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Chapter Text

He'd come into quite a bit of a windfall at Jabba's hand, and with a bow and a nod, he'd cavorted as much as he needed to. The taciturn Boba Fett knew when to get his payout and move along.

The stench of Spice, sweat and sperm addled the filtration systems of his helmet, Boba's T-visored visage cool and collected as he stood before the Hutt's dias. 

The court is dimly lit, reeking of spice and sweat. Boba drops the unconscious bounty at Jabba’s feet with a metallic thud. The Hutt slithers forward on his dais, tail coiling, amusement glistening in his rheumy eyes.

“Bo shuda, Fett. Je killya uba nobata.” 

Well done, Fett. You kill efficiently.

Boba, ever a polyglot, nodded as Jabba spoke his bassy, deep Huttese towards him.

“Mi pankpa. Du Wanta wontensa, Jabba?”

I try. Do you want it alive?

“Hohoho- Ee chee wata. wontensa na badda.”

Yes, yes! Alive… for now.

With a flick of his fattened fingers, he pointed to Bib. The pale Twi'lek's crimson eyes landed on the two Gammorean guards at his side, wavering for them to drag the bounty, a human male, away. Boba watched keenly, his back straightening ever so slightly.

“Chuba naga. Dopa maskey bo skranza?”

You stink of blood. Was it messy?

How apt. Boba nodded. 

“Pateesa matache na opoodna tasa.”

The target had opinions.

“Ha ha ha! Koona t’chuta, bounty hunter?”

What's next, bounty hunter?

“You mean who's next?”

"Da soonta wa neecha! Imperial du chabba na se'." Bib snapped, rolling his eyes. "Ne wanna wa hatoosa."

A weak little outsider! That man was Imperial who forgot the galaxy eats cowards.

The court seemed to grow more imposing, more dimly lit. Boba dropped his head unconscious as he hears the shrill cries of the bounty in question being hauled off deeper into Jabba's palace. He wasn't amused this time, but as he leered up, he could see that Jabba was regarding him, his slick tail coiling, amusement glistening in his puffy, rheumy eyes. 

"Don't worry, it's all said and done."

"Ouuaghh... Fett... ne honkopee da hontoda?"

Fett, did you enjoy the hunt? 

Boba's voice lowered, a hint of sardonic charm inking his tone. 

"No, not always, but I do enjoy what it leaves behind."

"Ne-tocky wa?"

Like what ?

“Silence. And very few people left to interrupt it.”

Jabba busted out into a wheezing, hacking laugh that echoed off the stone walls, the rapacious laughter of his guests mingling with the sudden upswing of Jizz anthems. Boba noted Oola, poised at Jabba's feet, glaring up at him, her emerald skin glimmering with perspiration. There was nothing like a beautiful Twi'lek, though Boba had other matters to attend to. Credits, like his bloody hand, bought freedom - freedom that even she didn't have. 

Freedom in the arms of his beloved Rystáll ...

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun casted a warm, golden hue over the room as Boba stood between her long, shapely legs. Observing his handiwork, his visored gaze hid the absolute debauched leer he landed upon her. It was a look that replaced the stalwart cynicism that often marked his dark brown globes, a look rather emboldened by nothing but contempt for those around him. And now-? What of that look?

As he stood between Rystáll's spread legs, the leather straps of the bindings he'd so expertly fashioned around her wrists creaked softly as she squirmed and writhed beneath him. Her wrists were bound tightly behind her back, the position she was bent in only forced her ample, pale chest to thrust out proudly, the rise and fall of her gorgeous tits drawing Boba's brand new gaze.

Sadism, for better words or not, drenched Boba's visage like a second skin.

It was disgusting. Anyone who would have been able to see his face would have recoiled at the oily filth that was slathered along his metaphorical skin - it reeked of sex, of wanting, of a smolder that gave no qualms or fucks about anything else but the stunning half-Theelin specimen before him.

He'd had her before, yes, but that was the past. She was his wife in name and occupation, a loyal lover, and one who he could put up with. Rystáll asked nothing of him but his dark, sinful tributes, and as a beast of his own cruelty, Boba was more than happy to indulge her.

Jango had raised a force to be reckoned with, but he also raised a generous young man. Boba was generous, yes, but often loved dolling out attention with a flair for the heinous and perverted.

Rystáll's eyes were covered by a black, silken blindfold, her long lashes casting Shadows across her flushed cheeks even so. Threads of her crimson hair, damp with sweat and past drenches of her own arousal, clung to her arched brow as she panted for him. Softly, those quickened breaths only gave credence to Boba that she was at her absolute heightened state of excitement... and all of that excitement was for him. 

In his hand, he held the tools of his trade - a vibroblade, a sonar pulsar device, but most importantly, a cum slick, lube addled toy of destruction. It was thick and jet black, fleshy with bumpy edges that would do the trick. He wasn't averse to using such folly, no, in fact, he reveled in it. 

Boba gripped the base of the ribbed dildo as it disappeared deep into Rystáll's glistening folds, the textured surface sleek and slick with her juices as he pumped it slowly at first. Teasingly, he was intent on giving her inch by inch, pressing it deep until it hilted inside, the bulbous, flared head of it nestling right against her cervix.

"HAHN-!"

"..."

Her cry gave him all the information he needed then and there.

Boba's leather-clad fingers danced over the sensitive nub of her clit, circling and rubbing the throbbing bud with a maddeningly light touch as he left the dildo in its place, watching as her honeyed pussy began to drool and speak to him. Rystáll gasped and moaned harder, her hips rolling and bucking reflexively as pleasurable sparks arousal began to rumble right through her core. With a swift click against it's edge, the dildo began to purr and rumble deep within her channel, the incessant buzz vibrating through her generous curves. 

Boba's eyes roved hungrily over Rystáll's bound form, taking in the way the rough leather straps framed her delicate skin, a stark contrast to the battle worn condition of his Mandalorian armor. The hunter green, crimson and yellow ochre accents of his armor were scuffed and worn, a testament to the countless battles and hunts he's endured, but it didn't mean a thing to  him in that moment - so long as he looked every inch of the formidable bounty hunter he was, he knew she'd comply even further. Rystáll, splayed out before him, was a tantalizing prize to behold.

"This brings back memories," Boba remarked, a hint of dark amusement coloring his low, rumbling voice. "A bounty, all trussed up and at my mercy..."

He pressed the dildo deeper, albeit marginally, the tapered, alien flare catching on Rystáll's cervix before she writhed manically. The unique shape allowed it to hug the contours of her walls, the nodules along its length dragging deliciously against her sensitive flesh.

"Though I must say, I've never interrogated a bounty quite like this before," he continued, a wicked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth beneath his helm. "Most don't scream quite so sweetly when I'm inside them." He pushed harder, the flared head kissing her cervix again, the vibrations intensifying as it nestles against her spot.

Rystáll cried out harshly, her back arching off the bed as the intense sensations nearly made her pass out.

"Aahnnnngggg! " 

Boba chuckled darkly, finding twisted amusement in her reaction. She could give better than that, couldn't she?

"It's a shame you're not really my bounty," he mused, twisting the dildo cruelly as he watched her body respond. "I could get used to seeing you like this - impaled on an alien cock, begging so prettily for your release. It's not better than mine, that I know... you'd be stupid to say that."

Boba's voice emerged from his helmet grimily, the modulated tones oddly distorted yet still unmistakably his own. It came in a low, deliberate cadence, each word measured and precise, like the steady rhythm of his strokes.

"That's it, my little slut," he murmured, his gloved fingers circling her sensitive clit with a maddeningly light touch. "I'm just getting you ready for the main event... getting you ready to please me."

Soon enough, Boba began to pump the dildo in slow, deliberate strokes, the flared head kissing her cervix, the nodules dragging teasingly against her quivering walls with each drag. 

"I'd say you were wanted for the crime of being a thief." He punctuated his words with a particularly harsh thrust, grinding the dildo flush against her g-spot. "A thief of hearts. You need to be punished for stealing mine so thoroughly." 

His own arousal pressed urgently against the confines of his armor, his rigid length throbbing in time with his manic heartbeat - even so, control was everything. If he can make her beg, can make her mad with desire, then he'd be more than satisfied.

Boba's voice dropped an octave lower, the mechanical distortion giving his words an eerie, threatening edge.

"Tell me, thief," he growled,"How have you managed to steal so many hearts, to ensnare them so completely?" 

Rystáll gasped and writhed beneath him, her body jolting with each forceful pump of the toy stretching her open.

"I-I don't know what you mean," she pants, her voice high and breathless. "I haven't stolen anything!"

The vibrations and the relentless stimulation of the dildo's unique shape are driving her to the brink of madness, that he knew, but Boba was intent on pushing her a bit more. Give an inch, they take a mile, he thought. Ruthless little whore.

"Don't play coy with me, Rystáll. I want to know your secrets, the tools you use to enslave men so completely."

When she didn't reply, he pulled the toy only halfway out, only to surge it forward again.

"This is your punishment, thief," Boba continued. "Punishment for the crime of stealing my heart, my mind, my very fucking soul."

He leaned in closer, his helmet looming over her as he ground the dildo deeper, the vibrations intensifying to a fever pitch. "The reward for your capture will be the biggest I've ever collected - your body, turned over completely to my desires, my whims, my every twisted fantasy. I'm going to ruin you, Rystáll. I'm going to break you."

He could feel his own cock throbbing and pulsing in the confines of his armor, the rigid length twitching with the urge to replace the toy and claim her fully.

"Teasing me with this beautiful, greedy cunt of yours. You'll speak up soon enough, one way or another." 

Rystáll's body shuddered and convulsed, her mind hazing over with the overwhelming pleasure crashing through her.

