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regalityandcoffee · 1 year

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The Body Doesn't Lie (William Regal x Reader)(18+)

Summary: This au is incomprehensible but I guess this is set during it? Anyway, you're laying in bed with William and you have a wet dream. He decides to help you out during it.

Warnings: short, somnophilia, fingering, thigh riding, that's about it.

Enjoy <3

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He relished nights like these with you, nights you two spent in each other's embrace, especially when you'd sleep with him in his room instead of your own down the hall.

Tonight was no different, except you had fallen asleep long before him, snuggled in front of him as you both laid on your sides with his arm around your waist. He listened to the sound of your breathing as he finished up an email on his phone, the brightness down as much as possible as to not wake you. He was breaking his own rule of either of you not working while in bed, but what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you right?

Finally finished, he turned his phone off and placed to on the charger on his nightstand. He was about to turn off the small lamp as well when a noise from you gathered his attention. He brought his arms fully around your middle, and pulled the comforter so it covered you both well.

"Poor baby..." William murmured as he nuzzled his face into the side of your neck. "You must be so tired."

"Mmmhmm." a small noise escaped your lips as you in his arms.

"Are you awake, sweetheart?" There was no response. He waited until your breath once again went even and steady. You appeared to still be asleep. There was movement behind your eyes, but they were definitely still shut. Minutes went past, he himself beginning to drift off, until he felt you turn over in his arms, resting your head against his chest. He moved his legs a bit so you could lay one of yours between his, one of your arms fell around his middle.

"M-Mister..."

"Yes, darling?" He tried again, feeling as your hand weakly gripped his shirt. You still seemed to be asleep though. One hand moved to rub up and down your back. Maybe you were having a bad dream, maybe he should wake you up...

He felt your hips shift against his leg just a bit, the fabric of your underwear rub against his thigh. You made another noise, this one sounding less like distress... more of a whine of some sort...

"Pl...please..."

He moved his thigh up a bit and tugged the leg of his shorts up, feeling you move against him again.

Oh. Oh.

"You need help, don't you, sweetheart?" He whispered. He lifted his thigh just a bit, watching your face as he tugged up your nightshirt above your hips. He moved his hand down to rub the inside of your thigh, giving the hot, soft skin a quick squeeze before slipping past your underwear to rub against your pussy. "Poor thing, getting so wet like this..."

He slipped his fingers into you, moving them back in forth in your soaked heat before angling them to look for your core under the blankets...

"Mmmmph..." He felt you grip his shirt a bit tighter.

Found it.

He crooked his fingers and slowly moved them in you, his thumb rubbing circles against your clit as you bucked your hips against his hand, going from slowly swirling his fingers in you, taking his time, then quickly thrusting them in you as you whimpered and whined against him in your sleep.

His wrist was beginning to ache, but the noises you made pushed him to go on.

"Hm, mmmh..."

"Shh, that's it, that's it. You're doing so well. Even like this, you're so good for me..." He murmured. He continued on, applying more pressure against your clit, feeling the way it pulsed under neath yiur thumb and your pussy clenched around his fingers, until his ears perked at your voice.

"S-Sir?" This time your voice was more clear, and he watched as you eyes slowly opened.

"Hi, sweetheart." Slowly, he slipped his fingers out of you, smiling at you as you looked up in confusion. You seemed to quickly understand what just happened, and moved to bury your face in his chest, clutching his shirt, mumbling apologies.

"You woke up before you could cum, didn't you?"

"Yes..."

"Don't feel embarrassed, dear. It's alright. Don't you want to finish?" He whispered, petting your hair with his other hand.

You looked up, eyes dewy and wide. You gave a small nod.

He kissed your forehead. "Good girl. Let me help you, just keep moving against me, okay?"

"Okay..." you moved your hips against his thigh, the now very damp fabric of your underwear rubbing against him.

He stroked your hair and gave you words of encouragement as you rubbed against him, whining against his chest once again. You barely lasted a few more minutes, desperately moving your hips faster, before slowing down, panting hard, coming to a rest back down on top of him.

