivia Dean

Joy – RAYE

Buckle – Florence + The Machine

I’ll Believe in Anything – Wolf Parade

The truth remained though that that’s just what this date was – a match made by your mother. And you felt the appropriate enthusiasm for it which was none at all.

That did not mean, however, that you could not be pleasantly surprised by a nice evening. When your taxi pulled up to the The Arconia, a turn-of-the-century luxury hotel that hosted weekly dances and dinners, you were still surprised that someone like Joe Berenson had it in him to plan what was essentially your dream date. 

Ever since you had moved to Mandalore, you had wanted to put on your best dress and go out dancing. While many things about life with your parents had annoyed you or even damaged you to the point where you knew you didn’t want the life they loved, you had always enjoyed your dance lessons. Getting to dance while a live band was playing in a gorgeous ballroom with your favourite dress? That was just magical.

“That looks wonderful,” you commented as Joe helped you out of the car, “I’ve always wanted to go. How did you think of it?”

“I didn’t, he did,” Joe shrugged, “And he will meet us there.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you followed him up the stairs into the hotel. Something scratched at the back of your mind, a desire for who you wanted this mysterious He to be. But you also did not want to be disappointed. Your life wasn’t a romance novel or one of those Hallmark movies you loved to watch around the holidays. Your life was just that: your life. And it was your responsibility to make sure you would get through it unscathed without any unnecessary heartbreak.

The interior of the Arconia was just as stunning as the outside and when Joe led you inside, the room was already quite crowded. The dim light from the chandeliers bathed everything in a golden light and your heart soared. This looked just like in the movies.

“So, you won’t you tell me why Coach Fett approached me after practice and threatened that if I so much as touched you I would be on the bench for the rest of the season?”

You wished you could act surprised or maybe even shocked at that statement. But you had trusted Boba when he told you he would take care of it and the thought that he would risk his involvement for you getting out in the open warmed your heart. “He did?”

Joe nodded, taking your coat from you and giving it to the staff at the entrance. “It was pretty intimidating, too. But who am I to complain, an evening of free drinks and a chance to flirt my way through Mandalore’s elite? That’s my dream right on a silver platter.”

“Wait, he is paying for this?”

“Uh-huh, said if anyone gets to invite his omega out for a fun night, it’d be him.”

His omega. His omega. His omega.

“He said that?”

The music grew louder the closer you got to the dance floor. Many couples were already dancing and the ones that weren’t were enjoying drinks and appetizers around the edge of the ballroom. The painted ceiling was just begging to be admired and maybe you could have done it, if you weren’t so busy trying to think about the fact that Boba Fett had called you his omega.

His omega.

You had never thought of yourself as belonging with someone. After all, who would want an omega with no real scent, a dysfunctional relationship to their parents and oftentimes too busy doubting herself to engage with the real world? But now that you thought of it, you realized that your heart grew larger, your skin warmer and your cheeks flushed at the thought of being Boba Fett’s omega.

“Listen, I am more than aware that I am used as a decoy here and I’ve decided to just do it for the plot but can we like … establish that he likes you?”

Snapped out of your thoughts of the handsome alpha, you looked at the one before you, feeling caught. “What are you talking about?”

“I can see it all over your face,” he made a circle motion with his finger, “And I can practically smell your questions of me elaborating whether he called you his omega – which, yes, he did – but that’s not the point I am trying to make here. I already have one lovesick alpha in my team and another one is getting married, please for all that his holy, do not bring more drama into my life by pretending like you don’t know Coach is absolutely besotted with you.”

Absolutely besotted?

Your cheeks blazed with a mix of giddiness, shame and doubt. You didn’t know what to say. After his little speech, you felt silly about asking him again if Boba had really called you that. It just seemed too good to be true.

One look at Joe’s unusually serious face had you abandon any plan of asking him about Boba.

“You should meet my friend, Maudii,” you blurted out, “I think you two would get along.”

“Give her my number, will you,” he winked at you, “And now let’s please talk about something other than my coach. I really don’t want to imagine what you two get up to in his office.”

“We don’t – nothing,” your cheeks burned and you grabbed one of the wine glasses a served offered you, trying to cool down with a sip of wine, “We get up to nothing.” Sadly.

“That’s a lie right there,” he smirked at you, “The entire team can all smell how happy he is when he sees you. But enough of that, wanna dance?”

“Really?” you could not hide your surprise this time around. Somehow, you had not expected him to actually want to dance (or even to know dancing).

The moment you stepped foot onto the dance floor, someone tapped Joe on his shoulder.

“Can I cut in?”

Boba was wearing an all-black ensemble. Black slacks paired with a black dress shirt that had the first few buttons undone. Why had it gotten so hot all of a sudden?

You took his offered hand without a word. It was so clear to you what he wanted and you had never been so grateful for this man who seemed to say everything without you having to ask. Also, you weren’t sure if you would even be able to form words. Maybe you needed a bit of fresh air. Or maybe you just needed to bury your face in his neck and play with his chest hair.

Boba was here. Boba had not only organized your date with Joe, he was actually here. Right now. Leading you into a slow dance through all these couples. His hands were touching your waist and your hand, the only things that were currently grounding you to reality.

Stars, if anyone had told you a few months ago that an alpha old enough to be your father would actually crash your date and you would be happy about it, you would have laughed. And then cried.

If only your mother could see you now.

Oh stars. Your mother.

“My – my mother,” you stuttered, your hand squeezing his as panic took hold of you, “What if she finds out? We’re in public and she will be so angry with you!”

“I have it on good authority that they are at the opera today,” he pulled you closer, his mouth on your temple as he expertly led you through the dance. You had never expected him to be such a good dancer but you didn’t even have to think about the music or the rhythm, you could just blindly follow him.

“You look stunning,” he continued quietly. You looked down at the dress you hadn’t worn since you had moved from Coruscant. It was tight across the upper part of your body but flared out from the waist which made it especially fun when Boba twirled you.

“Thank you,” you smiled, allowing yourself to relax. If your parents were at the opera, there was no chance they would go out dancing after. It just was not done. They hadn’t been long enough in Mandalore either to make connections that could report back to them about seeing you here today.

“I’d like to see you in my jersey sometime,” Boba grinned, “Or nothing at all. That would actually be even better.”

“Aren’t you too old to play?” you teased him back, “I don’t think the Raiders offer merch from retired players.”

“Who are you calling old?”

You laughed at the mock outrage on his face. His hands moved to hold onto your hips, pulling you flush against him. A gasp escaped you, your hands landing flat on his chest. He felt warm and sturdy and you wanted to tuck your fingers under his shirt.

“I may be too old to play, but I am not too old to fuck you into oblivion, princess,” he rumbled, “don’t forget that.”

“I can’t forget what hasn’t happened yet,” you bit your lip, “And I’d – I’d like for it to happen actually.”

Your heart was beating so strong you felt like it might fly out of your chest. You would fly right after it, feeling light and airy and so giddy at having said something out loud. You wanted him to fuck you. You wanted him to touch you. And you wanted him to know that.

“Like what? Use your words, little one,” he leant forward, eyes dark, “Ask nicely and I might just give it to you.”

A glance around you confirmed that no one was listening in to your conversation “I would like you to fuck me into oblivion,” you admitted in a whisper, feeling breathless, ”I – I would like you to knot me like you said in the bathroom the other day. I want to kiss you again and I want to wake up and feel sore and then do it all over again."

When people talked about remembering something for the rest of their lives, you were convinced it was hyperbole. But when Boba’s mouth descended upon yours in a breath stealing kiss, his hands holding you so close you could feel his heartbeat, before he whispered “Your wish is my command.” You were sure, this would be a night you would remember for the rest of your life.

*

“You booked a hotel room?”

“Didn’t want to risk anyone seeing us getting into my place,” he answered against your mouth, his hands playing with the buttons on the back of your dress, “And I wanted to make sure I only get the best for you.”

“That’s so sweet,” you murmured into the next kiss, stumbling back until you could feel the mattress behind your knees. Your shoes had gotten lost somewhere by the door and Boba’s shirt was lying across the armchair, enabling you to roam your hands over his chest.

“I knew it,” you murmured, “I knew it went over the front.”

“What is it, little one?” Boba asked you, his mouth planting wet kisses on your neck. Your fingers kept tracing over the design on his shoulder that stretched over his left pec. It must have hurt, the solid black design, but you somehow had the suspicion that he had just sat through it with that stoic patience of his.

Tilting your head back, you sighed as his mouth brushed over your scent gland. His scent had gotten a much sweeter note now. Vanilla, maybe? “Nothing, alpha.”

Your dress slipped past your hips with a whisper and your underwear soon followed until you were standing before him, completely bare. You usually weren’t so forward but there was something about having Boba wrapped around you, hazy from his kisses, that made you feel daring. Though not daring enough to not notice the open curtains.

“The windows …” you trailed off, watching the lit-up skyline and your reflection in the glass as Boba kissed you again. His rough hand palmed your breast, your nipples pebbling at the contact.

“No more hiding, omega,” he growled, walking you towards the bed, “I do not have the patience for it today. Let me see how pretty you look, hm? I need everyone to see how gorgeous you are for me.”

The callouses on his hands dragged over the soft skin of your hips and you shivered. There was no mistaking the wetness between your thighs at his words. “Would you like that?” he asked, his gaze dark as his fingers pinched your nipples, “Would you like everyone to know what a desperate little thing you can be for me?”

Being confronted with your own shameless fantasies wasn’t something you had expected to happen. But you also didn’t mind that his words evoked a whole new level of pleasure. “Yes,” you whispered, running your palm over his chest, arching your back into his touch, “I’d love that, alpha.”

“Good,” he growled, “Now get on the bed and spread your legs. Let me see you.”

You did as he asked without hesitation. The bed was soft and springy under your movements, and the blankets felt cool and soft. You turned your back to the headboard, settling your head on the pillow. Being all spread out for him in theory sounded incredibly hot, in practice you found yourself growing shy as you laid down, shuffling your feet apart.