"I... I'm not..." she gasped out between ragged, desperate breaths. "You're taking advantage... you're taking advantage of my pussy-!!" Her protests dissolved into a choked moan as she came, her pussy squirting hard as the dildo curved and hit her just right. Jet after jet of hot femcum splattered on Boba's palm and gauntlets, his flight suit soaked by her arousal. Beads of it dripped from his visor, the dark, fathomless expanse of it fogged up from his own breathing.

"That's it, thief," he rasped, not letting up his relentless assault on her weeping cunt even after she'd cum. "Cum for me. I'm going to play with every hole until you speak up. Better now than never."

Boba slowly withdrew the dildo from Rystáll's dripping, ravaged pussy, a cruel laugh escaping his lips as he watched her cunt gape for him.

"Look at this damage, Rystáll," he taunted, his voice a low, wondering rumble. "You're a persistent little thing, aren't you? Most don't survive a hunt quite so... intact." 

Tossing the toy aside, Boba began removing his gloves and gauntlets, a deliberate process that spoke to the utter necessity and significance of what he had planned for her rapture.

"I don't often do this, strip a bounty of their defenses, after a hunt. But you're not like most, are you, thief?" He allows the gloves to drop to the floor with a soft thud, leaving his calloused, scarred hands exposed and all for her. 

Without warning, Boba plunged two fingers deep into Rystáll's sensitive, weeping cunt, curling and probing until he found what he was looking for. Rystáll wailed for him, her eyes rolling back as his fingertips jiggled and danced over her spot.

"Oh God, oh fuck! " Her thighs tremble and quake, her hips bucking wildly as she thrashes beneath him, unable to escape the relentless onslaught of sensation that was oh-so unique to Boba's hand alone.

"I have so many more ways to make you crack, Rystáll. So many more ways to show you that you've been a nasty little pet."

Rystáll screamed out in rapture, her cries of ecstasy filling the room as Boba's fingers work her over with ruthless skill.

"Yes, yes, fuck!" she wails, her voice breaking and raw. "Don't stop, please don't stop!" 

Feeling her tightening around his digits, Boba growled sternly, annoyed by her zeal. If she came too soon, he'd have to put aside the main event. 

"Settle down, thief. You don't get to dictate the terms of your own capture." Boba grit out, his tone venomous as he played her like an instrument, tuning her, torturing her...

His free hand slid up the quivering plane of her belly, the calloused palm of it pressing down, down, down, adding a delicious pressure to her gut.

"You're dangerous, Rystáll," Boba murmurs, his fingers still pumping steadily into her clenching heat. "Too dangerous to be running wild out there, stealing hearts and leaving a trail of broken men in your wake." He leaned in closer, his helmet a dark, intimidating presence shrouding her from the dim light overhead in their bedroom. "It's better that I apprehend you, better that I  show you the consequences of your crimes."

Boba shifted his hips, insistent on alleviating the pressure of his arousal as it pressed rather urgently against the confines of his codpiece. The rigid length throbbed and pulsed, straining against his armor as if seeking to burst free, all too ready to claim her all over again. The knowledge that she had such a powerful effect on him, that she'd reduced a formidable hunter like himself to such a decadent state of desperate, a place of aching need, sent a thrill of dark satisfaction surging through Boba. He'd met his match before, but none of them were as rare a beauty as his beloved quivering beneath him.

"Now, I'll be kind and ask you again. Tell me, thief," he growled, his thumb grinding mercilessly against her throbbing clit. "How do you do it? How do you steal hearts so easily?" His free hand slid up to cup the gentle swell of her left breast, squeezing the soft mound roughly as he pinned her with a stern, accusing gaze beneath his helmet.

Rystáll's mind was hazing over with the overwhelming pleasure radiating out from where Boba's fingers are buried deep inside her, her eyes damn near delirious from his perilous exploitation of her pale, mottled flesh.

"I... I don't know," she gasped out between ragged, desperate breaths. "It's not... not on purpose..."

Her hips bucked and grinded against his seeking, punishing hand, desperately needing more even as her body teetered on the brink of yet another mind shattering climax. Even as she undulated against him, Boba had to snarl his frustration with her, the dark, twisted arousal she spun within his gut overwhelming him. She was supposed to bend, they all did as boring as it was, but her will to fight angered and turned him on in equal measure.

"Why lie? Tell me, woman, or I swear that I'll make you regret laying your whorish eyes on me." Boba snapped, a sound of unbridled lust coloring his gravelly voice.

"I don't know!" she screamed, tears of overwhelming ecstasy streaking down her cheeks. "I swear it, I don't know how I do it! It's not on purpose!" 

With a harsh, frustrated growl, Boba yanked his fingers from Rystáll's dripping, needy cunt, her voice quavering as she whimpered from the absence of his digits digging deep. As it were, he had other plans - her lover was as calm as a coiled snake, ready to strike, but all the more unpredictable when he did.

He brung his hand down in a sharp, stinging slap against Rystáll's sensitive, swollen folds. The lewd sound of skin impacting skin rang out brutally followed by her yelp of pained surprise. 

"You should have known better than to cross my path, thief. Should have known better than to engage me," he muttered rather coldly. "A beauty like you should never flaunt what they have, tease men with what they've got... much less men like me. You must feel privileged to be my wife."

Boba snickered softly, delivering another smack to her wet cunt. "You're unrefined. It was about time you were shown the consequences of your shameless behavior." 

Boba's cock throbed and pulsed in the confines of his codpiece, straining against the armored plate as if seeking to burst free and claim the writhing, desperate creature splayed out before him.

"And now you're going to get exactly what you've been asking for," he promised, his voice a low, ominous purr as he trailed his finger along his utility belt, fumbling with it. "A lesson in the dangers of stealing hearts, taught by the very man you couldn't resist. Again, better me than anyone else."

Boba reached into one of the many leather hewn pouches on his utility belt, his fingers wrestling with something momentarily before stilling - with a grunt, he withdrew a long, thick, writhing length of glistening flesh. It was a creature, something akin to a worm, its segmented, chitinous body undulating sensually in his grasp. The creature was easily as long in length as an average human male's cock, its slimy surface glistening obscenely in the low light permeating the room.

"Wh-what-?" Rystáll recoiled in horror as Boba sat the squirming, pulsating creature down on the quivering expanse of her belly, her eyes widening in disgust.

"No, no, I won't let you! " she screams, thrashing her head from side to side in a suddenly desperate state denial. The worm writhed and wriggled, its head end seeking out the slick, dripping heat of her sex with a singular, lewd purpose. "Please, not that! Anything but that! " 

Boba's eyes narrow behind his tinted visor as he loomed over Rystáll's trembling form, his voice a low, stern rumble.

"Confess your sins then, thief," he demanded, his hand poised to guide the writhing creature to its intended goal. "Tell me how you steal hearts, and maybe I'll consider showing you a modicum of mercy." The worm's slick head nudged insistently at the entrance to Rystáll's cunt, its slimy flesh parting her swollen lips as if seeking to invade her core, her sobs reaching a fever pitch as she watched.

Rystáll's mind reeled with a mix of revulsion and reluctant arousal, the creature's slick, segmented body's pulsations against her belly making her skin itch, its movements sending a shameful thrill of excitement through her. She knows the creature's purpose, has heard the whispered rumors of its lewd use on the sands of Tatooine... things trades in whispers within Jabba's court and in the seedier dens of Mos Espa. The thought of that abominable... thing violating her, defiling her, filled her with both utter dread and a twisted sense of dark, demented anticipation.

"I... I don't know!" Rystáll wails, tears of fear and reluctant desire streaking down her cheeks. "It's not something I do on purpose! I swear it!"

Even as she protests, even as her wails reach a delirious fever pitch, her body betrayed her - her thighs fell open even wider, her hips canting up slightly as if inviting the worm's depraved invasion. The creature's head suddenly pushed insistently against her entrance, the slick flesh parting her swollen, dripping folds with a squelch.

"You don't get to tease and torment me whenever you want, only to cry for mercy. That's enough for me." 

Just as Boba was about to drive the creature home, about to push it deep into Rystáll's dripping, needy cunt, she blurt out a confession that gave him utter pause.

"Wait! " she cries, her voice breaking with desperation. "I... I wanted to be yours from the moment I laid eyes on you at Jabba's court!"

The words spill out of her in a rush, as if a dam had burst within her. "The other dancers, they spoke of you, of how much they longed to... to be with you, to be your girl." 

Rystáll took a shuddering breath, her chest heaving as she meets Boba's helmet, her reflection posed back to her in the obsidian visor, her amber eyes shimmering like stars with unshed tears of utterly ruinous frustration.

"I had only heard the rumors like anyone else... whispers of the great Boba Fett and his prowess. When our eyes locked, and you... touched my chin like that..." A shaky, wistful sigh escaped her lips, goosebumps riddling her flesh. "I knew. I knew I wanted to be yours, completely and utterly. I didn't steal hearts on purpose, but... but maybe I've done all that I have done to catch your eye, to make you want me just as much as I've always wanted you... and now look at me... I'm your partner... your wife..."

Boba's eyebrows rose slightly beneath his helmet, a flicker of mild surprise in his eyes. This confession... was not what he'd expected, not what he'd anticipated from this shameless, heart-stealing temptress. The worm, momentarily forgotten, continued to writhe and pulse against Rystáll's belly as he processed her words.

A slow, thoughtful chuckle builds in Boba's chest as he leans back slightly, considering Rystáll with a newfound perspective. "Well, well, well," he murmurs, a hint of dark amusement coloring his voice. "It seems I may have underestimated you, thief." He glances down at the worm, then back to Rystáll, a wicked grin

Boba Fett wasn't entertained by praise.

Words meant nothing if they were not put into action, at least once... twice...

Boba's eyes narrowed.