"That's it, you did so well, honey."

"Thank you, Sir..." You mumbled against him.

"Do you want more than that, sweetheart?" He asked, gently cupping your face with his hand. You nodded again.

He laughed softly as you raised your hips, and slowly he helped you to pull your underwear down.

"Let's get these off of you, then..."

-fin-

#william regal #william regal x reader #william regal smut #william regal imagine #sweet as sugar au

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daily-deliciousness · 11 months

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Mini chocolate puff pastries

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sugarrushau · 2 months

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youre just too good to be true

cant take my eyes off of you

#sugarcare #sugar rush au #sugar sweets #uni cornelius #sparklecare #suni #art

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jtl-fics · 11 months

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Fluent Freshman - Part 14

When Andrew came out of his bedroom to grab a second Allen wrench (he’s working on the frame of the dresser while Neil builds the drawers) he finds quite a few things to irritate him.

1st was the sound of his brother and his cousin arguing loudly. Andrew had been pretty clear that they needed to be quiet that morning but following Andrew’s clearly given guidelines was NEVER either of their strong suits.

2nd was the fact that there was a smell in the air that Andrew was unsure of. It wasn’t a bad smell. It didn’t smell like Nicky had left some component of the breakfast FF had bought to burn. Andrew sniffed the air again and…..lavender? It wasn’t really a smell that existed in the house of three college student boys.

3rd and most irritating was the fact that FF was not where Andrew had left him four hours ago on the couch. Again, Andrew had been pretty clear to both Nicky and Aaron that FF was to be left ALONE. FF hadn’t been able to go to sleep until Andrew had promised that nothing would happen to him while he slept.

He moves towards the kitchen table where Nicky and Aaron are eating some of the sour patch kids that FF had brought back as they argued, “He can’t be serious that Kate and I gross him out more than Andrew and Neil! I’ve seen how fast he walks away when they start getting gross.” He hears Aaron say.

“Aaron I have watched Smithy climb out a second story window because you and Katelyn started making out and he’d have to walk closer to you to go out the door.” Nicky returns. “I think you made him mad when you implied he was grossed out by Andrew and Neil. This is why I get spoon privileges and maybe, if Smithy is feeling forgiving, you can swipe your finger around the bowl.” he points at Aaron.

Andrew hangs back just out of sight.

He knows that FF does not like to be subjected to seeing PDA. A part of him feels…better at the confirmation that it really isn’t because him and Neil are both men. FF has seen them hold hands, kiss chastely, and lean on one another and been unbothered by that it was only when it started getting a little heated that they’d realize that FF had left. FF never makes a scene about it, never scoffs in disgust or squeals in delight he just seems to see where it’s going and will leave if he doesn’t want to see it.

It’s nice.

“Well he’s probably mad at you for waking him up. Andrew said to leave him alone.” Aaron returns.

“He needs breakfast! He also has to take his ulcer meds at the same time so he had to wake up and eat something. He can go back to sleep after!” Nicky defends.

Andrew scowls. Ok. Nicky could live if that was the reason he woke FF up. Still, why the hell is FF in the kitchen and more importantly what bowl and spoon are Aaron and Nicky arguing over?

Andrew tunes his family’s argument out and heads to the kitchen to find FF putting a baking dish into their oven while incense burned on the counter (Andrew now realizes that was the thin box that had been in with the rest of the candy)

He sees the bowl and spoon that Nicky had mentioned and more importantly he can see the chocolate brownie batter on them. Andrew walks over to the bowl and picks it up. He wipes his finger along the inside and…

He closes his eyes for a moment to savor the flavor of the batter. He leans against the counter and his hand brushes against….a five hour energy bottle. Andrew knows he had thrown out the two he had found in FF’s bags before (Ulcer + exhaustion + FF = bad he didn’t need to be a math major like Neil to understand that math.)

Andrew shoves the bottle in his sweatshirt pocket as FF turns around and stares at him passively. FF’s eyebrow’s raise slightly but there’s no other reaction. Andrew considers that, perhaps, FF had wanted to lick the bowl.