His warm hand closed around your ankle, pushing it even more to the side until you were completely spread out for him. But now there was no time to feel shy when the heat in his gaze sent shivers down your skin, the wetness between your thighs steadily growing. You were sure he could see it shimmer in the dim moon light and streetlights shining through the hotel window.

Boba stood at the end of the bed in just his slacks. His chest was broad, his belly thick with the belt slightly digging into it. Fuck, he looked hot. Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as your eyes caught on the glinting watch on his wrist. This man so handsome and funny and his scent drove you insane and he wanted you. Boba Fett wanted you.

He grabbed your ankle again and you flinched at the contact, ripped out of your musings about him.

“Deep breaths, little one,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your ankle, “It’s just me. Just us.”

You nodded tentatively, “Okay.”

His hand remained on your ankle, keeping your spread as he climbed onto the bed and between your spread thighs. Your eyes never left each other and you drew comfort from the heat of his body. He looked at you, really looked at you and your heart calmed down.

Suddenly, everything grew quiet. Inside and out.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his hands slowly pushing your legs up and apart, “so pathetically wet just for me.”

From someone else, it might have been an insulting comment. Something meant to discourage you. But from Boba’s lips, it came as praise. Something that made you feel precious.

Before you could say anything else, he bent down, his mouth landing on your pussy. Your back flew off the mattress instantly, his tongue swiping over your folds and a groan coming from his chest so deep, you felt it in your bones.

Your hands twitching, seeking something to hold onto and finding only the cotton sheets beneath you.

“Oh fuck,” he grunted, “You taste delicious, omega.”

His rough tongue dragged over your clit, making you shiver. “Boba!”

“Is my girl close?” he asked, putting his hand on your lower stomach, gently pressing down as he pushed a finger inside you with the other. “You look like you want to come so bad for me, your hands are just gripping those fancy sheets.”

“Yes,” you gasped, “Yes, I want to come, I – I am so close, alpha, please –“

“Good. Then play with your tits.”

You were thinking too long about it, though, because Boba’s mouth disappeared from your pussy, leaving you aching. “C’mon, little one, pinch your pretty nipples. I can’t do it, I gotta hold you open and play with that pretty clit of yours. You just need a little bit more, hm?”

There was very little you wouldn’t do if he told you to. Putting your hands on your chest, therefore, was just as easily done as it was said. Your nipples felt rock-hard as you carefully circled them, teasing yourself with featherlight touches before rolling them between your fingertips.

“Harder.”

You pinched harder, the pleasure mixing with pain that had your back arching and your pussy fluttering. Boba must have noticed because another finger sank inside you, crooking slightly as he sought out a spot that had your muscles tensing.

“Good girl,” he mouthed at your inner thighs, looking up at you from between your legs, “You take instructions so well. I wonder how well you take my cock.”

“Really well,” you assured him, your words frantic as pleasure took over, “Really well, Boba, I promise.”

“Then come for me so I can see for myself, hm?” He hummed, the vibrations on your clit making you see stars as you reached your peak.

Boba pulled back, his face focussed on where you were still clenching around nothing as wave after wave of pleasure ran through you. He looked very smug, and way too sexy, considering how dishevelled you felt. His mouth was glistening with your juices and even in the throes of climax, you still felt like you couldn’t get enough of him.

Your knees were still angled toward your chest, your pussy aching, when Boba’s hands started to undo his belt. It was too dark to see the details but you knew what he looked like and the thought of finally having him inside you paired with the sound of his pants hitting the floor, had your breath catching in your throat.

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since you caught me in the shower,” he confessed, his hands moving up and down, “I wanted to bend you against the tile and take you right there. Ruin you for anyone but me.”

“I wanted that too,” you whispered, “I still want that.”

Boba climbed over you, his weight settling between your hips, his mouth brushing against yours. Your breaths were mingling and you lifted your arms, wrapping them around his neck to keep him as close as possible. “Keep your legs open … yeah that’s good,” the push of his cock inside you made you hiss with the stretch, your body straining to accommodate him, “That’s a good girl for me.”

“Uh-huh,” you whimpered, “Give me a minute, I – you –“

His body stopped moving, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort. Only when you nodded did he push in another inch, slowly, slowly, until there was no air left in your lungs and your pussy was fuller than it had ever been.

“I’m big I know,” he kissed you softly, slowly straightening up until he was kneeling between your legs. “You*re doing such a good job for me, princess, taking all of me.”

When he started to move, you already knew it wouldn’t take long for you to come apart on his cock. He was thick and long and his thrusts had your walls constantly adjusting around him. You would never quite get used to him and that was exactly what you seemingly needed. Your head rested back against the pillow, letting the older man fuck into you with no restraint.

Boba’s fingers rubbed your clit just so, causing your eyelids to flutter. Your legs started aching, trembling. There was nothing you could do but whine into the hot air between you. Boba filled you so completely, it was hard to imagine ever not feeling empty when he wasn’t inside you.

“Aww,” he tutted, his hand cupping your cheek, “Look at you, princess. You’re taking it so well for me. Your hole feels so fucking good. You like being a fleshlight for me, don't you?”

Caught somewhere between shaking your head, nodding eagerly and finding your words, all you managed to do was whine, fighting to keep your eyes open and on him. Boba looked down at you with an intensity that already had you on the edge of coming on his cock.

“Don't be so quiet,” he winked at you, “You sound so good when I'm inside you. So fucking perfect. You're so good at being my dumb little toy.”

Your walls clenched around him at his words, your belly fluttering. A warning sign of what was to come. Or rather who.

“Go ahead,” he mocked you, “You know what to do, little one. Ask me if you can come.”

You pouted, tears threating to spill over your cheeks from overstimulation. He had already fucked you through it once but you could feel it crest again and of course he could, too. His cock drove into you, again and again, hitting a spot that would make you see stars.

“P-please, alpha,” you gasped, “Please can I come?”

“Oh, you’re such a good girl for me, so polite,” he leant forward, his chest pressed against yours until you were properly folded in half. His thumb tugged at your bottom lip in a gesture that was kind of mean but also way too hot for you to complain about, “Yeah, you can come. Come all over my cock, princess. Makes it easier for you to take my knot, hm? And that’s what you want, isn’t it? My thick cock isn’t enough, you want my come and my knot locking it in, huh?”

You were pretty sure your eyes glazed over as yet another climax crashed over you. Your eyes rolled back in your head and for a few second, you only saw blinding white, your fingers gripping him tighter to make sure you were still here. That this was real.

What certainly was real was the sound of him groaning, his shaft pulsing inside you as he came. Something caught at your entrance and your eyes flew open. His knot. That was his knot growing inside you.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, “Prettiest pussy I ever came in.”

He was still coming though. He filled you and filled your until you were sure it had no other chance but to spill out of you and the thought made you clench, wanting to not lose any piece of him. Thankfully, you did not have to worry about it. His knot was thick enough to keep it all inside.

Both of you completely out of breath, Boba first kissed your lips and then your cheek. You nuzzled into him, craving his touch even more now. Your legs were still trembling on his shoulders and you could feel a numbness starting in your thighs. As if he could sense it, Boba’s hand ran from your hip over the side of your legs, gently pushing it from his shoulder and wrapping it around his hip.

Rolling onto his side, he took you with him and you sighed in relief. Your back was sticky with sweat and the cool air over the skin paired with Boba’s heat to your front soothed you.

“Can we stay like this?” you asked into the quiet, “Can we just … stay?”

“Of course,” he murmured against your forehead, “Anything you want, omega.”

*

Three days later you were kneeling on sticky vinyl flooring, your knees aching from the position, your hands gripping tightly onto fabric and your mouth full of cock.

Boba’s groan was quiet, as if he was biting into his hand, and it only spurred you on further. Your throat ached with the fullness of him and you tried to swallow, your throat constricting around his shaft.

“Fuck, you look so good like that,” he rumbled, his other hand finding the back of your head, gently guiding your forward, “Can you take me deeper, princess? I know you want to. Always so eager to impress, hm?”

You surged forward again, relishing in the heavy feeling of him on your tongue. You knew you most likely looked a mess. There was spit on your chin, threatening to drop into the neckline of your blouse and you were pretty sure your mascara was doing overtime not to smear over your cheeks. None of it bothered you.

The past 72 hours had just been full of … him. Every waking moment you had, you had spent with him. After your night in the hotel, Boba had taken you out for breakfast and a walk in the park before dropping you off at your apartment where Maudii had bombed you with countless questions. By the time lunch rolled around, you had started missing him and he seemed to feel the same because he had texted you then.

When dinner came, so did you – on his mouth.

Saying goodbye this morning was only bearable because you knew you would see him again in time for the game. You had not quite expected to grow so needy for him, desire pulsing through your veins, but when you entered his office, the call sheet for the press interviews in hand, you just needed to see him roll up his sleeves in order to fall to your knees for him.

“My my, you really enjoy this, huh?” he teased you, “My sweet little omega loves to choke on some fat cock any chance she gets. Who would’ve thought? Certainly not my team outside or the press waiting for their interview. They have no idea how starved you are for pleasure, hm?”

Shame burnt your cheeks but the truth of his words made your thighs clench. You took him even deeper, past that point in your throat that usually made you gag. But the sound that left him at that had your eyes flutter closed. There was nothing you would ever enjoy as much as bringing him pleasure.

Boba came with a groan down your throat. Salty, thick spurts of come that you swallowed down as best you could. Both because you wanted to and because you needed to make sure to leave as little evidence of your impromptu rendezvous as possible.

His hands scooped you up under your elbows, gently helping you stand even when your knees protested.

“Thank you,” he grumbled, “I needed that.”

His voice was gentle and soft – so unlike his gruff attitude on game days – and you leaned into him. Boba stood up, immediately wrapping you in a tight hug that had your breath even out and your eyes closing for a few sweet moments. Right now, you could still pretend that everything was just as it should be. That the world outside couldn’t touch you, not when you were in the safety of Boba’s arms.