"Your confession doesn't change the fact that I caught you, thief," he rumbled. "Doesn't change the fact that we have lost time to make up for. I'm not a nice person, Rystáll. I'm not a good person. I want you to understand that, to know exactly what you've gotten yourself into. I will make you suffer simply because you deserve it." 

Rystáll's breath hitched, her chest heaving as she gazed up at Boba through tear-filled eyes.

"You are nice," she whispered, her voice trembling with desperate conviction. "You're kind and caring and..."

Her words dissolved into a choked scream of agonized pleasure as Boba drove the worm forward, the slick, segmented creature plunging into her dripping, needy cunt with a lewd squelch.

"No, no, noooo- NO- NOO- NOOO-!!! " Rystáll wailed, her body convulsing and thrashing as the worm burrowed deep, its undulating length squirming and writhing within her most intimate depths rapidly. The sensation is unlike anything she'd ever experienced, the slick, segmented flesh parting her swollen walls, stroking and caressing her in ways that nothing ever had come close to doing.

To her shock and dismay, Rystáll found herself hurtling towards the precipice of another shattering climax, the worm's wild wriggling stoking the flames of her desire to impossible heights. Her thighs quaked and trembled violently, her hips bucking and grinding against the creature's invading length as it pulsed and throbbed within her.

Boba leaned back, his helmet tilting to the side as he watched Rystáll's pussy clench and spasm around the worm with cruel fascination. The sight of her lost in the throes of such depraved ecstasy, of his reluctant lover finding pleasure in such a vile act, filled him with a dark and twisted glee. He chuckled softly, finding some mild contentment. She needed to know her place, needed to be reared a bit tighter if she was to tango with his fare.

"Well, well, well. You're a fast learner," he said, Boba's voice analytical if anything. "But I wouldn't expect anything less from you. You're such a... natural at taking pleasure from unconventional sources. You're a robber baronness, too. Greedy whore."

Boba's gaze remained locked onto Rystáll's dripping, twitching sex as she teetered on the brink of her climax, the worm's slick, segmented body undulating and writhing within her, stroking her most sensitive spots with a relentless, almost supernatural precision. Rystáll's moans escalated into screams of absolute ecstasy, her nails digging into the sheets beneath her as she thrashed. It was almost as if she'd been electrocuted.

"That's it," Boba goaded, his voice a low, taunting rumble. "Cum for me. Show me the depths of your depravity, the true extent of your desire to be mine."

Boba's cruel words and the worm's relentless stimulation prove too much for Rystáll to withstand. With a scream that echoes off the walls, she comes undone, her body convulsing violently as a mind-shattering orgasm crashes through her. Her sex clenches and spasms around the invading creature, slick fluids gushing out and coating its slimy length as it writhes and pulses within her. 

Through it all, Boba watched with glee, marveling at the erotic sight of his 'captive' finding such intense pleasure in such a vile act.

"I assure you, every step taken with me will be just as... unforgettable."

Boba glanced down, his gaze falling upon Rystáll's glistening, twitching sex. He notes with a mix of amusement and dark appreciation that the worm, once writhing with such enthusiastic vigor, now lies still and lifeless within her. The creature, unable to withstand the vice-like grip of Rystáll's climax, has succumbed to her intense pleasure, its slimy length growing limp and useless.

A scoff of cruel laughter escaped Boba, echoing through the room as he shakes his head slowly.

"Looks like you've even stolen the life from this poor creature, thief," he remarked, a hint of twisted admiration in his modulated voice. "Used it for your own base gratification, and then discarded it like the thoughtless, selfish being you are. It's survived quite a lot to get all the way to this system, you know."

"Hahn- han-anh-hanh-hanh-hanh-hanh-"

"A creature of the sands, a worm of the dunes, and even it couldn't survive the relentless greed of your lust. You truly are irredeemable, Rystáll." Boba's voice is a low, stern rumble, tinged with a dark, cruel amusement. "A thief stealing hearts, a temptress ruining lives, and now a lover killing even the most lowly beasts that dare to touch you. I'll have to watch my back."

His gaze drug over Rystáll's trembling body, taking in the sight of her slick, glistening sex, the worm's limp form still nestled within her. A wicked grin spreads across his face beneath the helmet, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, anticipatory light as he removed it and tosses it away as if it were mere garbage. 

"I suppose that makes me the only one who can truly handle you after all," he says, "I've outlasted them all." His eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as he lets the unspoken implication hang heavy in the air - that he alone has tamed Rystáll herself, brought her to heel in a way no other man could.

Rystáll could only lie there, utterly fucked out and panting, her body aching and spent from the relentless onslaught of pleasure and torment Boba has subjected her to. She stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, a mix of resentment and reluctant awe in her depths.

"You're a bastard," she breathed, her voice hoarse and ragged from screaming his name time after time. "A cruel, selfish, bastard."

He knows she can see it, even with his face obscured from her immediate view, and that alone made Boba feel a sense of utterly wicked pride, knowing that he's exhausted her, bested her, driven her to arousal in such a way. That he alone, among all the men she was willingly and 'accidentally' ensnared and willfully discarded, has the skill and stamina to push her beyond her limits, to shatter her, to make her worship him and his ruthless prowess. 

After all, there was no job that Boba failed at, especially in the realm of pleasure.

But as he took in the sensually disheveled sight of his 'captive', he also felt a sudden flicker of utter, broiling dissatisfaction. His handiwork in binding her so thoroughly had been a bit... sloppy, not to his usual meticulous standards. Frowing, he clenched his jaw as he contemplated such a small oversight, Boba rising upward as he quickly unbound  Rystáll. He watched intently as she slowly drug herself upright, her muscles protesting and trembling from the abuse they've endured. Even her resilience in the wake of such abusive pleasure felt more like a barb in hindsight. 

For a moment, as Rystáll staggered to her feet, Boba wondered if she'd make a break for it. If she'd try to flee, to escape the inescapable web he's spun around her. His hand hovered near his blaster, ready to apprehend if she dared to defy him. 

"..."

But to his surprise and dark satisfaction, Rystáll remained rooted to her spot. She swayed where she stood, exhausted and spent, but made no move to leave. Instead, she met Boba's obscured gaze with a long, searching look, a hint of acceptance and resignation in the depths of her witchy eyes. However, she began to sway, waver and tumble like the house of cards that their relationship genuinely was.

Boba's reflexes, honed by years of dangerous bounty hunting, kicked in instantly. Before Rystáll could proverbially hit the deck, he lunged forward, his strong arms outstretched. He caught her easily, her lithe form fitting against his muscular frame as if she were made to be held there and nowhere else. He felt a strange mix of dark satisfaction and a new, unfamiliar urge to offer comfort.

"Easy there," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. His arms tightened around her, cradling her close as he guided her to sit back down on the edge of the bed. "You've done well, better than any woman I've ever... known." The admission is reluctant, almost grudging, but it's as much of a sincere acknowledgment of Rystáll's resilience and capacity for pleasure as she'll ever get from his lips. 

"Focus on your breathing," Boba coaxed, one hand coming up to gently tilt Rystáll's chin, forcing her leer into the depths of his T-shaped visor. "In and out, nice and easy. I'll take care of you... remember ?" 

Chapter Text

How long was this supposed to last?

A rueful question, indeed, but one that Boba often had on the tip of his tongue. No matter what glittering union he shared with Rystáll, it was secondary at times to the very life he had built for himself. Perhaps he had been desperate for some sense of connection, for a place to ground himself.

Narratives, narratives, narratives. They were tried and true, exhaustingly upheld for the very sake of his mere existence.

Boba Fett wasn't a lover, a "husband", he was a tool. It annoyed him to even be seen in public. His reputation delegated that he belonged to the shadows and that was, for better or worse, what he had to be, where he should have been. And yet, when he would feel her pale, delicate fingers trace the hard, ridged scars etched into his chest, he felt a flicker of something unfamiliar stir within him every single time. It's was a sensation akin to a shudder, a momentary crack in his normally stoic composure. The gentle, almost reverent way she explored his battle-worn flesh sent waves or rapturous, unexpected warmth through his body, setting his nerve endings alight as if he'd touched the scalding core of a battery.

Boba listened intently to Rystáll's whispered confession one evening as they laid in bed together, the sunlight from the main window flooding over their forms, her soft words sinking into his mind as if they were pebbles thrown into a dark, still water pond. Analyzing her words felt secondary, though he often did that with everyone - analyzing their tone, assessing the sincerity of their self-awareness. A selfish part of him reveled in the power of having had shaped her perception of him, of having had even forged a brand new facet of her mere character through his relentless pursuit of her, of his pursuit of pleasure.

To Boba, he knew it was a rather perverse sense of comfort, what, in taking solace in how she saw him. Not just as the oh-so feared bounty hunter who filled her as well as their shared bed, but as a ruthless dispenser of due justice, a catalyst for her own transformation. The knowledge that he himself could leave such an indelible mark upon her very soul showed that she carried the imprint of his influence. 

It was all too much of a darkly satisfying notion.

Boba Fett, the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy, could hold sway. 

She's too stupid to know any better, he thought to himself. I'm nothing that she says I am.

Unable to resist the urge to claim more parts of her, to assert his dominance and inherent ownership over the woman he felt to be singularly unique, Boba allowed his own hands to begin their languid exploration of her body. His calloused fingertips, capable of such utterly devastating harm, caressed the wild, fiery fan of her hair, his touch tender and tactile.

He lingered on the stubby, spiked horns that flanked either side of her head, the exotic adornments that marked her as a creature of untamed, exotic beauty. The rough pads of his fingers brushed over the sharp ridges, a stark contrast to the silken expanse of her skin.

Boba's touch was a silent acknowledgment of the wild, reckless nature that she could not escape, even as she sought to understand the kind side of him.

There was no such thing, at least, in genuineness.

