#reader pairing

𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍... Eddie Munson.

Eddie is a fiercely loyal misfit with a huge heart. Beneath his theatrical, metalhead bravado is someone who deeply cares for his found family. You’d be the grounding force in his life, the one who keeps him fed (literally and emotionally), while he gives you the affectionate rebellion you crave—structured but never stifling. He wouldn’t be overly jealous—he’d admire your warmth and trust your loyalty, because he knows what it’s like to be misunderstood and judged unfairly. And he'd never want to do that to you. Plus, I can totally see him swooning when you show up with a little container of cookies for the band.

ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

You pack him lunch every day—usually with a little doodle or note inside. He teases you about it, but secretly shows the note to every member of Hellfire like it’s a trophy.

He sits on the counter while you cook or bake, guitar in his lap, just vibing while chatting with you or making up ridiculous songs about the pie you're making. It’s his happy place.

He has a “comfort corner” in your home—blankets, snacks, incense, maybe a few of your hoodies—and it’s the first place he goes when he needs grounding. You built it together.

You made him a "vet tech for dummies" crash course binder because he kept asking questions about your work and wanted to be able to follow your stories (also so he doesn’t freak out when you come home with blood on your scrubs).

He’s fiercely protective of your structure—like reminding you gently (but consistently) about routines, meds, meals, even when you resist. “I know rules suck, sweetheart, but you said it helps. So c’mon, brush your teeth. I’ll time it with a song.”

You share a "no judgment zone" where you both can talk about your pasts, fears, identity, and needs. He always listens with eyes like you hung the moon. You’ve never felt so safe being yourself.

ℑ𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔔𝔲𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰

Eddie: “I’ve got two moods: ‘I will absolutely take care of you’ and ‘please hold my hand and tell me it’s all going to be okay.’” You: “And I’ve got both covered.”

Eddie: “Are you mad at me?” You: “No—” Eddie: “Because if you are, I need a full breakdown, a chart, three examples, and possibly a hug?”

𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℌ𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔄𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔜𝔬𝔲

He loves your fierce gentleness. The way you care so deeply, even when you’re tired or overwhelmed. You make people feel safe, seen, and whole—but you don’t lose yourself in it. He watches you set boundaries with grace, hold space for everyone without sacrificing your own, and he thinks, this is what strength looks like. He adores your soft touches, your messy but passionate baking days, the way you mutter to animals like they're coworkers, and how you hold his face when he’s spiraling—like he’s something precious.

ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤

Home – Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros (Wholesome chaotic, dancing barefoot in the kitchen energy.)

ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔰

Found Family — You build one together. Hellfire Club, your coworkers, stray cats, and all.

Slow Burn to You’re My Person — It took him a while to trust it was real. But now? You’re it.

Only You Can Ground Me — You’re the one who talks him down during panic attacks. He starts doing it for you, too.

𝔓𝔩𝔬𝔱 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔰

We live together but pretend it’s not domestic

Fixing the broken boy (except he’s already soft but thinks he’s too much)

Mutual Healing Arc

ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔞𝔤𝔢

Occasionally, The Third Rail became so lively that you could easily delude yourself into believing that the bombs had never plummeted from the skies all those years ago. It is only when you're completely sober that you can discern that virtually every person in the vicinity disfigured by the enduring effects of radiation.

Nevertheless, the bustling crowds of sweaty bodies (dancing, laughing, and clinking their glasses without a care in the world) were surely reminiscent of what it was like pre-war. I couldn’t be sure. I was born into this shithole of a world. What would I know about living pre-bombs?  

I grunt a sarcastic chuckle into my pint glass, fogging the edges with my breath. I'm sure it was warmer in pre-war bars than it is here. Being underground in an old railway tunnel helps retain some heat, but there's a subtle yet constant breeze coming from somewhere.

Still, the alcohol helps. As do the masses of bodies. Alcohol helps with a lot of things. Even now, many still use it as a respite from the horrors of daily life. A beautiful dissociative escape, where the only thing that matters is the moment.

Unfortunately, I'm the only sober one tonight. Well, almost. I’ve managed to get one mixer deep, tucked in tight against the bar, waiting for Hancock to join me for a celebration. Today ended much later than we anticipated when a large group of Supermutants seeking revolution entered Boston Common. We dealt with them, of course, but it significantly cut into our relaxation time - something both Hancock and I equally hated. 

The dancing crowd swells behind me, swaying in time to Magnolia’s silky voice. Occasionally, someone brushes against my back. I'm desperate to feel more drunk. I tend to get irritable far more quickly when I'm sober, much like Hancock... maybe that's one of the reasons we've always gotten along. Feeling overstimulated, I swill back the ends of my glass and signal Charlie for another.