Your nose twitched. There was that sweet scent again, the vanilla one. Could a person’s smell change? You really enjoyed Boba’s coffee scent, though, would vanilla even fit him?

“Win for me today,” you whispered, brushing your mouth against his, “Please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” his hand squeezed your hip, “If we win today I might become superstitious. Gotta have you in my bed before every game day then.”

You grinned up at him, “Could imagine worse things.”

*

Boba Fett considered himself a patient man. A man in control. More than once had he been praised for his strategic thinking, the way he kept a cool head in a chaotic game or how no question in a press conference caught him off guard. It was something he had learned from his father and perfected it with every year in the league.

Now with his job on the side lines of the game, it became more important than ever to make sure that he would keep calm while his players lost their minds on the ice. He was the captain steering the ship and no ship could use a captain that would spin the wheel based on the emotion of the hour.

There was nothing that could happen that would cause him to lose his cool.

He might have to make an exception for your parents though.

How he had ended up sitting in the owner’s box with you and your parents, he had no idea. His best guess was that he had seen you up there and his heart had pulled up him up the five flights of stairs, despite knowing that he wouldn’t get to touch you or speak to you in front of them.

That had not prepared him for how miserable you looked.

“I heard that one of our players is being awarded for his community engagement,” his boss – your father – mentioned absentmindedly, scrolling on his phone.

Boba nodded, his jaw tight. “Paz Vizsla. He’s a good one, this recognition from the community means a lot to him.”

“Means a lot to us as well,” your father muttered, looking up from his phone to you, “Is the press department doing something with that?”

“Uh, yeah, I thought we could do a post on the –“

Your father shook his head as if he just had an idea of its own. As if you hadn’t said anything at all. “I will ask Pete at our next meeting. Maybe someone can go to the awards ceremony to cover it. It’s important to capitalize on good press.”

Seeing your shoulders fall and your eyes dim was the worst sight in the world. His hands clenched into fists and he took a deep breath. He missed the vanilla scent. Now all he got as was cold air, full of people that weren’t you. 

“I think you should come, too, darling,” your mother turned to you, “Don’t you think? Meet some new faces. Some new connections might just be what you need!”

Stars above, how much longer could he manage to just sit there without yelling at them to just open their eyes and see you for the wonderful person that you were? It was crystal clear what she meant by new connections and he had half a mind to assure her that you needed no connections at all because you had met him and he intended to spend the rest of his life making you happy. Something that they very clearly had not prioritized yet.

Your eyes met his for just a second. Yet it was long enough to see your sadness and even a little bit of frustration.

“I already went out with Berenson and it was nothing, mom,” you reminded her, “Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, hush now,” she tutted, “You enjoy dancing, too, and I am sure there will be lots of dancing there. Mr Fett has surely been there a few times and can confirm that it’s lots of fun. Right, Mr Fett?”

It was difficult to hide his smile when the older woman looked at him imploringly. Like they were both on the same team to get you to the awards ceremony. And technically, they were. Just for very different reasons.

“Yeah, I will go next week, too,” he looked at you, careful to keep his voice neutral, “It’s lots of fun for the younger people and there is dancing every time.”

At younger people, he spotted you squirm and his smile evolved into a full-on smirk then. There was little that brought him as much joy as flustering you. It offered a hint of the real you, a look behind the mask you so carefully put on in front of people you didn’t want to disappoint.

Somewhere along the line, it had become his mission to get you to drop that mask for him. There was no way you could disappoint him. He knew that. Now he just needed you to know that.

“Very well then,” you murmured, though he could smell the faint hint of vanilla, “I will go to that ceremony if it’s so important to you, mom.”

“See!” your mother clapped her hands, “Was that so hard, darling? Now if you would excuse us, Mr Fett, we have a dress to buy.”

And he could not wait to see you in it.

This stunt was not to impress or appease your parents though, this much you had to admit. It was to impress Boba. The alpha had snuck his way into your mind and heart and nestled himself somewhere between the constant want to prove yourself and the debilitating self-doubt and had added a helpful sprinkle of low-key constant arousal whenever he was near.

But from how he had touched you the past few dates or the tone of his messages to you, it did not seem like he would be opposed to that. You had never felt so lucky, holding the attention of a man such as him. It terrified you to no end – the thought that it was something you could lose – but it also made you feel like you could soar over all expectations, self-imposed or otherwise.

Who needed approval when you could have Boba Fett?

A hand snatched around your wrist and you squeaked as you were dragged backwards into … a bathroom?

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” you laughed as a broad hand pushed the door close behind you.

“Why, when it’s so much fun?” Boba smiled at you. He looked happy, younger, even. Like the permanent scowl that was etched on his face during a game was replaced by something much softer. Something just for you.

“Saw you outside and there is no way I can just say hello without doing this,” his hand cupped your cheek and your eyes closed before his mouth landed on yours. It started as a light kiss, a soft press of his mouth against yours. But when your hands interlocked at the nape his neck, pulling him closer, he pressed you against the door, his weight and heat making that familiar ache between your thighs flare up.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered just as you caught your breath, “Has anyone told you yet that already?”

You thought for a moment. “My mom said the lipstick is okay with the dress. Does that count?”

It was meant as a joke but your heart still hurt at the fact that, actually, no one had told you that you looked nice today. No one expect for the man in front of you.

Boba’s eyes darkened and there was that furrow between his brows that signalled the coming of the scowl. Without thinking about it, you raised your hand and smoothed your thumb over it until his muscles relaxed and he just … looked at you.

“Well, you do look gorgeous,” he reiterated, his voice leaving no room for questions, “Much too beautiful for an old man like me.”

“I happen to like that old man,” you whispered, leaning forward until you could kiss him again. This time, your mouths opened against one another and it did not take long for his tongue to stroke inside you, stealing your breath.

“You’re really out here letting a man old enough to be your father kiss you, hm?” he nipped at your bottom lip, the slight sting making the dampness in your panties grow, “I wonder what daddy dearest would say if he could see you now.”

No good things would come out of your father’s mouth, of that you were sure. You were also sure that you could not bring yourself to care about your parents’ sentiments regarding the matter. Not when you were in Boba’s arms. Not when you had his scent in your nose, letting your body know that everything would be alright.

When his teeth scraped over your scent gland, scentless as it might be, you broke out in a full-body shiver, your eyelids fluttering. “Please, alpha …”

“Please what?” his mouth, “Remember, little one, gotta use your words.”

“Please come in me. I need – I need something,” you bucked your hips against him, cursing the shapewear you had put yourself in for this dress, “I need you.”

“I’m too big for you now, princess,” his mouth hovered by the spot just underneath your ear, “Later, though, later you’ll get my knot just like you need.”

Your back arched against him. The satin silk of your dress had quickly turned from cool and flowy to making you feel hot and sweaty. Or maybe it was Boba’s effect on you. Either way, you wanted to get this dress off and you hated that you couldn’t.

Boba stepped away from you, his eyes clearly wandering from your shoes to the top of your head.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he smiled, the lines by his eyes crinkling, “You look just really really beautiful, omega.”

His compliment made your heart skip a beat and suddenly, the luxurious, spacious bathroom wasn’t spacious enough to hold all the feelings you were feeling. “We, uh, we should probably go.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his eyes still gazing at you, “We probably should.”

Although you had not spent a lot of time in your little escape, once you re-entered the festivities, everything seemed much louder and much more crowded. It had you step into his side, trying to become invisible to the dozens of athletes, journalists and other people who seemed to be important enough to be there. You didn’t care about any of them, you just wanted to stay by Boba’s side.

Gathering your courage, you looked up at him. “Do you think we could dance?”

His eyes fell to where a few other couples were already dancing in front of the makeshift stage. “I think it is only polite that I ask an unaccompanied single woman for a dance,” he shrugged and sent you a wink that had your heart skipping a beat.

You found your rhythm immediately. One hand gently held yours, the other landed on your waist and then he guided you through the dance. Neither one of you spoke but you didn’t need to. You knew you could only have this one dance if you didn’t want to awake your parents’ suspicions and so your time was limited. Very limited.

“I remember I got one of those shortly after my retirement,” Boba mused, “I had to limp up the stage, my injury was still fresh. But I looked at this room full of people and thought You have no idea what it’s like.”

“And now you’re here,” you replied, daring to rest your cheek on his chest.

“And now I am here,” he confirmed, “And I realize … They did have an idea what it’s like. We all do.”

There were questions you wanted to ask him, more things you wanted – needed – to know about him. How he had gotten into hockey. How he had felt, the first time he was named captain. How he knew it was the time for him to retire. Would he have played longer if the injury hadn’t happened?

But the moment to ask one or all of these questions was taken from you by the music stopping and some people stepping up onto the stage, little notes in hand. It took you embarrassingly long to realize that this was the reason you were here in the first place: the awards ceremony.

Paz Vizsla had the shortest acceptance speech of all the awardees and you wondered more than once whether he had a date he was late for. You were pretty sure you had seen him dancing with a woman earlier, looking absolutely head over heels, but maybe you were mistaken and there was someone else he needed to hurry to?

Thankfully, he was the only one who raced through his speech. The other recipients all put on very heartfelt, thought-through speeches, which meant that you could stand close with Boba for just a little while longer, safe in the darkness of the audience.

Only when the lights went back on and the murmurs in the crowd developed into full-fledged conversations did you have to step away from him. As great as it felt being with him, you didn’t want to risk your parents finding out this way. That was a conversation you had to give yourself ample time to prepare for.

You spotted your parents standing with a beautiful, tall woman. Gwendolyn Richards, you remembered, a basketball legend with short blond hair and striking blue eyes. She had graced the covers of Coruscant Weekly more than once and you were pretty sure your mother had tried to get her to attend one or two of her charity brunches.

The fact that she didn’t made her instantly likable to you.

“Ah, there you are!” your mother greeted you, “Look who we found.”

Boba’s hand fell from the small of your back and you felt cold.

“Listen, Gwendolyn here is Mr Fett’s date, isn’t that such a coincidence?” your mother laughed, the champagne in her flute almost sloshing over, “The world is such a small place.”