As his fingers danced through her fiery tresses, Boba's head dipped downwards, his lips trailing a path of fire along the slim column of Rystáll's throat. She submitted to him with ease and a soft sigh as he kissed down her neck, the way his lips moved along her made her feel it was far too deliberate... almost as if he were feasting upon her.

"Ah- Boba..."

Rystáll trembled, a full-body shudder that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the perverse, intoxicating way Boba was worshipping her body.

Nothing mattered so long as she was hypnotized a bit.

Their "marriage" was another contract, after all.

He moved to stand beside Rystáll, his imposing frame a stark contrast to her lithe, curvaceous one as he assumed a new role - that of her escort.

Rystáll, already renowned for her dulcet tones and graceful dances, found a fresh thrill in being the center of attention on the arm of such a legendary and enigmatic figure. In her feminine finesse, she couldn't help but revel in the knowledge that she shared such a level of deep seated intimacy with Boba that no one else could lay claim to, and each time he turns his head, regarding her underneath that tinted visor, she couldn't help but shiver in excitement. 

Throughout the day, Boba stood as a silent, steadfast pillar, his presence rarely leaving Rystáll's side as she prepared for her evening performance at the Opera. The dressmakers bustled around her, fitting and adjusting the sumptuous gowns that would adorn her graceful frame, showcasing her toned dancer's body and creamy, mottled skin. All the while, there was a steadfast, palpable tension in the air, a charge of anticipation and perhaps something darker, more carnal, the longer he observed his wicked lover. Its as if the atmosphere was crackling with the unspoken nature of their relationship, the secrets and unspoken desires between his 'thief' and the fearsome bounty hunter-cum-protector.

The dressmakers seemingly picked up on some of the thrill, casting hushed whispers about their bond and how it possibly, just possibly, ebbed and flowed between companionship and a contractual agreement. 

Boba remained silent for the most part, his presence a beacon of mysteriously restrained power. But in unguarded moments, when Rystáll turned to him with a playful smile or a coy glance, his eyes glinted beneath his helm with a mischief that was worlds away from the cold, ruthless glare he fronted the galaxy with.

When the curtain fell, so did his eyes to her form once again. Content with lingering in the shadows, he found the galleys and backstage environment much to his speed, oddly enough. Nobody needed to know that a contract killer, for better words, was playing gallant rake to the beautiful Theelin who entertained the masses. 

Control, as it were, wore many faces.

Boba stood with a rather imposing front as Rystáll took her final bow, the opera house erupting with a massive symphony of their own, the ringing of sharp applause rankled Boba's eardrums, even through the protection of his helmet. He watched from his vantage point, his gaze unwavering all too proprietary, as his lover soaked in her hard won adoration from the public. A flicker of pride and satisfaction coursed through him knowing that he'd invested a disgusting amount of credits into her for such a thing to even be once again. His thief, his temptress, his preening lover... she's a star in her own right, and he's the one who's held her hand, the one who'd guided her wings to soar to brand new heights. Boba Fett, was he a silent promoter, or a protector?

As the curtains closed and the crowd began to dissipate, Boba remained steadfast in his role as Rystáll's shadow. He knows the world she inhabits, the glittering society that both celebrates and consumes the likes of her. It's a far cry from the gritty, unforgiving underbelly that he, himself, dwells in, but one that is ruthless all the same. At any moment, he expected her to tell him of some jealous upstart or understudy that needed to be done away with, his mind idly mulling over the provocation of some glittering pritz of a dancer who he'd disintegrate with a blaster bolt. 

But as Rystáll turned to him, her hand sliding down the curve of his hip, he only saw her touch as some silent plea for companionship, the gesture strangely unfamiliar yet not entirely unwelcome. In an odd way, every moment spent with her was three steps forward and three steps back, his emotionality so jarringly displaced that he could never quite find his center. Even as she touches him, he reminds himself that its the blood money that he's funneled into her that's given her this freedom to truly soar, to illuminate the hallowed halls of glamour and farce. For reasons he dare not voice, that knowledge alone brings him all sorts of dark contentment. 

Even so, he remembers lesser times, times where he strangely allowed his presence and emotions for her, those soft, saccharine things, to overrule his thoughts and countenance. She had betrayed him once, and that alone had been enough to send him spiraling. He'd punished her over and over for that slight, and even when he'd reconciled her rather brazen taking on of other lovers to line her purse, he couldn't help but think about that day as he acted as both protector and muscle alike. 

If he saw any of those simpering idiots who wished to have her hand over his, he'd make their lives a living hell.

Sometimes he felt that he was still some teenage boy, but she clearly brought out the worst in him.

Women...

"Can you lead me to the ball room?"

"As you wish," Boba rumbled, his modulated voice tinged with a lilt of amused indulgence. "My fee for guarding such a celebrated treasure such as yourself is about to increase substantially. I trust you know what that means?" 

His hand found the small of her back, his fingers splaying possessively over the delicate curve. Guiding her down the grand staircase and into the waiting transport, a promise of a raucous, rough celebration of her triumph hung heavy in the air between them. It seemed that for all her newfound fame and freedom, Rystáll still could quietly command him. There wasn't a sum that she could give him that would matter, anyhow - what she had was more or less his to begin with.

As the night wore on and the after-parties blurred into one another, Boba found himself the center of a web of furtive glances and hushed whispers. The glittering elite of Coruscant's overworld, drunk on champagne and their own brand of self importance, clearly couldn't help but cast their wary eyes at the figure looming at Rystáll's side. They sensed the danger that radiated from him like heatwaves, the unspoken threat that lurked beneath that iconic helmet.

Among the sea of worried faces, one stood out in its palpable unease, one that became a target for Boba's hawk-like perception - the sector's portly, sweating mayor. The man, a notorious lecher and one of Rystáll's most prolific patrons, could barely hide discomfort at the mere sight of the renown bounty hunter. His eyes darted rather nervously, those fat, pudgy fingers fidgeting with his collar. His nerves were clearly on edge, and if there was something that Boba enjoyed, it was when a piglet began to squeal. He didn't miss it by a long shot. 

Boba carried himself with the indifference of his occupation at the moment, his presence only staining the marbled expanse of the ball room simply because he was playing bodyguard. It was a far cry from his usual Imperial or Hutt-driven missions, but at that moment, Boba delighted in the way the mayor shrank back as he and Rystáll approached him. Parting the crowded room, he knew all too well what was clouding the mayor's psyche.

This was the man Rystáll had once said she needed to attend to when he'd returned from that horrendous mission Vader had sent him on to Panna Prime. He knew all too well the sordid history that Rystáll had with men in the past; her enslavement to Prince Xisor had allowed her space to do God knew what with any man who had the money to pay.

Boba was no such man.

He himself had never implicitly tangled in the same web of sexual favors and illicit trysts that Rystáll had, but it had been the very thing that had nearly driven them apart when he thought about it. He wondered if she'd taken the mayor on as a lover, perhaps. The memory of her confession, poured out in the throes of his passionate punishment of her, stirred a certain grim elation within Boba's chest. He had her now, had whipped her into shape in such a way that he didn't have to play pretend about who she preferred.

She wasn't rimming any of these men's asses while calling them her 'husband', either.

Seeing the mayor squirm, watching the beads of sweat gather on his brow... it all ignited a comforting, sadistic urge within Boba's chest. He couldn't resist the opportunity to toy, to tease, to manipulate the mayor's fear for his own amusement. It was petty, perhaps, no, it was. Boba Fett wasn't a man who many knew beyond a name, anyhow. He could have some levity, a little fun if he willed it.

"Mayor," Boba rumbled, drawing his words in a way that made them sound like a blatant challenge, a warning. "Quite the lavish affair you've put together here."

His gaze, hidden behind and enigmatic shroud of polarized glass, still bore into the mayor's twin beads. A wolf and a pig, how fitting.

The mayor swallowed hard, a bead of sweat trickling down his flubby chin before he nodded. Human males were of many varieties, but it was these that not even Boba could stand.

"Ah, ah... Mister... Fett. Quite generous of you to grace us all with your presence. I-I didn't realize Rystáll would be in such... reputable company."

A dark grin tugged at the corner of Boba's mouth beneath his helmet as he watched the mayor squirm, his cruel thoughts churning like the oceans of Kamino. A devious idea took shape in his mind, a twisted fantasy for some perhaps, but one that just seemed like public retribution for a ruthless killer like himself. He yearned to show the mayor his stake on Rystáll in the most humiliating way possible, to fuck her then and there, in front of this lecherous, pathetic politician and all of Coruscant's high society. The vivid image of the mayor being forced to watch as Boba took her seemed more than getting even, but in his unwavering self control, his mere presence was as much of a mental fucking that he effortlessly was dolling out. 

Boba's hand tightened around Rystáll's, her slender fingers intertwining with his own. Her touch, gentle yet firm, had a tempering effect on his ruthless musings. Like a cool breeze through a scorched landscape, a snippet of a memory flickers through his mind - the stern, unyielding face of his father, Jango. 

He remembers a lesson long ago, under scorching heat of Geonosis. Jango's voice, grave and serious, as he imparted wisdom to his young son.

"Win your bounties fairly, Boba," he had said. "Earn your glory, your rewards. A true Mandalorian... a true Fett... wins with honor."

Had his father known that honor wore many faces? That at times, it didn't exist?

Boba blinked, the memory fading as soon as it came, but the sentiment it bore lingered like a festering sore. 

None of these people mattered. He figured it would only be a few more months before he had to turn one of them in, dead or alive.

None of this mattered.

As the night's shadows lengthened and the revelry faded into a distant hum, Boba seemed to pay more attention to how the plush carpets under their feet muffle their footsteps, the opulent furnishings casting long, dancing shadows on the walls as they both navigated the damn near labyrinthine corridors of the upscale hotel they'd taken for the night.

