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SANCTUARY

—PAIRING: Boba Fett x Female Character

—SUMMARY: Sometimes sanctuary isn’t a place, it’s a person.

—WORD COUNT: 1.2k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: third person narration, explicit sexual content, Empire era!Boba, yearning (once again hehe), themes surrounding sex work, oral sex (fem receiving), open-ended ending (like not sad but not necessarily happy either? ends on a sense of longing) Please let me know if I missed anything!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you so much @wolffegirlsunite for this amazing song prompt ask! I'm trying out third person for the first time (so lemme know if y'all like it) and idk if this counts as a reader insert but I intended for it to kinda be like one, so I kept the female character's description vague. I am also trying to practice writing shorter pieces with these song prompts and let me tell you!! I do not like shutting up!!! I have many thoughts concerning this man!!!! But it wouldn't be a challenge if it was easy 🤨

Enjoy besties 💖

Song: Sanctuary by Joji

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

If you’ve been waiting for falling in love

Babe, you don’t have to wait on me

‘Cause I’ve been aiming for heaven above

But an angel ain’t what I need

It’s always after dark when he comes to see her. Like a fallen star, he touches down on the glimmering world of Canto Bight in the dead of night—a whispered name amongst the patrons in the casino as he passes through the velvet ropes to the pleasure house above. Boba can feel their eyes, their titillation, their curiosity, their fear of him on his back as he ascends the stairs. He pays it no mind because when he crosses the threshold into the Black Rose, only one thing matters to him.

Low lights soon give way to neon walls where beautiful men and women dance, their dark silhouettes enthralling their audience as drinks are served and credits are spilled from pockets. Boba doesn’t bother to stop and admire the show, however, he strides directly over to the pink-skinned Twi’lek sitting in the corner booth. She greets him with a familiar smile, knowing who he is and what he’s here for. She nods wordlessly towards the curtain behind her and the guard steps aside to let him pass.

The music dampens to a dull thump in the gilded waiting room, the air fragranced with dusky rose and sultry amber. He takes off his helmet to let the sweet air kiss his face, a gentle brush over the tips of his ears, the bow of his lips, the tip of his nose. Boba breathes it in, the scent of his escape. The scent that clings to his clothes even after he leaves, reminding him that she’s only ever one call away, laying alone and empty of him. Those thoughts, that sinful fragrance… they make his body ache for hers.

It drives him almost as much as his desire to be the best to honor his father’s legacy. That dull throbbing in his bones is his pain’s pleasure: the satisfaction of completing another job is made even greater with the knowledge that his reward is waiting on Canto Bight. It’s only after his pucks are turned in and his bounties paid that he allows himself to see her. She is a wine he must only sip, her sweet intoxication too tempting to allow himself anything greater. 

Her taste already stains his lips, keeping him from coming in the light of day, despite that the dim interior is never any brighter than it is after the sun sets. Because then she would know. She’d know that if she’s holding out, waiting to fall into that unspoken love that she wouldn’t have to wait on him, that his heaven isn’t one floating in the sky. An angel isn’t what he needs... it’s her. 

That’s why he no longer seeks out anyone else to fulfill his desires, why she’s become the only one. Boba has experienced the thrill of pleasure with many in his years, discovered what he liked and what gave him the release he required to keep his mind clear. Most of all, however, it revealed how he needs the warmth of equal to truly soothe the burning in his core, something more than just the colorful amusement of a dancing girl or the rough diversion of another hunter on a long job. He needs more, firmer ground to touch down upon. He needs a sanctuary.

She likes to make him wait for a couple minutes when he arrives, let their mutual anticipation build to a low boil. Swiping on her trademark ruby lipstick, the Madame of the Black Rose smiles at her painted reflection. Boba Fett is in her waiting room, fresh off a hunt, pent up and ready to burn through all that raw energy. He needs her. He’s never said as much, but she knows that’s why he comes to her, to work through the knots in his soul after being wound so tight. 

Donning the sheer black robe laid out on her chair, she saunters into her waiting room practically purring with delight. Boba is reclined on the low slung chaise, legs apart with his helmet propped on his knee. His pretty lips twitch into the smallest of smiles at her appearance, his dark eyes glinting with salacious intention as they slip down her body. All she has to do is hold out her jeweled hand and he’s pushing her back into her rooms, his hot mouth sealing over hers.

The fervid way they tear into each other, pulling clothes and armor off as quickly as their tangled limbs will allow, speaks the words their lips do not: what you want is what I want. Sincerity in motion, acted out but never spoken of. Two souls that lie awake when apart dreaming of the courageous, secret reality where they give into something real. Something that they passed off for child’s play or a fantasy fit only for those on the opposite side of the galaxy’s underbelly—either way, certainly not something for them. Bounty hunters and working girls, no matter how revered or expensive, don’t get happy endings together. Not in this life at least. 

When he kneels between her thighs, Boba revels in the slick warmth and breathy moans that she allows him to wring out of her with his tongue and fingers. One orgasm is not enough for him, nor two, and just barely three before he comes up for air, panting praises and curses into her soft skin while she runs her nails through his hair. It gives her such pleasure, such luscious pride to see his glossed over eyes and slick-shined face so overwrought and pussy drunk. She hasn’t even touched him properly yet and he’s a man consumed.

When he finally gives her his cock, it’s hard and leaking, flushed with violet want. She relishes in the way he fills her cunt every single time he takes her; the lurid stretch of him burns in her veins, her heart pounds against her ribs as he snaps his strong hips against the back of her thighs. When she flips him on his back to ride him how she likes, she yanks his face up by his curls to kiss and bite and bruise her way into him. Maybe if she kisses him long and deep enough, he’ll hear all the things she cannot bring herself to say. That if he loves her like she loves him, he doesn’t have to wait any longer to make her his. That she doesn’t want an angel or a savior, just him. 

Skin to skin and cheek to cheek, she hopes there’s an osmosis of sentiment. Fuck me harder, she begs her with body, fuck me like you’re not going to leave. Fuck me like our lives won’t end up apart. And he does, again and again, every time he darkens her door. He digs his fingers in, sinks his mark into her giving flesh, pulling her so close because they can never know how long their lifetimes will be. When he holds her so tight her lungs protest and her ribs threaten to crack, she locks her legs around his muscular torso and presses her lips to his ear. We can aim for heaven above, baby, you don’t have to wait on me.

me and who ⁉️

still not over this scene. like. that should’ve been me