“Date?” you echoed numbly, feeling like a truck had just run you over. Boba didn’t say anything.

The conversation somehow continued but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen. Boba had brought a date? Why had he brought a date? Weren’t you exclusive? Oh stars, was this one of those situations where one person thought they were in a relationship and the other person didn’t share the sentiment?

And stars, she was so pretty too. Pretty and well-spoken and currently laughing at one of your father’s jokes and why had he brought a date?

Sure, you had technically been on a date with Berenson but you had told him about it beforehand and he had kind of hijacked that one so did that really count?

The high you had just felt in the bathroom plummeted to the lowest of lows. Your throat felt dry, your chest was itchy and could your foot be bleeding or was that just sweat?

“Gwen was even voted Player of the Year four times in a row, isn’t that impressive?” your father nudged you, clearly unseeing of the internal crisis you were going through, “That kind of dedication is what more people in our society need.”

“Excuse me,” you mumbled, barely recognizing your own voice before escaping towards one of the open doors. The old mansion was surrounded by a kind of porch, fancy stone pillars circling the perimeter and shielding you from the rain. The first cars had already arrived to take guests home, so you walked around until you were at the back of the house, hidden from everyone …

“Omega.”

… Except the one person who would apparently always find you.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, feeling hot and cold at the same time. You had not expected the simple thought of Boba being on a date with someone other than you to send you completely spiralling. To be fair, though, you had just spent the night daydreaming about what a life with him could be like.

What if he did not share that dream?

Rage filled you so suddenly, you had to take a step back. From him. From this. From the anxiety in your belly that changed you into something ugly and bitter.

“No, Boba, you can’t just … use that voice on me and make me try to forget!” you cried, “I got dressed up for this. For you. And instead of gathering the courage to ask you to dance in front of them, I had to listen to my parents go on and on about your fabulous date. It made me feel like a fool, okay? A foolish, stuck-up omega who set her hopes on the wrong alpha.”

“You know that’s not true, princess.”

“Do I? Do I, Boba fucking Fett? Because all I saw today was you dragging me into a bathroom like I am some kind of dirty secret.”

“Do not call yourself that, princess, your father –“

“My father doesn’t give a shit about me,” you swallowed back the lump in your throat that felt suspiciously like a sob, “But I thought you did.”

Before you could further humiliate yourself, you turned around and hurried away. The conversation replayed in your mind again and again until the words didn’t make any sense anymore. What were you even angry about? And why were you angry at yourself too?

His hand snatched around your wrist. The thumb on your scent gland should have made you flinch away but your body betrayed you and you could feel your heart pulling you towards him. “We need to talk about this, omega.”

“No, we don’t,” you hissed, “We are in public and we certainly don’t want to make a scene in front of your date, now do we?”

“As much as I am enjoying your fire, little one. You need to know that she is not my date,” he gritted out, “You can ask her yourself. She is an old friend who happened to be here, too. Stars, I haven’t seen her for the last three years. I am not – I would never be here with a date and then do what I did with you in that bathroom.”

There was nothing more you wanted than to believe his words. And they were probably true. So far, Boba had never lied to you and even now, he didn’t smell of deceit. He smelled like home.

But then what was that outbreak you just had over nothing? What was wrong with you that one sentence from your parents had you doubting everything this man had previously showed you so easily? Oh stars, you really were losing your mind.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” you muttered, hastily wiping away your tears, “Sorry, this night is just … I think I better go. Let’s talk Monday, yeah?”

Boba looked like he did not want to let you go and if you were truly honest with yourself, you did not want him to let you go either. You wanted him to pull you into his arms, drive you to his home, and hold you in his arms in his bed while he whispered sweet reassurances in your ear.

But a glance inside the ballroom told you that that was not in the cards today. “Monday,” you repeated, “Please?”

His throat moved with a swallow and the reluctant nod broke your heart. “Okay, omega,” he said quietly, “Monday.”

*

By the time you slipped into the car with your parents, you were sure that you needed to ask Maudii for that list of therapy offices she had offered you once. There were many things you needed time to work on, many things you might not even be ready to address yet, but you would be damned if that would keep you from finding happiness with a man who made you feel seen for the first time in your life.

You would speak to him tomorrow, you decided, you would apologize and try to explain. Explain what, exactly, you did not quite know yet. Maybe it would be a good start to admit that being around your parents put you on edge and that your inferiority complex roared its head whenever your mother introduced a person arguably prettier, more successful and eloquent than you. And that it hadn’t helped that you were incredibly jealous of the thought that someone could just be out and about on a date with him – someone that wasn’t you.

Paired with an apology, maybe it would be enough to ask him out for a coffee date in the park again, you really had enjoyed that.

“This was a glorious night,” your mother gushed as you sat in the back with her, “This Gwendolyn is such a wonderful woman. I should invite her out for that next charity brunch I have planned. The proceeds are supposed to go to support girls in sports, that would be right up her alley, I am sure. Maybe she can bring Coach Fett? If they are an item that would bring some more press to it. Oh, Petunia will be so jealous …”

“Thank fuck for that,” your father grunted and your eyes widened at hearing him curse, “I would’ve hated to fire the guy.”

Say what now?

For just a second, you convinced yourself your father was joking. Boba was not only one of the most recognizable players in generations, he was quite popular as a coach as well and it would be the stupidest thing to let him go. Your father did not joke, though. You could not even remember the last time he had laughed.

 “Wha-“ your throat bobbed, “Why – Why would you fire him?”

Your mother laughed. “It is such a funny story,” her hand fell to yours in your lap and she squeezed it tightly, “Your father thought Coach Fett was pursuing you! Can you imagine?” Her laughter grew stronger and you could see your dad’s mouth rise in a smile.

Something, some deep, rational, smart part, in you forced you to laugh with her as if it was the most hilarious thing had ever heard. “What would he even want with me?”

“No idea,” you father shrugged, “But I think it’s clear that it would be unacceptable. Thank goodness that misunderstanding was resolved or else we would have had to look around for a new coach and I would’ve had to stay here even longer.”

“Yeah,” you looked out the window, hoping they could not see the tears running down your cheeks, “Thank goodness for that.”

*

If it was possible to cry during your sleep you had done it. You had fallen asleep with tears running down your face and woke up with them still rolling down your cheeks. Time may have passed, morning may have come, but you did not feel like you had gotten any rest.

Quite the opposite, actually. As you were sitting on the couch, wrapped in a duvet and holding a mug of hot chocolate in your hands, you had never felt this exhausted.

“He said what?”

Maudii, on the other hand, seemed to have the energy of a caffeinated squirrel. She was pacing your tiny living room, the floorboard in the doorway to the kitchen creaking every time she made her turn.

“He said that he was – is – planning on firing Boba if he pursues me,” you repeated, your voice hoarse from crying.

“He cannot just fire the guy,” your friend threw her hands up, “Right? That would be an insane thing to do. The Minotaurs are on the path to winning the cup this season. How in the world would he even justify that move?”

“He owns the team, Maudii,” you reminded her, your eyes burning from a fresh wave of tears, “He can pretty much do what he wants, insane or not.”

Just like he had bought the team to spite you. Just like he had made you drop out of dance class because “piano has more prestige”. Just like he held the fate of your career in his hands, ready to crush it if you stepped a toe out of line.

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

That was a question you weren’t prepared to answer. Mostly because you were scared about what it meant for your future with Boba.

“I – I don’t know,” you admitted, “I can’t – He is so good to me, Maudii, how can I return that kindness by getting him fired? I cannot be the one that stands between him and his job.”

“You are not standing between him and his job,” she exclaimed, “Your dad is. You need to talk to him and make him understand and then –“

“There is no making him understand, don’t you see?” you cried, your heart already hurting at what you knew you needed to do, “My father would see it as some kind of betrayal. He would think that I did this to spite him and then to spite me …” He would hurt the only person that matters to me.

You shook your head, “I know what I need to do, Maudii. I will not let them destroy his life, too.”

*

In the movies, once the protagonist made a pivotal decision – the morally right decision – they felt better. They looked lighter, the music grew happier, more energetic, and the audience got this feeling of hope. Like this was the turning point the story had always moved towards.

Safe to say, this was not how you felt. You spent the entire night and morning with dread in your belly and an aching in your heart that let you know this was the turning point of the worst kind. But you also refused to be selfish, refused to put his job on the line just so you could continue to grow whatever had started between you.

“There you are,” his warm voice greeted you and already, tears were gathering in the corner of your eyes, ready to spill over your cheeks, “I was looking for you.”

“Yeah?” your voice cracked and you hastily wiped your cheeks before turning around to face him. Boba was wearing a dark green sweater today, fitting for the cold morning. His frame filled the entrance to your cubicle and although your office space was tiny, he was not.

The familiar scent in your nose had your body relax for a minute before you remembered what you had to do.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Djarin is getting married, you remember?” You nodded, feeling strangely numb. “The rehearsal dinner is next weekend. Right before the away game.”

“Okay.” Your heart raced with a mix of anxiety and hope. Mostly anxiety. Was he going to ask you to accompany him to the rehearsal dinner? Was he asking you out? Did you want him to ask you out?

Of course, you did. There was nothing more you wanted than to be on his arm in public and let everyone know that you belonged to him just as much as he belonged to you.

“Do you want to come with me as my date?”

Even though you knew what you were answering, it didn’t make it any easier. In fact, it made it harder. Because your reply was not what you wanted to say at all.

“Um, thank you so much for asking,” you started, ignoring the voice screaming at you to just go ahead and kiss him, “But no.”

There was no mistaking the surprise on his face. The way his brows furrowed, his mouth grew tighter. He looked displeased, like when a game did not go how he had expected and he wasn’t sure what to do to fix it. Only there was nothing to fix. “No?”

“No,” you repeated although it broke your heart, “I am not scheduled for that trip and I – I am … I am just not interested in you like that,” you said, feeling numb, “I am sorry if I strung you along.”