Boba's mind, ever the strategic engine it is, couldn't help but ponder Rystáll future plans.

"Tell me," he rumbles, his voice cutting through the hush of the empty halls, "do you intend to make Coruscant your permanent residence? To bask in the adoration of the galaxy's elite indefinitely?"

There's a tension in Boba's voice, a tightness that belies his usual calm demeanor. Rystáll hears it, and it gives her pause. She leans into him slightly as they walk, her body molding to the firm planes of his own.

"Boba," she sighs, a note of gentle exasperation coloring her tone, "you're thinking too much, as usual." 

The only outward sign of his consternation at Rystáll's airy dismissal of his concerns, if they could be called that, isn't outwardly shown as she ambles into the main sitting room.

"I've only been successful because I've overthought everything," he retorts, a clipped edge to his words. "Every aspect of sentient behavior, every potential outcome... I've analyzed it, planned for it. This..." He gestured vaguely to the opulent suite, encompassing the lavish furnishings and the glittering city beyond, "-all of this... it's a house of cards. A gilded cage."

Rystáll halted, turning to him with a brow arched.

"Why are you so emotional about this?" she asks softly, "You're not usually one to dwell on the fickleness of fate or the impermanence of pleasure."

Boba's jaw clenches, a flicker of emotion playing across his chiseled features beneath the helmet. Rystáll's question lingers, a tangible thing that demands a response. He grapples with the swirling tempest within him, the uncharacteristic swell of concern and fear that threatens to drag him under.

"I... I should take my leave," he begins gruffly, his voice strained with a tension he rarely allows himself to exhibit. "We've... you've had your fill of Coruscant's delights, and I..." He trails off, uncertainty a foreign flavor on his tongue.

Despite his words, Boba remained rooted to the spot, his left hand trembling slightly as if possessed of a mind of its own. The subtle betrayal of his unease doesn't go unnoticed by Rystáll, and with a sigh, she couldn't help but feel both exasperated and fond of him at the same time. 

"Boba," she murmured, her voice low and warm, "Stop overthinking for once. Help me out of this dress, will you?"

As she made her request, she turned her back to Boba, presenting the long line of her spine, the delicate curve of her shoulder blades visible through the gossamer fabric of her gown. The garment, a shimmering confection of silk and lace, hugged her every curve like a glove.

Boba's hands, capable of such destruction yet so gentle with her, began to peel the dress from Rystáll's body. He worked methodically, his fingers brushing against the silken expanse of her skin as he bares inch after inch of her flesh. The dress slithered down, a whisper of fabric against a breathtaking canvas of naked skin and glittering jewelry.

A creature that was his very own canvas, right in front of him.

His lover, his wife, a partner, some pocket of love and affection that evaded him.

How perfect, how absolute.

How false.

As the gown pooled around Rystáll's feet, Boba couldn't help but let his gaze linger on the breathtaking sight she made, nude save for the glittering adornments adorning her ears, her throat, her wrists. The contrast of her bare skin, flushed and warm, against the cool gleam of precious metals and gems, sent a bolt of heat straight to his loins. The contrast of that soft, warm hue against the cool, hard gleam of her jewelry is utterly arresting, a study in stark, sensual beauty.

His attention is then captured by the mesmerizing mottled markings that adorn her flesh, swirling patterns of magenta and violet that dance across her skin like the first light of dawn breaking through a veil of twilight. They're a testament to her Theelin heritage, a living map of her ancestors' journey through the cosmos. Each unique sigil tells a story, a snippet of myth and legend etched into the very fabric of her being.

Boba's heart hammers in his chest as he takes in the glorious sight of her, his body responding with a predictable surge of need and desire. He could easily succumb, could pin her against the wall and take what he so desperately craves. The urge is there, a primal roar that demands to be unleashed. 

But despite the clamor of his baser instincts, Boba finds himself exercising his indomitable restraint. He's attempting to give Rystáll the space, the agency to set the pace for their encounter. A part of him wishes to woo her all over again, to court her with the same fervor and finesse he might employ when hunting a particularly elusive bounty.

As such thoughts dance through his mind, he feels that uncomfortable warmth that grounds him. Boba's arms encircle her waist, his hands splaying possessively over the dip of her stomach, the flare of her hips. He pulled her closer, until not a whisper of air could pass between their melded forms. Rystáll's head tilts to the side, her chin canted up as she offers the slender column of her throat to him. In response, Boba ghosts his helmet against the bared expanse there, his palms surging lower.

As Boba's hands explore the soft expanse of Rystáll's belly, his fingers splaying possessively over the warm, silken skin, he can't help but let his imagination run wild. The simple act of touching her, of feeling the supple give of her flesh beneath his calloused fingertips, stirs a hunger deep within him. 

In his mind's eye, he allows himself a moment of extravagant fancy - a glimpse of a future where they could settle down fully, where he could gaze sweetly at her rounded belly as it swelled with the promise of new life. The thought of her ripe and heavy with his child, her skin glowing with the flush of impending motherhood, sends a bolt of raw, aching need straight to his core.

"Wouldn't it be something," Boba murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble against the column of her throat, "If this all went away?" 

Rystáll shivered, a full-body quake that has nothing to do with the chill of the room.

"Mmm," she purrs, her tone a sinful, seductive murmur, "You'd keep me full all the time, wouldn't you?" 

The implication, the blatant invitation, hangs heavy in the air between them. Boba's grip tightens, his arms crushing her to him as his heart hammers wildly in his chest. The way she says those words, dripping with unspoken need and aching desire, paints a painfully vivid image in both their minds - of her, splayed out beneath him, crying out in rapture as he empties himself inside her over and over, feels beguilingly natural and seductive.

A shuddering breath escapes Boba's helmet, the sound a rough, ragged rasp that betrays his growing desperation. The vivid picture Rystáll has painted, the sinful promise of endless, aching arousal, sets a fire burning in his veins. He can feel the heat of it, the searing need that threatens to consume him whole.

"Always," he rumbles, his voice a low, feral growl that seems to reverberate through every fiber of Rystáll's being. "You'd be ready for me, always." 

His hands skim down the sinful curve of her hips, his fingers digging into the lush, giving flesh with just enough pressure to leave blooming marks behind. He can imagine her, flushed and panting, swollen with his seed and begging for more. The thought alone is enough to make his painfully hard cock jerk and throb, straining against the confines of his armor and his flight suit.

Boba's breath grew heavier, the air scorching his lungs as his imagination runs wild with the wanton possibilities. He can envision her, limbs tangled in the sheets, hair a wild tangle around her face as she writhes in ecstasy, begs for his seed, his DNA, his mark.

He, a father. How charming. 

"Does that arouse you, Boba?" her words tumble out, laden with a tentative, almost disbelieving wonder. "The thought of me, round and ripe with your seed, again and again? " 

She can barely bring herself to voice such a blatantly depraved notion, and yet, the image it conjures sends a bolt of liquid heat straight to her core. The idea of being claimed so utterly, of being bred, ignites a shameful ache between her thighs.

Before she can lose herself further in the sinful reverie, Boba's hand clamps down on the back of her neck, his fingers spanning the slender column in a grip that's as much a silent command as much as it is a caress. She feels the power in that hold, the unspoken dominant intent that makes her heartbeat stutter wildly.

His silence stretches between them, a palpable thing that speaks volumes about his own desperation, his all-consuming need. When he finally speaks, his voice is a dark, resonantly thoughtful utterance that seems to emanate from the very depths of his being.

"My fee has more than tripled since last time, thief." Boba groans, his voice dripping with untold debauchery and the promise of exquisite, bone-melting pleasure. "And it's high time you paid your debt."

The gravity in his words, the blatant implications that hang in the charged air between them, sends a shiver of anticipation and trepidation down Rystáll's spine. She knows all too well the nature of Boba's 'rewards', the brutal, breathtaking ecstasy he can inflict.

Chapter Text

Between missions, his mind would often drift to her unconsciously, sometimes for a moment, sometimes for far, far longer. In between those ebbs and flows of his rather fractured mental state, in those moments when he wasn't playing pretend in the field of being okay, Boba thought about Rystáll's tenderness. 

Or rather...  

He thought about Coruscant again after he'd left her to her own devices - Boba had money to make, lots of it, if he intended to keep his beautiful Theelin seductress in good company.

He mused on how close their bodies had been at the time; Boba's breath scorched the delicate shell of Rystáll's ear, his harsh exhales mingling with the breathless moans spilling from her lips as he fucked her senseless on their bed. It was their bed, wasn't it? He didn't even so much as claim the penthouse as his own, mentally cached it away as a landing pad for respite instead of the love nest that Rystáll intended it to be.

With each devastating thrust of his hips, he ground against her, the thick, rigid length of his shaft filling her up so soundly that she claimed she could somehow feel him deep in the pit of her stomach.

"You shouldn't say that," Boba had rasped, his voice littered with a dark, accusatory growl as he pistoned into her with a force that stole each and every one of her breaths. "A thief like you, with a face like that, shouldn't say such disgusting things." 

He punctuated his words with a brutal roll of his hips, the thick head of his cock kissing her cervix tightly as he punished her pussy for being so lewd. She could only moan in response, each keen and wanton scream of rapture serving to only make his bunched up muscles tense.

"You're too beautiful to speak like that," he sneered, as if her comeliness was a crime that demanded the harshest of punishments. "Too exquisite, too..." 

He remembered how his voice broke off into a pathetic shudder as her walls clenched and clung to his hard cock, the way he felt absolutely crushed in the grasp of her slick, Theelin cunt. When she arched against him, her supple, salacious curves butted up to his dark, marred flesh, her breasts against him alone enough to shatter his self control. What did he look like scolding her, anyway? It seemed rather... hypocritical.