Lucky for me, no human could possibly serve booze as fast as that robot. It’s mere seconds before another full pint glass is in my hand and I greedily neck it back. I smile to myself, sensing the warmth in my belly spread into a pleasant haziness behind my eyes. These quadruple shots are certainly doing the trick.

An immense wave of gratitude washes over me as I perceive a hand between my shoulder blades. It unmistakably belongs to someone familiar, amidst the numerous inebriated strangers who have been using me as a prop for the last thirty minutes.

“Hey, dollface… how you holding up?”

He angles his head downwards, drawing himself nearer to me, enabling me to still take in his words amongst the competing sounds of music. In response, I offer a smile, albeit tinged with irony, and he promptly detects the subtle distress reflected in my eyes.

“Oh… well, why the hell are you sitting up here then?”  

With a light-hearted chuckle, he shifts his focus from me to locate Charlie. His hand instinctively wraps around the nape of my neck and delivers a playful squeeze, firm enough to hurt, yet, ultimately, conveying a sense of comfort and protection.

“Charlie - do this ol’ ghoul a favor and hand me that great, big bottle of whiskey - oh - and two glasses, if you’d be so kind?”

I can't help but watch him adoringly as he swoops in to solve all of my problems, like always. I've only spent a little over four months working alongside him, but I'm pretty sure that I'm falling for him. He's courageous yet gentle, sweet yet just, violent yet empathetic. I've come to realize that he's a very intricate person... well, ghoul. And, boy, does he know how to make me feel good.

Ignoring our rather large age gap - human/ghoul relationships aren’t uncommon in the wasteland, although they are generally disapproved of in most settlements. Except here. Here, in Goodneighbor, things are different. Here, Hancock and I can openly celebrate our relationship and relax in public without any judgment. As the Mayor, Hancock receives special privileges that he graciously extends to me. Moreover, the majority of the residents in Goodneighbor are ghouls themselves, and those who are human are generally open-minded outcasts who have found a welcoming home here. It's an ideal situation.

“Follow me…” He murmurs intimately next to my ear. With his palm placed reassuringly on the small of my back, he guides me smoothly through the mass of people - most of whom acknowledge their mayor with a rowdy toast of their glasses.

Once we’re out of the thickest part of the crowd, he grabs hold of my hand and leads me to a dimly lit table for two at the very back of the room. Both the noise level and the number of people are much more bearable here. I plonk myself down on the torn couch - enjoying the coolness of the leather seat against the back of my tired thighs.

“Jesus… thanks for rescuing me, yet again…” I snigger, holding my glass in place while Hancock pours a generous serving of whiskey. The liquid fills the vessel with a rich, golden hue.

“Why the hell is it so busy in here tonight!?”

Hancock puts the whiskey bottle back on the metal table between us with a thud, causing several small white flecks of paint to flutter to the ground. He leans back comfortably against the sofa, draping his spare arm around my shoulder while he surveys the room.

“You tell me, sunshine! Could be since we cleared up those raider gangs last week? Could just be a few more people traveling through.”  

His black eyes glisten and gleam like polished onyx under the sporadic beams of the spotlights that intermittently flash across his face. The aura of pride he exudes is palpable, adding even more charm to his demeanor. Seeking refuge in his presence, I nuzzle closer to the comforting warmth emanating from his body, finding solace as I press my cheek against his faded scarlet duster coat. Meanwhile, I continue to take measured sips from my glass of whiskey, relishing its smooth taste.

The mist brought on by alcohol is steadily encroaching upon my senses. I have firm intentions of becoming extremely drunk, and with Hancock already pouring himself another drink, it seems obvious that he shares that inclination.

(Part 2)

(Part 3)

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

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

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

And oh, he was good at making you.

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

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

He was happy to remind you.

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

And you loved it. Reveled in it.

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

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

You'd scoffed in response.

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

Boba had raised his eyebrows, eyes shining with humor.

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

You'd scoffed again.

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

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

The look set fire to your veins.

"Only three times?"

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

Boba had chuckled again.

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

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

Anything beyond this, you knew the safeword.

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

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

Maybe.

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

Nothing was like his cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was him. Only him.

And Maker, he knew it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maker, you were perfect.

Boba leaned down and kissed your cheek, sweetly.

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

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

You always did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you did.

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

"Boba, more."

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

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

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

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

"And why is that, little one?"

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

And well, he was everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped and clenched around him.

"Boba," you moaned.

"Patience, princess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And only helped bring you closer and closer.

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

"Cum."

You did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The last two worked a quiet laugh from Boba.

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

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

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

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

You giggled.

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

"What?" you asked.

"It's midnight."

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

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

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

You scowled playfully at him, cheeks flushing hot.

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

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

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

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

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

"You love it."

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

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

"I love you."

You sighed, happily.

"I love you, too, Boba."

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

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