Boba’s face broke your heart into a million pieces. There was genuine hurt in his expression and you could see the moment your words registered with him. His scent grew stronger as did your urge to bawl your eyes out.

“You … are sorry you strung me along,” he repeated slowly, his words sounding so very wrong.

You forced yourself to nod, although the movement probably turned out very jerky. “Yes, very sorry,” your voice was thinner than just a minute ago, “I … um, after the gala I took some time to think about – us, I mean – and I think it would be better if we go our separate ways.”

“You mean the gala where you told me we would talk Monday after you got jealous at the thought of me on a date with another woman?”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you protested weakly, even though the memory of Gwen’s blinding smile burned a hole in your heart, “I just … I came to my senses, I guess.”

It was so silent you could hear the clock tick on the other side of the office space. You were not brave enough to meet his gaze, not brave enough to do anything but clench your fists and telling yourself over and over again that this is the only way. I have to do this.

Boba took a deep breath and your eyes landed on his strong hands as he buried them in his pockets. “You came to your senses,” he repeated more to himself than to you. “I won’t do you the disservice of lying to you and say I understand,” he continued, “because I don’t. What we have felt real and I know that I am old and jaded and probably not the first choice anyone would make for their alpha. But I also know what I feel when I am with you and I am sure that you feel the same.”

The pause he left was for you to agree with him, you knew that. He was giving you another chance, another moment to clear the air and tell him what was wrong. But how could you tell him what had happened without him risking his career?

“The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable,” he said, finally, “Message received. Goodbye, princess.”

The moment his footsteps grew quieter, you sat down at your desk and drafted your email to your boss.

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.”

You had too much to drink, the semester had just started, and with it being the last semester you had to teach Introduction to Victorian Literature 101 until you could finally get to work on your passion project, you and your friends went out to celebrate.

Nothing too crazy, just some drinks at the pub around the corner. The one where neither faculty nor students went to so you could sip your cocktail in peace while Ashleigh ranted about her most recent dating escapades. But something was different tonight because the drinks just kept flowing and you did not feel the need to stop even when you passed your usual three drinks.

To be fair, most of the night was pretty blurry from then on. But you remembered pretty clearly the way Chants had slurred “Girl, you should get your nipples pierced.” As you stumbled together across the sidewalk.

You weren’t really sure why that had sounded so plausible at that moment, given the fact that you had never been interested in getting pierced beyond the earrings when you were younger. But then there was the store at the corner, the neon sign flickering against the dark and rainy night. The tattoo and piercing studio that you had passed by again and again without giving it so much as a second glance.

Not even five minutes later, you were standing in front of a man who had introduced himself as Boba Fett.

“I am interested in getting my nipples pierced,” you had declared with the conviction only a drunk person possessed while Ashleigh and Chants giggled and flipped through a book full of flash designs.

The old man, who looked so handsome your thighs clenched, lifted his eyebrow, clearly bemused.

“Very well,” he had said, “You seem old enough to make a stupid decision on your own.”

The protest that it wasn’t a stupid decision, thank you very much, died on your tongue when his hand, packed in black gloves, gently prodded your chest. His mouth was moving and you were pretty sure that he was explaining the entire process to you but all you could focus on was how sexy this man was.

And to top it all off, you couldn’t even remember the last time you had been naked in front of anyone and, to your embarrassment, you seemed to have said that out loud, because he chuckled and shook his head.

“In order to prepare you for the needle, I will stimulate your chest. Is that okay for you?”

A mute nod (and racing heart) later, the big man was standing between your thighs, his fingers playing with your chest and you hoped to the stars he did not notice how you arched your back into him.

“Now,” he said, his fingers closed around your nipple, “Are you still sure this isn’t a stupid decision?”

You hummed, your eyes half closed, distracted by the pleasure he was giving you.

“Good girl,” his voice rumbled and what was it about his voice that sent tingles throughout your entire body? Or the feeling between your thighs when his eyes pierced yours? Or the pleased smile on his face when you quickly squeaked “I changed my mind, sorry!”

 “Good girl,” he had repeated, a smirk on his lips, “Saying what you want. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

*

Which is why, a week later, you were trying very hard to convince yourself that you wanted to get your nipples pierced. Pierced nipples were cool! Right?

As opposed to your last visit, the storefront of Fett’s Tattoo Corner looked much friendlier. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the pedestrians mingling in front of the café next door gave the store an almost harmless look. But as soon as you stepped through the bell door, you were unable to trick your body into being relaxed.

You were far from relaxed. Everything was pulled taut and you felt strangely aware of how your chest was rising and falling with each breath and maybe you should have chosen the other dress to wear what if he didn’t like this one and why were you thinking about what he liked you didn’t even know if he was here and oh stars he was here and he was coming straight towards you –

It seemed that your drunken memories couldn’t do the real man justice. Boba Fett was tall, and broad, his tan skin adorned with traditional tattoos and he looked so serious for a moment that your horny brain made the helpful suggestion to just kneel in front of him.

Because that wasn’t weird at all.

For a moment, the possibility occurred to you that he might not be happy to see you or – worse – not even remember who you were. But as you were frantically thinking about how to pretend that you were just waiting for a friend, a smile spread across his lips and you got to see that he had dimples. Dimples.

“Here for a consultation, princess?” he asked, his voice a familiar rumble, “why don’t we go talk in the private room?”

The private room in question was a little cabin, separated from the main work room by a thick velvet curtain that drowned out the buzzing noise of the tattoo guns. Several people were in the room, working and being worked, but you paid them no mind when all you could focus on was how thick the underside of his upper arm looked.

How had that never been a body part you paid any attention to? And why did his look so good?

The older men gestured for you to sit down on the little cot and you did, your feet swinging in the air.

“So, what can I do for you?” the curtain fell closed and the sounds from outside faded away. It was just the two of you now.

“I want to get my nipples pierced.”

“Feel like I've heard that before,” he teased you.

You swallowed, “I'm serious this time.”

He did not look like he believed you but you did not really care. You watched as his body moved through the room, prepping the instruments. Your chest tingled at the thought of him touching you again and you wondered, really wondered, how desperate you must be that the thought of some simple human touch made your thighs clench.

But it wasn’t simple touches you were craving.

Because as you watched his arms bulge and his shirt strain around his midsection, you remembered how his thumbs had brushed the sides of your breast and could not help but wonder what it would be like to feel his weight on top of you. To hear his voice praise you as you took his cock that you just knew was going to stretch you in the best way possible. This was a man who would tell you what to do and you just knew you’d follow his every word because, ultimately, it would lead to the pleasure you had been craving for the better part of your adult life.

“So, uh, so how long have you been doing this job?” you asked, looking at a few of the pictures on the walls. Black and white photographs of both intricate and bold designs, pierced body parts, and fierce people facing the camera lens head-on. It looked badass.

Boba chuckled, his hands busy at the workstation, “I have tattoos older than you, sweetheart, and I’ve made tattoos older than you. If that’s what you're asking.”

You squirmed again, your breath halting when his knowing eyes met yours. “Is that what you're asking?”

“I – I think so.”

He hummed, stepping over to you with a tray in his hands. “You know the drill already,” he joked, warm eyes roaming over your body, making you very aware of what you had come here for, “Off with the shirt.”

Only it wasn’t a shirt. You had been so preoccupied with looking your best, you had completely forgone any practicalities for why you were actually here. The lightweight sundress slipped off your shoulders with a whisper and suddenly, the tension in the room became very palpable.

Taking a deep breath in, you braced your shoulders and forced yourself to meet his gaze. Boba did not say anything and just as quickly as your courage had come, it disappeared like the sugar in your tea.

What if he didn’t like what he saw?

“So … Would you like me to explain the process again?”

Your gaze snatched up and this time, the heat in his eyes was undeniable as he allowed his eyes to linger on your chest. Thank the stars.

“Yes, please,” you whispered, very aware that you were sitting bare-chested in front of a man who was old enough to be your father. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were questioning which choices in life had brought you here. But did you actually care?

No, not really.

Touch me, touch me, touch me.

“Are you okay there?”

“Huh?”

Mirth played in his eyes. “Do you want me to touch you, princess?”

The Yes you breathed out was barely audible over the pounding of your heart, but it was loud enough for him to hear your eagerness. You watched as he set the black gloves aside, his bare hands reaching for your tits and you could not wait to feel his touch.

He rewarded your sharp inhale by cupping your breast in the warm palm of his hand. His skin was calloused and it felt so fucking good to have him finally touch you. Your legs spread out of their own accord and you hummed when he stepped closer, his other hand landing on your waist, right above where your dress was falling into your lap.

“Good girl,” he murmured and your heart skipped a beat, “So fucking pretty.”

The second his fingers lightly pinched your nipple, a shudder went through your entire body and settled between your legs. You were pretty sure it had been a while since you had been this wet for anyone and somehow, this man had your toes curling in a matter of minutes.

“Are you ready?”

Images flashed in your mind but instead of the steamy scenes you dreamed about starring you and him, they contained silver needles, pain, and, in the end, a disappointed look in the mirror.

“I – I changed my mind,” you whispered into the small space between your mouths, “I am not ready.”

Boba did not look the least bit surprised. There was a knowing look in his eyes as he gave your right breast a last squeeze before hooking his fingers under the straps of your dress, gently raising them back over your shoulders.

He stepped away and you followed, sliding off the leathery fabric.

“Have a good day, princess,” he opened the curtain for you, the buzz of the tattoo guns back in your ears, “You know where to find me.”

*

“Do you want me to explain it again?”

You shook your head.

It was a week later, and you had left your pretence that you were here for a piercing, at the doorbell. It was surprisingly freeing and exhilarating at the same time. So, what if you went to a tattoo parlour to be felt up by the handsome older man who owned it without any intention of actually getting a tattoo or piercing? Anyone who would judge you for this would understand as soon as they saw Boba Fett smile at them.

And so, you were just sitting in the private cabin, anticipation making your heart race as his hands settled on your waist.

“You just want me to touch you, huh?”