Boba recounted mentally how her bright amber eyes rolled back in bliss, bliss that he could only bring her. She reached her peak again and again and again, her voice shrill and annoying in equal doses as it was horrendously satisfying.

"HAHN-!!, B-Boba!" she cried out, her sonorous voice choked with rapture, "We never... should have touched..."

That anguished, lustful admission of the exquisite torment they inflict upon one another, the sound of his name on her lips, that desperate, mewling cry, made him tremble as he thought about it, made his blood run hotter than the twin suns of Tatooine that were currently scorching him and every denizen perusing Mos Espa. 

He knew she was right, knew that this dance of dark desire and obsession was all that it was. Whether she said so or not wasn't an issue, but Boba intended on keeping things neat as they were. No need to push beyond it if she was happy with his performance, no need to insist that he was playing a role even if he enjoyed her company, even if he had taken such dark vows with her.

"You have to make me stop," Boba had demanded, his voice strained and demanding when he was taking her. There was a threatening, sinister lilt to his request, some nod to the dark promise of the deliciously perverse torment he'd inflict on her if she didn't somehow stop him. 

His head, slick with exertion, had pressed against the side of her face, pinning her as he took her with a frenzied, almost feral hunger. Biting her shoulder, he'd anchored himself there as if he were a tubie with a teething ring. 

"Tell me you don't want this, don't need this, don't crave the feeling of my cock, that you don't need me, don't love me..."

Stop-

Stop-

Stop-

Despite the dark, threatening timbre of his voice, there was always that desperate undercurrent to his words - a raw, aching need that only Rystáll could, at best, bring out of him. He was always teetering on the edge of something fateful with her, some abyss or chasm of lust that was so all consuming that it terrified him. Something like that would have easily been overcome by a lesser man, and in a sense, Boba felt himself to be even lesser than that. He was a tool now, but even so, she'd made him feel more useful in ways that he dare not utter aloud.

When he'd finished with her, he'd scolded her so ruthlessly that she seemed to be taken aback, if not a bit resigned.

"Look at you," Boba had growled, his voice bitter and taciturn even as his thick cock was dripping and smeared with his seed. "Letting a man like me take you like this, again and again, with no thought for the consequences..."

Each word was punctuated by some twisted sense of irony. It was almost as if Rystáll, who was all too eager to take on his brutality in the bedroom, was proving to be harder and harder to satisfy, even. Surely, she wasn't truly satisfied with his performance all the time, was she? He'd let her top him before, several times over in fact, but when he took control? Why, she just took it all, never once complained.

She was on his level, perhaps.

"You don't value your life, being here with me, letting me ruin your body..." 

His arm had tightened around her neck, the unyielding grip a silent, ominous warning of what was to come. Rystáll's eyes, hazy with pleasure and a hint of fear, rolled back in their sockets as she surrendered to the relentless onslaught. He was inside of her again in an instant, groaning as he slipped back deep inside of her messy, filthy cunt.

"Go on," Boba quipped, fucking her with a savage intensity that sets her mind into a mild panic. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't need to feel me filling you up like this all over again. Fucking slut."

Despite his harsh words, there'd been a rather desperate, almost manic edge to Boba's actions - a raw, all-consuming need that could only be assuaged by the exquisite Rystáll, of taking from her willing body. He'd been chasing something, pursuing a dark ecstasy as he tried to reason with himself about his own emotions for her. It happened more frequently than he would have liked - nothing was cut and dry with her. 

Boba Fett was, unfortunately, hopelessly addicted to her. 

Boba was in love with her.

"You love it," he had growled, "You love the feeling of my cock raping your pussy, don't you? Damn your smart mouth and your bewitching body, damn the way you've enslaved me to your every wicked whim..."

They remained locked together after it was all said and done. Another tour around the world, so it had felt, another hurrah for Boba, another job well done. He'd fucked her so good on their second bout that their bodies were both shaking and trembling, both of them lost in the throes of a climax that seemed to go on forever and ever. It dripped like honey, slowed like some syrupy thing over his mind, drugged him as he came deep within her core. Boba's hips gave one final, rather feeble twitch as the last of his seed was shot deep inside of Rystáll's depths. 

He'd slept good that night. No nightmares, no strange distortions, no touching on the fringes of what felt like the Force. 

Boba knew that the longer he was away from her, those demons would amble their way back into his fold. 

Much to his beleaguered delight, they did. 

He'd taken up with Dengar and Bossk at a hidden away hovel of sorts in the depths of Mos Espa. It was a safehouse, if it could be called that - no matter how much money either bounty hunter made, they never held the austere accommodations that Boba managed to curate for himself. Where he was comfortable aboard the Slave I and had lived in it time and time again, it was still a state of the art ship, one that hardly needed repairs thanks to how he allocated funding to keep her in tip top shape. His apartments and pent houses, all purchased outright under shadow companies and proxies, had all been both spartan yet never lacking in amenities.

No, he lacked for nothing, that is, until he stepped into such humble settings.

Boba didn't mind, he'd had less when he was in prison. An 11 year old child made due when he was treated as a hard made inmate. 

He'd retired after a few drinks with Bossk and Dengar in the upstairs living quarters, noted the night sky as he checked his surroundings. He was as safe as he'd ever be, sure, but something, no, someone, was missing from the picture.

"Sing, where is she?"

"Aurra is off world on Deruta," Dengar had said, a clipped flute of Spice hanging from his heavy, marred lip. "Says she's got some intel on a Jedi, imagine that."

"Sure she does."

That night, he'd drifted off into a somewhat sated slumber, though just as he felt some mild comfort, he began to feel equally as small. Among his old friends, among his old family, Boba became a child again. Mentally, he was always in some sense of survival mode, but lying in bed without his armor or Rystáll near him seemed to burden him with a sense of harshness that was unforgiving. He felt orphaned in every sense of the world. He wanted his father. He wanted...

That was it, he'd tell himself, you just want those things, you don't need them.

A lie if there ever was one.

Memories of his teenage years, shrouded in the haze of grief and the bitter sting of loss, surfaced through the fog of his exhaustion.

He remembers his father's death, a void that shattered the foundation of his entire world. Left adrift and alone, he floundered, searching for a new purpose in a galaxy that suddenly seemed so vast and cold. It was then that he found himself under the tutelage of two of the most formidable bounty hunters in the Outer Rim - Bossk, the brutish Trandoshan, and Aurra Sing, a half-human, half-Palliduvan. She had been a bit of an enigma in her own way, her hard eyes and their hawk-like perception always unnerved him as a younger boy. She seemed to know something about him, some kind of dirty secret, even if one didn't exist.

Boba's thoughts lingered on the unlikely pair, his mentors, and the unorthodox bond they shared. Bossk, a creature of pure instinct and primal aggression, had found an unexpected connection with Aurra Sing. Their relationship, a union of two species as different as night and day, had imprinted upon young Boba in a way he never could have anticipated.

Aurra, with her ethereal beauty and the cool, calculating mind of a Jedi, had curtly tempered Bossk's savagery with a depth of something darker that belied her rather youthful appearance. Together, they had forged a partnership that was as much about mutual respect and understanding as it was about the thrill of the hunt, but even so, there had been undercurrents...

As he grew older, he'd come to know what that very thing was. In reality, Aurra controlled Bossk in ways that were both insidious and sensual, and as Boba drifted between wakefulness and sleep, he mulled on his own experiences with her, the memory of how his young mind processed the unconventional relationship he saw play out between his mentors. He wondered if his father knew of the depth of both Aurra and Bossk's mutual depravity for one another, if he knew about her penchant for even younger men.

The fact that she's not present among them tonight, that her eyes aren't lingering on Boba, brought forth long ignored yet shallowly buried echoes of her abuses upon his very body. 

It wasn't as complex and complicated a he had once observed. He and Aurra's relationship wasn't one forged in the fires of any real adversity, one that wasn't made from some romantically unbreakable bond or any mutual desire. When she did desire him, he didn't know how to handle it, didn't have the wherewithal to even understand why he was penetrating her. Why had she asked for such a thing? He was only a child, had no predilection for sex other than those strange stirrings in his loins when he'd see his father interact with Zam Wesell, when he'd stumbled across those images his father had explained to him, when he saw certain things.

Boba was, for all of his training and rearing as a boy, extremely sheltered. 

Boba's mind drifted back to a pivotal moment in his youth, a memory seared into his psyche with an intensity that had never truly faded. It was a strange one, one that really held no major weight, but one that he didn't release for some reason, either. He remembered the day he had accidentally, or rather, stumbled upon Aurra and Bossk fucking. it changed his entire perception on relationships, on intimacy, on desire. He'd only been about 12 or 13, somewhere along in that grey area, and even though he'd spent nine months in prison prior, something about the ordeal had shaken him.

Dissociating, he remembered, couldn't forgive all of the lost memories, lost years, lost time he simply couldn't account for.

It was a rare moment of respite during a rather grueling training regimen, a brief interlude when the constant drills and combat exercises eased, allowing the unlikely pair a chance to retreat to the privacy of their shared quarters. Young Boba, his curiosity piqued by the uncharacteristic silence of the rather horrendous living situation they'd taken up, had approached the door cautiously, intending to inquire about the next phase of his duties. Aurra had put him to task doing something, but he couldn't quite remember what it was.

As he neared the doorway, a sound caught his attention - a low, guttural rumble that sent a shiver down his spine. It was a sound he had never heard from Bossk before, a noise that was equal parts pain and pleasure, a primal noise that spoke of a hunger far more intense than any he had witnessed on the hunt.

Emboldened, Boba had peered through the cracked doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. There, illuminated by the flickering glow of a single lamp, he saw Aurra Sing and Bossk locked in a passionate embrace. Aurra, her lithe, ethereal form a stark contrast to Bossk's hulking, scaly, muscular frame, was wrapped around the Trandoshan like a second skin.