After an embarrassed pause, you nodded, teeth worrying your bottom lip.

“It's okay,” he murmured, “I can touch you, princess. I like touching you.”

The older man’s words should not make you feel so warm but they did. It was a Tuesday afternoon and you were sitting half naked in a tattoo studio, wanting to be felt up by this man you barely knew but who had already taken over all of your dreams and fantasies.

Boba wore a black shirt today and it looked so soft to the touch you were this close to hug yourself to him and smooth your cheek over the fabric. But that plan was derailed the moment the top of your flimsy sundress fell down your chest, baring you to his eyes and the warm air of the shop.

Calloused fingertips crushed the undersides of your tits and over your pebbled nipples. Your eyes fluttered, a dreamy sigh escaping your lips as you arched your back into him. Even (or maybe especially?) the feather-light touch made your core pulse and made you want to squeeze your thighs together.

“You’re so sensitive,” he marvelled, his hands cupping your tits, “Have they always been this sensitive, sweetheart?"

It took you a moment to realise he was waiting for an answer. “No, uh, I – I didn’t really know … I didn’t know it could be like that. No one … Uh, I never really …”

The man opposite you looked up from where he was sitting between your legs. The skirt of your sundress draped between your thighs, covering the wet patch that clearly could be seen on your panties. “Are you telling me no one ever played with these pretty tits?”

His question was accompanied by a roll of your nipple between his fingers. “Boba,” you gasped, arching your back into his touch.

“Don’t Boba me,” he chastised you, pulling on the flesh, “Answer the question, little one.”

“No!” you gasped out. Embarrassment made your ears hot, you weren’t used to dirty talk though it was always something you had wanted to try. But none of your previous partners had made you feel comfortable enough to … well, to talk. And here you were with basically a stranger and you felt more comfortable than you had ever been.

“No,” you confirmed quietly, “no one’s ever … played with me like that.”

The whispered confession between the two of you unlocked something different. Boba exhaled, his body curling around yours as his mouth dipped to your sternum.

“Stars, I bet you're a dream to fuck,” he murmured, his fingers squeezing your tits, “I’d have so much pleasure to give you.”

“Please,” you whispered, hardly recognising your own voice. Your eyes flew open at the realisation that you wanted this. You wanted him to fuck you.

You watched with wide eyes and baited breath as he stood up, his hands still on your chest and he bowed down until his lips met yours. He was kissing you.

The kiss started out soft and slow before his tongue swiped over the seam of your lips and you opened up form. Your entire body was tingling with the need to be closer. Closer to this solid, warm body of a man who made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.

Pressing your chest against his, you smiled into the kiss as his hands left your chest and ran down your sides until they settled on your hips, pulling you to the edge of the workbench. He was so warm, it did not even feel like you were sitting topless in a small office in a public shop.

Mid-kiss it occurred to you that this was your first kiss with Boba. And oh, what a good kisser he was. A hand on the back of your head tilted your face, your noses bumping together for a second, eliciting chuckles from both of your before he tilted your head just so and then his mouth was on your and his tongue was there and you could not help but to surrender to him. Boba had everything under control and you would not have it any other way.

A knock at the door made you flinch.

Boba stepped even closer to your, shielding you with his body even when the door remained closed. “What?” he asked, loud enough to be heard outside but the hoarseness of his voice did not escape you.

You smiled into the crook of his neck, running your mouth up to his jaw and you could hear the rumble in his chest before his fingers tilted your chin up and his mouth was on you again.

“Lunch break is over, boss,” a deep voice sounded from outside, “Your three o’clock is here.”

You whined against his mouth when he slowly backed away from you.

“Fuck off, Vizsla,” Boba called, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

The more time you spent with Boba, the more time you needed to get out of your lust-sick haze with him. Usually, you left the shop on a high, with a dreamy smile on your face and a pleasant thrum between your thighs. But somehow, the reminder that there were customers waiting for him, set you in a sort of panic you could not quite describe.

You wanted to hurry in getting yourself presentable again, mumbling something about “getting out of your hair” to Boba.

But Boba would not hear any of it. “There is no hair to get out of, princess,” he joked as he gently helped you to your feet, before hooking his fingers into the shoulder straps of your dress. You took a deep breath as he lifted the top of your dress in place for you, his fingers brushing over your shoulders, down your arms before entwining with your hands.

It somehow felt even more intimate than when he had played with you. Pulling on your hands, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips and you felt even more dazed. To be honest, you could fall asleep standing right there in his arms.

Boba accompanied you through the workroom, nodding in greeting to who you assumed was his next customer, until you were standing outside. He sent you off with a wink, this time, and a lingering touch on your waist. “See you next Tuesday.”

*

He was working on someone else.

It shouldn’t have been a shocking sight to see. He was a tattoo artist for fucks sake. Of course, he worked on other people. He must’ve worked on dozens – hundreds – of people. That is how he earned his money, how he honed his craft. You had seen the social media posts about the shop and on some of them you not only got to see the actual art piece but also the artist. And sometimes, the artist was Boba.

The time you had spent scrolling through Fett’s Tattoo Corner’s social media page was almost concerning but you categorized it as research. Research in case you ever wanted to get a tattoo or a piercing. It had nothing to do with the fact that seeing his proud smile on your screen made your heart flutter and your stomach do somersaults.

But as you watched him talk and laugh with the woman on the table, you felt an unknown sense of dread in your stomach.

Suddenly you felt silly in your outfit that you had panicked over for the last 72 hours and the nail polish you had picked to go with your sundress and the extra care you had taken with your hair and –

“Looks who's here,” he greeted you, pulling off the black gloves and the sight should not have been as sexy as it was. “Ready for our lunch break?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

He paused, his eyes never leaving yours as he threw the gloves in the bin, not missing his goal even though he was looking at someone else. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied, instantly feeling stupid again. There was no reason to be jealous. He wasn’t even yours to be jealous about. For all you knew, he wasn’t even single. Your blood froze.

For all you knew he wasn’t even single?!

Boba came closer, his scent washing over you and your body fought the urge to step away from him, to clear your head, and to step closer, to lose yourself in the sense of belonging you felt only with him.

“Do I need to spank the brattiness out of you, princess?” he rumbled. His voice was deep and serious and you gulped, feeling the dread morph into something more … hot.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze. Which also meant you did not see when his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him so his hand could slide down to your ass. Your eyes widened at the touch but you welcomed it still, your entire body heating up at the attention. Being touched by him in public felt like he was laying a claim on you.

You wanted his claim on you. Just as much as you wanted your claim on him.

“I think you do,” he replied immediately, his eyes on your lips, “But I am hungry, so we are going to order food first before you tell me how I upset you and how I can make it up to you.”

Just like last time had marked your first kiss, Boba seemed on a mission to cross another first off your list.

The food was delicious, Boba had it delivered to the shop and you sat in comfortable silence while sharing some spring rolls and noodles. You had been nervous, at first, at the prospect of sharing a meal with him. What if you didn’t have anything to talk about? What if it was awkward? What if your chemistry only translated to the purely physical part?

But your worries were completely unfounded. Boba talked about his day, asked about yours and you realized that all the small talk at the beginning of your sessions hadn’t been small talk at all. He had been interested. He remembered things (the course you were o stressed about, the project you wanted to submit to your faculty, that half-friend’s birthday party coming up and you were still unsure if you wanted to go or not.) and in return, you remembered them too.

He did not seem to think you weird when you asked about the half finished sleeve he had been working on these past few weeks, his smile was bright when you asked him about his favourite tattoos (both on him and ones he had designed) and there was a rush of heat to your cheeks when he lifted his sleeve in response, showing off a traditional shoulder tattoo that must extend to his chest.

(You really wanted to see his chest.)

When you were finished with the food, Boba set the containers down, crowding you against the table. Your hand automatically went to your neckline, wanting to pull it down for him.

“No need,” he shook his head with a smirk, “I believe I promised you a spanking?”

You gaped at him. For one, you had been so happy with the meal, that you had already forgotten how jealous you had been at the beginning and, to be honest, you had not thought he was actually serious. But as you searched your mind for words of protest, you also had to squeeze your legs together at the wetness you could feel gathering in your panties.

So, all you did was nod, swallowing down the sound of excitement.

Boba rewarded you with his signature smirk. “Turn around for me,” he murmured, so close you could feel his breath on your face.

You did as he asked, your body brushing against his for the whole turn until your ass was pressed right against him. It should not have come as a surprise that a man who exuded so much big dick energy was also packing but somehow, the confirmation that Boba Fett was packing made you even wetter.

“If you want me to stop, say Sandwich, okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip. You were 85% convinced you wouldn’t need him to stop, the

A large hand on your upper back slowly pushed you down until you were bent over his desk. Dress you were wearing brushing your ass, highly aware of the lacy panties you had worn. (just for him). His hand palmed your ass, fingertips brushing against the hem of your panties, lifting your dress up and over.

“You just need someone to take care of that pretty ass,” he rumbled, “should apologize for neglecting it but who can blame me if I had such pretty tits to play with, hm?”

Words made you shiver in anticipation. Didn’t know what to say but felt so … wanted.

“You want to tell me why you were jealous today?”

Your denial was immediate. “I wasn’t jealous.”

A heavy hand landed on your ass in a slap and you gasped, throwing a glance over your shoulder to find a grinning Boba, his hand still squeezing the soft flesh of your behind. The angle made you think of other things he could do in this position and you felt so embarrassed of the filthy thoughts, you had to turn away.

“I know a lie when I hear one, sweetheart,” he stated, followed by another slap, “It is never too late to tell the truth.”

You got nine spanks in total.

Only a few of them stung but all of them resulted in your pussy clenching around nothing. You were convinced he could have put more behind his hands. But he didn’t. Boba used every opportunity to caress your ass and upper thighs and you almost came on the spot when he knelt behind you, his breath washing over your panties and you knew he was eye-level with the wet patch that was surely visible by now.

“Don’t ever think, I don’t want you,” he said, his mouth brushing the crease where your thighs met your behind, “I always want you, princess.”