He watched, transfixed, as Bossk's clawed hands roamed over Aurra's body, his touch a mix of tenderness and restrained ferocity. Aurra, in turn, clung to Bossk, her fingers digging into the rough, scaled flesh of his back as she arched into his touch. Their lips were locked in a fierce, hungry kiss, a dance of tongues and teeth that spoke of a desire bordering on desperation.

Boba's young mind struggled to reconcile the savage, brutal Bossk with the almost reverent way he touched Aurra. He watched, wide-eyed, as Bossk lowered his maw to Aurra's neck, his long, forked tongue snaking out to taste the delicate skin. Aurra's response was a breathless gasp, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that sent a bolt of unfamiliar heat rushing through Boba's young body.

He'd watched, from start to finish, not even realizing that she'd simply left the door unlocked, had left it cracked, even.

Torment wore many forms.

As Boba's mind lingered on that fateful, formative moment, he recalled the shameful, clandestine act that followed soon after. Driven by a curiosity he could no longer contain, the young Boba had plotted a way to spy on his mentors, to witness their intimate coupling from a hidden vantage point.

He'd been played, preyed upon by his own burgeoning curiosity to witness it. Adapting to training his own father had instilled in him, Boba thought he was clever in having had chosen to hide beneath Aurra's bed, reasoning that the low, sturdy furniture would provide the perfect cover while offering an unobstructed view of the room itself. It was highly advantageous, and in some manner, he found himself talking to Jango, speaking to his father as he prepared for the act. He'd often do it back in those days - have imaginary conversations with a man who was simply no more.

"I'm doing it, father," he'd said softly, sweetly. "I'm really doing it! "

Boba had lain in wait, the minutes stretching into an eternity as he listened to the muffled sounds of his mentors preparing for the night. Finally, the door had slid open, and when Bossk had entered, his hulking form filling the doorway, Boba felt paralyzed. Boba's young eyes had widened as he took in the sight of his mentor, clad in little more than a pair of form-fitting black briefs that left little to the imagination.

The sight of Bossk's arousal straining against the taut fabric had sent a fresh surge of heat rushing through the hidden boy's body, had made him question things his own father had told him about other lifeforms in various systems.

He was comfortable with Uncle Bossk, as he had so endearingly called him, but this side... just who was that man?

Aurra had followed soon after, her lithe form draped in a sheer robe that clung to her curves, her high pony tail swaying behind her back. Boba's breath had caught in his throat as he drank in the sight of her, his young mind struggling to reconcile the feminine beauty before him with the fierce, formidable warrior he knew.

As they had come together, their bodies entwined in a dance of passion and pleasure, Boba had watched with bated breath. He had seen Bossk's claws shred the flimsy fabric of Aurra's robe, the tattered remains falling away to reveal the creamy expanse of her sickeningly pale skin. The sight of his mentor's length, freed from its confines, had made Boba's eyes widen, his heart hammering against his ribs as he beheld the thick, turgid flesh.

Boba had lain frozen, hardly daring to breathe, as Bossk had positioned himself between Aurra's thighs. He had watched, entranced, as his mentor had claimed her as his lover, his hips driving forward with a force that had made the bed frame creak and groan once they were officially upon it. Hidden from his view, Boba's perception relied then on his young, impressionable ears. He heard a lot less now, the world was a little more quieter, but back then? Aurra's gasps and moans had been so rapturously whorish that they both disarmed and frightened Boba's young mind. 

He'd bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting back the urge to let out a telltale gasp of his presence, his small hand flying to his mouth to muffle any sound. Tears of guilty ecstasy had pricked at the corners of his eyes as he felt an unfamiliar, urgent pressure building in his young loins.

Unable to resist the overwhelming sensations, Boba had surrendered to his body's demands. His hips had jerked involuntarily as a devastating climax crashed over him, his untouched member throbbing and pulsing as it spilled the first of what would be many loads. Boba had had to clamp his hand over his mouth, biting down hard on his knuckle to stifle the cry of shameful bliss that threatened to escape him.

He'd come hands free, had spilled his youth at the implication, the scent, the very act happening above his head.

He had no idea he had been manipulated.

As Bossk and Aurra continued their passionate fucking above him, oblivious to the boy's guilty pleasure, Boba had lain panting and trembling beneath the bed. The knowledge that he had achieved such a peak without even touching himself had filled him with a confusing mix of excitement, shame, and a newfound understanding of the depths of his own desires. 

That moment had set a bizarre stage for Boba's future relationships, a secret memory that would shape his own romantic and sexual pursuits. The sight of Aurra and Bossk, so different yet so perfectly matched, had imprinted upon him the notion that love and desire could transcend species and expectations. And the shameful, hands-free climax he had experienced as a voyeur had taught him that even the darkest, most taboo of desires could hold a perverse and potent allure. Things he shouldn't have known had some to pass, and Aurra had been behind each and every machination.

When she did finally offer, no, when she finally took what she wanted from him, he had no means to challenge it.

Nothing mattered.

Nothing ever did. 

Not even his innocence, evidently. 

Chapter Text

When he did return to her bed, no, their bed, the night came and went as quickly as it came. As usual, she received him wantonly, welcomed him in her soft arms as if he was a castaway. When she removed his helmet, she gazed into the eyes of a man who needed to be touched, held and cherished. 

By the morning, he roses to leave. Boba stirred from his deep, all consuming slumber, the warmth of Rystáll's body still pressed close to his. He moved quietly, not wanting to disturb her peaceful rest, and slipped out of the bed with a stealth honed by years of covert operations. He remembered, albeit fleetingly, his tenure under Vader as a Super Trooper, how he was forced to rise bright and early among the throng of highly trained Storm Troopers who were, much to his critique, just an ebb above the regular fair. There were other memories, but he didn't feel like drudging up that old time. Much to his mild dismay, Vader was more than likely already clamoring on what other nearly impossible mission to throw him headlong into. He had room, so long as credits were involved.

Some often said that he worshipped money - now he had a reason to provide for someone.

Rystáll, sensing his absence, began to stir as well. Rolling over, her eyes fluttered open as she found Boba already halfway out of the door of their shared bedroom, his body and flight suit both draped over one muscular arm.

"Where are you going?" she asked softly, propping herself up on her elbows. As she did, the off-white sheets fell away to reveal the oh-so tantalizing curve of her breasts before they were fully on display.

Boba paused, his hand on the door's control. Glancing back over his shoulder, his expression was a bit guarded, though marginally soft. He'd had plenty of partners ask where he was going after a romp in the sheets, but Rystáll was different. Partner, lover, 'wife'... he owed her a modicum of an explaination perhaps.

Sometimes he forgot that he wasn't really quite his own person this time around.

"I have a bounty to collect," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "A job that can't wait."

Rystáll's brow furrowed, a look of concern and, if Boba isn't mistaken, a hint of disappointment clouding in her beautiful, wide eyes.

"Do you really need to go now?" she asked, her voice taking on a pleading note. "Boba, look at you - you have enough money to do literally anything you want. You don't have to depend on these sorts of bounties anymore."

She rose from the bed, not bothering to cover her nakedness as she approached him.

"Stay," she says, her hand coming to rest on his arm, her fingers curling around the bicep she found there. "Stay if it means we can be together, if not for a moment longer."

Boba's jaw tightened, a flicker of uncertainty lapsing in his eyes briefly as he looked to Rystáll. The temptation to give in, to succumb to the lure of her words and the warmth of her touch, is a potent one. The idea of waking up to her each morning, of sharing not just his bed but his life with her in completeness, stirred a longing he thought he had long since buried. Perhaps he missed his father all over again.

But the call of duty, the bloodlust that had defined him for so long, is a hard gambit to break. He is Boba Fett, the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy; he can't simply abandon his calling, his purpose, on a whim or on the pretense of his desires or her own. Were they even his? He often asked himself where he began and she ended these days.

Boba looked at Rystáll, his expression a mix of amusement and incredulity as she held her pout.

"What else could we possibly do together?" he asked, his tone tinged with a hint of skepticism. "We've explored every pleasure imaginable over the past few weeks. What's left for us to discover?"

Rystáll scoffed, rolling her eyes at his rhetorical question.

"Anything we can think of," she retorts, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Boba, with your skills and my resources, we could go anywhere, do anything. The galaxy is our oyster."

She stepped even closer to him, her naked body pressing against his chest.

"And if you're so concerned about payment," she added, her voice lowering to an all too sensual purr, "I'll continue to employ your services as my personal bodyguard. Consider it a full-time position, with generous compensation."

Boba let for a short, barking laugh at the absurdity of her offer.

"Generous compensation?" he echoed, shaking his head. "Rystáll, I've been funding your lavish lifestyle for so long, I'd say it's about time my investment started paying off. I suppose I could charge you a meager... 300 credits a day for my protection."

Rystáll's nose wrinkled, and with a tap of her fist against his bicep, she huffed.

"I'm no cheapskate !"

The sound of her fist against his well built, hairy chest was nothing more than a soft thud, but the gesture struck Boba as nothing more but adorably petulant. 

"300 credits? That's barely enough to cover any fee you've ever had! That's barely enough to cover your exorbitant fees for your 'exclusive' services, Boba. I think you can do better than that."

Despite himself, Boba felt a warmth kindling in his chest at her playful antics. The idea of being tied to one place, one person, was still a foreign and utterly unsettling notion. But the lure of Rystáll's company, the promise of shared adventures and unending passion, was a temptation he secretly increasingly hard to resist in the long term.

"You drive a hard bargain, Rystáll," he murmured, his voice a low, considering rumble. "But I suppose I could be persuaded to stay. On one condition."

"What's that?"

She asked, didn't she?

Nothing was really off the table then. As soon as anyone set in to bargain with him, Boba only knew to default to manipulation. He had to have it his way, in the best possible fashion, if it was going to work out.