Heat filled your cheeks and you squirmed against him. You could have cried from frustration when he stood up, gently putting your skirt back in place but when you turned around there was a look in his eyes that made your breath stutter.

Brown eyes warmly gazed at you and your heart skipped a beat. “I want you too,” you confessed, “I’m sorry I was so jealous.”

“Never be sorry,” he shook his head, kissing you softly, “It just means I didn’t do a good enough job of assuring you that I have no intention of spending my Tuesday afternoons with anyone but you.”

You wanted to ask him if he really meant it but somehow, a look at him was enough to know that, yes, he meant it.

“C’mon,” he nodded his head to the door, “I took a half-day. Let me drive you home, princess.”

*

Things were getting more and more heated.

Every Tuesday, like clockwork, you would show up at the shop. Oftentimes, Boba would have bought lunch for the both of you, a different cuisine every time, trying, as he put it, to find the perfect restaurant for date night.

“Who do you have to take out for date night”?” you tried to both joke and hide the panic in your voice in between bites of your burrito.

“You, princess,” he had replied with a wink, “If you’ll have me.”

It was impossible to hide the grin on your face as you slipped into his lap. Food forgotten, you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him. You could feel his stubble against your skin and his hands on your back, helping you grind against him.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Boba murmured as you shimmied out of your dress. You had decided against wearing a bra today. It had felt like your naughty little secret for the entire day and the appreciative look in Boba’s eyes was more than worth it.

Big hands cupped your tits again, pulling on your pebbled nipples and you gasped into his mouth.

“I – I don’t think I want them pierced,” you confessed between kisses, eyes half-closing at the way he was playing with you.

Boba looked at you, a smirk on his face that was way too smug considering he was supposed to be but a stranger two months ago. “So, you’re just letting this old man play with you for fun?”

The question made your breath stop for a second because … he was right. You were letting him play with you for fun. Because it made you wet and fuelled your fantasies and you had never felt so wanted than when you spent lunch in his office.

A shy nod later, he rewarded you with a twist of your nipple, and you gasped, your hips rocking forward to see some friction. “Easy there,” he rumbled, “We’re gonna work your way up to taking my cock. For now, I have too much fun playing with these.”

No matter how needy you were, you did enjoy the fact that he took his time with you. You could not remember the last time you spent hours kissing and being touched by someone who did not expect anything in return. (Although you were more than willing to get on your knees for him, it seemed Boba was not ready to let you out of his grasp yet.)

“I get it, though,” he said, his whole hand cupping and squeezing your breast, “I have had enough painful piercings myself. I wouldn’t want my nipples pierced either.”

“Oh,” you breathed against his mouth, moaning into the kiss, “What – uh – what do you have pierced then?”

A pierced eyebrow shot up with his grin and he leant away. You watched in equal parts fascination and shock as his large hand went to his crotch where his jeans covered an impressive bulge. The position of his hand put the back of it right against your core and you could not help but rock against him, the friction against your clit making your toes tense.

“Got a ladder, here, sweetheart,” he revealed, “now that was painful.”

It took you a moment to realize what he meant. What did a ladder have to do with piercings? And specifically, with his crotch? The realization dropped like a penny and your eyes widened as you took in his meaning.

“You mean … on your ….?” Boba nodded his head at your unfinished question and you suddenly found yourself very interested in finally seeing him in all his glory.

“Can I see?”

“Nah, princess,” he chuckled, taking his hand away and pulling on your hip until you were settled right above him, “The only way you get to see my jewellery is if I get to see yours.”

Your shoulders sagged. You knew it had been too good to be true when he had accepted your decision not to get pierced. In a long row of selfish sexual partners, Boba suddenly found himself in line with the guy who had dropped his wish for anal sex five times on a dinner date.

“They're so pretty,” you admitted, “I just don’t know if I want something permanent.”

“That is not what I meant. It’s an easy fix, princess,” he rumbled, his thumb brushing under your right breast. “We’ll just get some clamps for these, princess.”

*

Tuesday was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky, and everyone and their mother spent the day outside in the cafés, the park, by the riverside. It was the kind of weather you missed when the cold winter days locked you inside.

Yet you could not wait to make your way inside. The familiar sound of the buzzing tattoo guns and chattering client did not even register with you anymore because you had one goal, one destination, as you crossed the shop to the office where you could see Boba sitting through the open door.

“There you are,” Boba gifted you the widest smile, looking up from the paperwork on his desk as you walked into his office. You felt so confident that no one even questioned your presence here so you no longer questioned your presence here either.

And now you got to see him in his element, surrounded by papers, bills and half-finished tattoo designs. “Do you want me to come back later?”

“Stars no,” he laughed at your joke, sorting some papers before orderly putting them in a drawer. His desk suddenly was completely free, except for a small package. The package, you presumed.

“You nervous?” he asked.

You took a moment to mull his question over. Were you nervous? Yes, but you were nervous a lot of the time when it came to him. But every time, your time together was so nice, so fulfilling in more ways than one, you felt more …

“Excited, to be honest,” you admitted, stepping into the room and locked the door behind you. By the knowing look the staff sent you, it was clear they knew not to disturb you, but you wanted to make sure there was no Paz Vizsla storming into the office the moment you could finally feel Boba’s cock inside you.

“Me too,” he smiled and shuffled the package until it was right in the centre. One already opened package. You raised your eyebrows, unable to hide your amusement. “It arrived this morning and I could not wait,“ he admitted, “I wanted to make sure they were exactly what I imagined for you.”

No one had ever bought things of a sexual nature for you. The closest you came to something like that was a gift card to a lingerie story from one of your eyes. That had been exciting until it turned out that he didn’t like the lingerie you had bought for him. Then it had just been awkward.

But you knew it would never be awkward with Boba. Somehow, you just knew.

You watched in anticipation as he lifted his hands out of the package, revealing what he had gotten for you. “It’s beautiful,” you gasped as you took it all in for the first time.

The piece in question were two nipple clamps, connected by a thin chain. They were golden and had little pink bows on them. And from the bows seemed to be hanging …

He shook them gently, a tinkling sound filling the room. “They have bells,” you whispered reverently, approaching him with a raised hand. Boba dropped the piece in your palm and you inspected them closer. “It is beautiful,” you repeated, completely in awe.

“I am glad you like them,” he replied, “I thought they fit to you.”

“Do … can you put them on me?” you asked, the ache in your chest making you squeeze your thighs.

“Don’t you want to eat first?”

The shake of your head made him smirk, “Thought so.” He stood up and gestured to the table you were now more than familiar with, “Go ahead and sit for me. Do you feel comfortable taking the dress off all the way?”

Forgoing an answer, you simply let the dress fall down to the floor. Like last time, you had decided not to wear a bra – not when you knew what was in store for you, anyway, and so you stood in front of him in your thong and nothing else.

Boba’s eyes darkened and he surged forward, kissing you passionately. Teeth clashed and tongues entwined and you felt like you would implode at any moment if he didn’t touch you. You pressed your chest against him, trying to deepen the kiss but Boba pulled away with a grin, delivering a spank to your ass just moments later, and you whined, “Boba, please …”

The big man took a step forward, forcing you back until you bumped into the workbench and sat on it, spreading your legs for him to stand in between. “Fuck,” he cursed, palming your tits, “You are so pretty, gonna look even prettier when I am done with you.”

Your heart was racing as he played with your chest. His fingers rolled your nipples, his tongue darted out to lick over them and by the time he lifted the chain into your view, you were almost crazy with desire. You both watched in silent fascination as he put the first clamp on you.

“Fuck,” this time it was your turn to curse. The pain was uncomfortable for long a moment before it became a delicious thrum of pleasure. Quickly, Boba put the second clamp on, and it was easier now that you knew what to expect. When he was done, you could feel the cool metal of the chain against your skin, the soft fabric of the bows brushing against you and everything on your body felt like it was there to pleasure you.

“You look so pretty for me, little one,” he praised you, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

You tried to ignore how his praise made your core clench and when he took a step away, it worked because you immediately missed the warmth of his body. The distance was worth it, though when he looked at you, clearly affected by the sight of you as you were affected by him.

The cool air on your chest took away the edge of pain on your nipples though it also made you highly aware of the cool metal slowly warming to your body temperature. And Boba was still just looking at you.

A few minutes in, you grew restless. “Boba?” you asked, crossing your ankles, causing your chest to move. A wave of pain and pleasure, mixed together in a heady cocktail, washed over you and you gasped. Holy shit.

“Bounce them for me.”

“Wh-What?”

“Bounce your tits for me, princess,” he repeated calmly, crossing his thick arms in front of his chest, “I want to see them bounce.”

It felt exposing and new and strange and yet it sent a thrill through you, the way he was so cool. And so, you started to shake sour chest for him. At first, you just made tiny movements. You had never really “bounced your tits” for anyone and you felt a bit silly doing it. But what you had not considered was that gravity would pull on the clamps attached to you and oh my, now that was a sensation. The stimulation of your nipples increased together with the little bells ringing every time you moved and you were pretty sure you got even wetter.

It felt so taboo and so thrilling and who would have thought two months ago that you sit in the office of this older tattoo artist, letting him order you around like you were for his pleasure only?

 His pupils dilated and your eyes fell to the bulge in his jeans. “Pretty as a picture.”

“Open your mouth for me.”

You did as he said, opening your mouth for him as your eyes fell to his hand. Boba sounded amused and hoarse as he approached you. “You want my fingers?”

You were still bouncing for him, your chest aching for his touch, when you nodded. Stars, you felt filthy but in the very best way. Even better than that, to be honest, when his fingers pushed into your mouth and you got to suck on them immediately.

“You just need someone to take care of you, don’t you?” he asked you, his rough fingers pushing down onto your tongue. You followed his movements, your tongue slipping out of your mouth as he smeared your drool over your lips. The sound of bells kept ringing in your ears and you were sure he had a wet patch on his desk now from where you were soaking through your panties.