Boba leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper as he uttered his depraved request.

"I want you to help me track down a rare, exotic creature - one that's said to be nearly extinct in this part of the galaxy, much less in the Core Worlds. It's a challenge that'll test your... skills and push your boundaries in ways you've never experienced before, maybe."

He paused, letting the anticipation build as he saw both the curiosity and trepidation warring in Rystáll's expression. If anything, he felt like playing her a bit - throw her into something impossible, just as Vader surely was about to do to him when the time came again, see how she handled it. It would be ludicrous, stupid even, but Boba was having a bit of sarcastic fun. If he was expected to fetch the most evasive of Rebel scum or slum dwelling Spice addict, then why couldn't see get a taste of what it was like? If she did, maybe she'd understand how hard he worked beyond the glitter and glamour he so easily proffered on her. 

"I'm talking about the elusive Neimoidian Pleasure Slave. I believe they might still be about, haven't heard of them since the fall of the Republic..."

Boba's eyes glinted with a dark, hungry light as he continued, "I want you to help me hunt down one of these rare beauties, to track them through the most treacherous and inhospitable terrain, and then... " He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against Rystáll's ear as he whispered, "I want to watch as you put that slave to the ultimate test, push it to its limits, fuck its brains out while I watch. It'll entertain me."

He pulled back slightly, his gaze sidelong as it searched over her jaw before locking onto her amber hues.

"Well ?"

Rystáll recoiled slightly, a look of shock and revulsion flashing across her face at Boba's depraved request.

"Boba, that's... that's utterly insane," she sputtered, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "Do you have any idea of the risks involved in hunting down a Neimoidian Pleasure Slave? Those creatures are said to be deadly, their venom capable of killing a being in the most agonizing ways imaginable!"

She shook her head, her brows furrowed in consternation. "And why in the name of the Force would you want to put yourself in such danger, just for some twisted thrill? I can't believe I'm hearing this from you."

Rystáll stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest defensively as she eyed Boba with a mix of disgust.

"And another thing - since when did you become so fixated on watching me with someone else? I thought you appreciated my... my loyalty to you, Boba. I may be many things, but I'm not some cheap whore who'll spread her legs for just anyone."

Why lie? he thought. You've done worse for less. We all have.

Boba's lips curved into a slow, calculating smile as he considered Rystáll's reluctance and the swell of conflicting emotions in her eyes. Reaching out, his rough hand cupped her chin, tilted her face up to meet his gaze as if she were a child. He hated that they were the same height at times. 

"You're right, Rystáll," he murmured, his voice a low, considering rumble as he stared at her. "I do appreciate your loyalty, your devotion. It's one of the things I admire most about you."

As he said it, he thought about the many times similar things had been said to him, be it standing at the top of Jabba's dais or at the heels of Vader's dark leather boots. Boba was a trained dog, through and through, and he knew what to say.

His eyes glinted with a sudden, wicked idea, however, as he regarded her.

"But I also know that beneath that prim, pretty exterior, there's a wild creature clawing to break free. A slut who yearns to be taken to the very edge of her limits and beyond."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot and dense, "Are you really content to let me face the galaxy's dangers alone, to watch as I risk my life for the bounty money that you then squander like a high roller at the Sabacc table? Is that truly the extent of your courage?"

Silence drew between them; he always had her penned as something else.

"I have a proposition for you," he breathed, ever the professional. "We should play a game of Sabacc, just the two of us. If I win... and that's if I win, I get to hunt down the most depraved, twisted creature I can find - something that will push your body and mind to the absolute brink. And then-"

His grin widened, a gleam of sadistic anticipation frothing in his dark, deep eyes. "-then I get to watch as it takes you."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, before continuing, "But if you win... you can do with me as you please, just like anyone else I've let have their way. Anything your wicked little heart desires, I'll submit to it without hesitation. Agreed?"

Boba's proposition, like most things in his curated life, is a high-stakes gamble, a chance for both of them to indulge their darkest, most depraved fantasies. It's a test of courage, of loyalty, and more importantly, a tableau of the depths of their desire for one other - should either of them emerge victorious...

She knew it was all crazy as soon as it began, but in her times dancing and entertaining wretched men, Rystáll had learned a thing or two about Sabacc. She'd had her freedom allotted to her thanks to Lando Calrissian besting Prince Xisor, had watched as her former master had offered her time and time again. Sometimes he won his credits, other times it was paltry sums compared to his then massive wealth - it usually ended with her spread eagle on the very table being taken all the same. She was thankful when her adoptive parents weren't there to witness such depravity, however, the past was far, far behind her. 

As for now? Well...

As the game of Sabacc began, Rystáll found herself drawn in by the sheer madness and thrill of Boba's proposition. The adrenaline rushed through her veins as they sat across from each other, the holographic deck flickering between them on the table. She knew the stakes were astronomically high, the potential consequences both terrifying and exhilarating, but as it were, perhaps she didn't have any agency over her body as he'd suggested days ago.

If she did lose, and she hoped she didn't, she'd been used before and knew what it was like to give herself over to the whims of another man. Boba, however, was no ordinary man - not to her, not to anyone. Whatever he'd drudge up would be worse than any beast or man Xizor had sicced upon her. 

The game was a whirlwind of highs and lows, with the score seesawing back and forth like a pendulum. Boba played with his signature focus and intensity, his eyes laser-sharp as he studied his cards and anticipated her next move. Rystáll matched him in kind, though with each move given, her heart was absolutely pounding in her chest as she stried to stay above water. 

There were moments of triumph, where Rystáll felt a surge of exultation as her hand outscored Boba's, and those heavy moments of dread, when she saw the gleam of victory in his eyes. The Sabacc chips piled up between them, a tangible representation of the power and control that shifted with each and every hand.

Rystáll's stomach twists with nerves as Boba plays his final card, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he anticipated his impending triumph. But then, in a shocking turn of events... the deck revealed her own winning hand, a perfect Sabacc flush. She hardly dared to even believe it as she stared at the glowing numbers, hardly daring to even hope that she's actually beaten the great Boba Fett.

As the game concludes and the results are tallied, a stunned silence falls over them. Boba sat motionless, his face rather placid, but the tension radiating from his eyes was all too palpable. Rystáll would have cheered any other time, but in that very moment, she was simply too awestruck and in utter disbelief at her own victory to even so much as feel any modicum of joy from it. Her fingers, fidgeting at her knees, wondered what she'd ask of her formidable lover now that she has the upper hand.

Boba, ever the stoic and composed hunter, is clearly more than miffed at his unexpected defeat. The silence stretched on, the weight of her unspoken desires and darkest fantasies hanging heavily in the space between them.

A winner's gambit was a golden thing.

Realizing that she'd been granted a rather unprecedented opportunity, Rystáll felt a smirk slowly pulling at the corners of her full, sensual lips. The question was, however, if she'd have the courage to seize it. Looking up, she noted that he'd suddenly risen from his seat, his form looming above her for a moment. Nodding once, Rystáll rounded her shoulders, her expression suddenly firm and surefire.

"Yes, Boba, I won fair and square. The deck doesn't lie, and neither do the results." 

Boba stood rather motionless for a fraction of a moment. Internally? He was bristling at the unexpected turn of events, unable to grasp that he, suddenly in his ego, had been bested at his own game. A part of him wants to question the results, the challenge the very notion that a woman, no, a creature like Rystáll could have outplayed him.

But his sense of honor, his unyielding code, forces him to concede.

"Even I must abide by the rules of a game lost," he said, his voice a low, grudging rumble. "I'm not upset."

Internally, he wondered what dark desires lurked in the depths of Rystáll's mind, what twisted fantasies she might inflict upon him. A part of him almost hoped she'd simply fold, unable to think of anything sufficiently depraved or daring to satiate his own cravings. Perhaps she'd just end up wanting a usual romp, some light choking, a new necklace, some fuck all useless doting.

But as the seconds tick by and Rystáll remains silent, lost in thought, Boba felt a growing sense of frustration and incredulity. He's used to his lovers being putty in his hands, used to contracts blessing him with a wellspring of credits and favors for doing their impossible jobs, the Empire eager to fulfill his every whim and desire. The fact that Rystáll seems to be taking so long to decide, to ponder her newfound options, is a foreign and unsettling notion.

"Well, what is it? What's it going to be-?! " he growled, his patience wearing thin. "Surely even a creature like you must have some twisted little notion lurking in their pretty little head. Or are you so lacking in imagination, in the capability of true depravity, that you can't even think of a single thing to demand of me-?!" 

Boba's words are a challenge, a test of Rystáll's own depths and desires. He's determined to push her to the brink, to make her confront the darkest recesses of her own psyche. And in doing so, he hopes to uncover the truth of her capacity for the twisted, the taboo, the utterly sublime.

Rystáll's eyes flashed with a sudden, fierce light as she snapped at Boba, "Don't be so pushy, Boba! You may be a hunter, but I'm not some helpless prey to be bullied into submission."

Ah, interesting.

Her tone was sharp and commanding, setting a new pace for their exchange. He'd heard that type of voice before...

Was it Jango? Vader? Aurra-? 

Boba scoffed, the sound derisive as it echoed in the space between them.

"Punishment is not a delicacy to be savored slowly," he retorted, his voice low and detached. "A hunter worth their mettle knows that retribution must be swift and unyielding. Its why I hate interrogations."

"You think you know everything about hunting, about punishing your prey?" she challenged, "Well, I'm not just anybody, Boba. I'm a woman, a free woman, and I play by my own rules."

She leaned in closer, having had closed the distance between them. "Things will be done my way, and if you're truly the man I think you are, the man I've come to know and crave, then you'll submit to my judgement. You'll let me take the lead and guide you to the heights of pleasure and torment you've only ever dreamed of."