“You wanted to show me,” you gasped in one of those moments when his fingers left your mouth.

“What? What did I want to show you?” he teased you, his fingers finding their way back into your mouth, “Use your words.”

“You wanted to show me your piercings,” you whispered around his thick digits, “o-on your cock.”

You mourned your empty mouth for just a second when you realised why Boba had stepped away and sat down in his office chair. The movements of his hands were hypnotizing when he took off his shirt, revealing a thick upper body littered with tattoos. Tattoos, you didn’t focus on because just a moment later he pulled down his zipper and the edge of his boxers.

His cock was massive just as you had expected, but the real star(s) of the show was the glinting metal embedded in his shaft. Didn’t that hurt?

“Oh, it did,” he chuckled, his finger grazing over the ladder, “But it was worth it, believe me.”

Sitting on the padded bench, there was nothing to cover you except for a lacy thing and the jewellery adorning your nipples. Boba was opposite you, his barrel chest on display, his cock out of his jeans and you could not take your eyes off him. How long had you waited for this moment? How nervous had you been?

None of that seemed to matter because all you could focus on was how the older man stroked his dick in front of you. How his hand twisted around his shaft, how his fingers ran over the mushroom head down his shaft to cup his heavy balls. You felt electrified and frozen with want at the same time. You wanted – needed – to feel him. In you, against you, next to you, however he saw fit.

You just needed –

“Boba, please,” you pleaded, the little jingle of the bells underlining your desperation.

“C’mere,” he curled to fingers and you basically skipped the tree steps into his lap.

“Take this off,” he ordered, his hands helping yours take off the last piece of clothing until you were standing completely bare in front of him. You had never felt both so exposed and so hot. “Now sit down.”

You sat down on the edge of his lap and Boba dragged you closer until your pussy was right against the underside of his shaft, nestled against the barbells. “Now, keep bouncing, princess,” he grinned, “I don’t remember telling you to stop.”

Your cheeks heated at his request. You knew what he was planning and were sure you had never done anything as dirty. But maybe that was exactly what appealed to you.

The first bounce, just as expected, caused you to grind against his pierced cock. It was a sensation, unlike anything you had ever felt before. It was better than anything you had ever felt before. With just a few grinds, your wetness was coating him, easing your movements as your clit bumped into the ridges again and again and again.

You panted into his mouth, your chest so sensitive that when it brushed his, you could not help but whimper and also grind down harder. You needed more of his piercings, of his touch on your hips, of everything. And you were so fucking close, you could practically see the cliff you were about to fall over.

“There we go,” he rumbled, “Make yourself come for me.” “Does that feel good?”

Unable to speak, all you could do was nod eagerly as your desire finally cumulated in the orgasm of your life. You shook on top of him, clenching around nothing as your clit continued to rub against his shaft and the metal embedded in it.

“There we fucking go,” he praised you, guiding you to lift your hips until his tip notched at your entrance, “Ready to take me?”

You nodded in a daze, anticipation making you feel both hot and cold. You sank down on him slowly, letting your body adjust to the big stretch around his tip before the first barbell entered you. You inhaled sharply, your thigh straining with the effort of remaining upright while your pussy strained with the effort of taking someone as large as him.

“How does it feel?”

“Different,” you gasped, “Big. I – stars, Boba, what if it doesn’t fit?”

A sudden panic gripped you as the second barbell entered you, your walls taking even longer to adjust to his girth. How many barbells did he have again? How were you supposed to take him completely when you already felt so full, you could feel it in your belly?

His large hand swept down your back and around until his thumb grazed over your clit, the touch instantly making you clamp around him. “You’re doing so well,” he assured you, “You can take all of me, little one, I know you can.”

With a bite of your lip, you threw your head back, enjoying his fingers on your clit as you steadily opened up for him. Each time a piercing passed you, it sent a wave of goosebumps down your body.

A simultaneous tug on your nipples made you look up. Your gaze met Boba’s twinkling eyes as he gently hooked a thick finger under the chain, pulling on it. Seeing him play with you so blatantly made you whine, your walls milking him.

“I know baby, I know,” he murmured in that calm voice of his, “just a little more, princess. You can do it.”

The glide of your movements got easier, your wetness seeping down your thighs and before you knew it, your ass was settled against his thighs and your pussy filled to the brim with his cock.

“Stars,” you breathed, eyes brimming with tears of overwhelming pleasure. Had already come once but now felt a second wave coming on, with no way of stopping it.

“You’re my best girl,” Boba kissed you softly, “I told you, you could take it all and you did. So …. So fucking good for me.” His thighs shifted under you, his legs spread and you squeaked in the resulting bounce.

“You’re such a pretty mess for me” he commented, leaning back and letting his eyes lazily roam over you. His cool demeanour made you even wetter. The way he was so in control, so naturally in charge, meant that you did not feel insecure in any way. Quite the opposite: You felt free.

“Boba,” you gasped, “I am so full.”

And you were. You were, at that moment, utterly convinced that you had never experienced a fullness like this, even with that new vibrator you had gotten yourself in a feeble attempt to manage the lust this man evoked in you. It was the best thing you had ever felt, being stretched to your limit around his thick shaft.

And the piercings!

Oh, the piercings were even better, stimulating you from the inside out and with you bouncing in him, your chest rubbing against his, you were positively overstimulated. Tears were gathering at the corners of your eyes but you did not want to change a thing, no, you wanted to feel like this for as long as possible.

“It’s adorable how much of a slut you are for me,” Boba rumbled in your ear, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your jaw, “Think you can come for me again, princess? Want to feel you clench around me when I come inside you.”

It was the mention of him coming inside you – something you had never done, and never had wanted to do, with any of your previous partners but which suddenly was the only way you wanted to experience this with Boba – that made you come. Stars erupted behind your eyes and your walls clenched, your entire body erupting in pleasure.

You barely managed a “Boba!” before your moan was swallowed by his kiss.

His grip on your hips tightened as he slammed you down on him, his tip reaching even deeper than before. “Stars, yes, that’s what I'm talking about,” he praised you.

The feeling of him pulsing inside you, filling you with his come, was one you never ever wanted to forget. How could you have gone for so long without feeling this blissful? How could the world outside go on as if nothing had happened – as if you just hadn’t had the most mind-blowing sex of your life?

Your legs still twitched, your body not knowing what to do with all the adrenaline that still coursed through you. But as the sensations slowly faded away, the clamps tipped on the side of pain.

“Shhh,” Boba calmed you, his moth still against yours, “I will take them off and it will sting, okay? But I am right here with you, I’ll get you through this, okay?”

You nodded because you trusted him.

Just as he had said, the rush of blood back into your nipples was painful and unlike anything you had experienced before. A whimper slipped out of your mouth and you took a deep breath, trying to breathe through the pain.

Boba kissed you softly and his hands reached up to massage your chest. You were not sure if that helped or made it worse but when he ducked his head so his mouth could gently close around one nipple, his tongue did magical things for you. The pain lessened with each passing minute and once Boba’s mouth had left you, it had been more pleasure than pain.

As the pain steadily subsided, you could feel your chest and breathing slowing down. The overwhelming sensations ebbed away until all you felt was the serene calm that only followed a really nice orgasm.

Boba reached down to the side of the chair and with how he was still inside you, the shift made another pulse of pleasure course through you. You bit your lip, highly aware of your combined juices still inside you. You watched as he pulled his shirt off the floor and over his head. It was the soft black one, the one that you had wondered about before.

This time, you allowed your intrusive thoughts to win and leant onto his chest, tucking your face into the crook of his back.

But your enthusiasm rushed your movement and the office chair you were now both sitting on started rolling backwards. You panicked for a second, your hands clenching into fists. Shit, were you about to fall?

But of course, you weren’t. The chair stopped moving after an inch or so and you could feel both your and Boba’s bodies relax.

“Careful there, little one,” Boba chuckled, his hand gripping your elbow gently. You could not believe how shaky you still felt. Your world was reeling and he didn’t even sound out of breath.

The silence that followed felt pleasant. You listened to your own heartbeat slowly starting to return to a normal pace as Boba’s hand swept over your back. Up and down up and down up and down until you were sure you could fall asleep against him any minute despite your legs feeling like jelly and his come trickling down your thighs.

“Don’t you have an appointment soon?” your question was muffled against the soft fabric covering his chest but you did not have the strength nor the willpower to turn your face so you could speak clearly. You wanted to remain in this cocoon forever.

Boba’s movements did not cease. “Nah, I had Paz take them over,” he revealed, “I wanted to have time for you.”

The thought was so sweet, it made your chest clench and your mouth inevitably turn into a smile. “That is really thoughtful,” you whispered.

“I would never leave you like that after finally feeling you squeeze around me,” Boba grumbled, his mouth brushing against your temple, “You’re not getting rid of me now, princess.”

And you really did not want to.

You could not tell how long you remained like this in his arms and, to be honest, you also did not really care. All you wanted was to soak up every bit of warmth and affection he had to give. But, inevitably, you could tell time was passing when there was a discreet knock on the door.

“’m afraid you’re needed outside, boss,” you recognized Vizsla’s voice again before you could hear footsteps walking away.

You sighed, straightening up and starting to straighten yourself out. Boba helped you, handing you your dress and pressing a kiss to your shoulder when the fabric fell over you again.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “I would very much like to take you out sometime, princess. Properly. Dinner and dessert and everything.”

There was no hiding the smile that spread across your lips. “I’d like that very much,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck, “When can we go?”

“Tonight?” Boba suggested with a smile, “I’d lie if I said I wouldn’t want to take you out right now but I fear Paz might stop me at the door.”

He opened the door for you and you both slipped out of his office, his hand on your lower back as he led you through the busy workspace. Nobody paid attention to you but you saw a knowing look on Paz’s face that made you shuffle closer to Boba.

The air outside was crisp and you instantly wished yourself back into Boba’s arms. You came to a stop just outside the shop entrance.

“Do you think they still expect me to get my nipples pierced?” you tried to joke, wanting to prolong the moment before you had to say goodbye.