He offers the spoon instead knowing it is the better prize but FF is the one who bought the ingredients and mixed together this amazing batter, so he gets first dibs.

“That wouldn’t be good for my stomach.” He declines and Andrew wonders if FF had taken his meds yet or, in his tired state, he’s forgotten to.

“When did you wake up?” Andrew asks.

“Hour ago.”

He should go back to sleep after he takes his meds but also knows that FF probably won’t go to sleep until the brownies are done.

“I’ll make the pie tomorrow.” FF says and Andrew blinks out of his thoughts.

Andrew decides to go get FF’s meds for him. He’ll make it clear to FF later that the guy doesn’t HAVE to keep making amazing desserts as a thanks for being invited to Columbia. If FF just so happens to WANT to keep making amazing desserts then Andrew isn’t going to be the person that stops him.

He shoves the spoon in his mouth and heads out to go find Smith’s bag and his meds.

Aaron and Nicky see him and both let out outraged noises as their quarry had been stolen.

Andrew ignores them and gets to the bag by the couch.

Who the fuck just has 14 bottles of five hour energy sitting in their bag??

***

When Andrew handed FF his ulcer meds he could admit to feeling grateful even if Andrew had obviously gone through his bag to grab it. He swallows it dry because Andrew is standing by the sink and he knows that until Andrew eats a brownie he is not in a position to ask for favors big or small.

(He learned his lesson from that one time with Captain Neil. If he wants to do anything related to Russian he has to be in the safety of his lofted bed under the cover of night and the cover of his…covers while he reads via flashlight. He will not be caught so flat footed again! These are all necessary precautions!)

Andrew seems to very much want for FF to be in prime condition for the hunt. Part of him wonders if he’ll be released amongst other game animals and FF had never felt more jealous of the turkey who got pardoned by the president the day before. Why does that stupid bird get all the luck? Where’s his presidential pardon?

That grateful feeling evaporates into a dust cloud as Andrew lifts a plastic bag, “Stop drinking these.” Andrew hisses, “They’re going to make your ulcer worse.” He points at FF.

“I need them.” He says.

“For what?”

“Five hours of energy at a time.”

“Pull out the brownies and go back to sleep Smith.”

“They still have 10 minutes.”

“Then I’ll pull them out in 10 minutes.”

“There’s a final step that I have to do once they’re fresh out of the oven.”

“What is it.”

“Smith Family Baking secret. I don’t make the rules.” FF gestures towards where the incense continues to burn, “Great Gran’s recipe and methods cannot be shared with non-blood relatives. My mom wasn’t even let in on the secret.”

Thank god

Andrew glowers at him.

Oh God

“It’ll be just 20 more minutes.”

Andrew’s eyes narrow at him.

“They’ll be worth it.” He pleads.

Andrew rolls his eyes.

“Go to sleep when they’re done. Take Nicky’s room.” Andrew commands.

“Take Nicky’s what?” Nicky leans into the kitchen.

“Smith is going to go back to sleep on your bed.”

“Yeah you look like shit Smithy. Don’t worry, unlike Neil and Andrew’s bed mine is all safe.”

Nicky zips out of the kitchen with Andrew hot on his heels. Nicky really is a good friend.

He performs the sacred rites necessary upon the brownies when they come out of the oven and takes a small corner piece to taste test and -

He closes his eyes and clasps his hands together in prayer.

‘Thank you Great Gran.’ He prays earnestly.

‘Remember to wash behind your ears’ he thinks he hears a whisper of grandmotherly advice in return.

That was probably normal.

He extinguishes the incense.

He cuts up the brownies, finds a decently sized plate, and sets the brownies out on the counter before he starts to work on doing the dishes. Yeah Yeah he could have been cleaning while he waited for the brownies to cook! That’s what you always do right? Clean as you go?

Well have you ever been baking brownies that might be the difference between life and death? No? Well then FF is just going to have to stop you right there because he had the oven light on and his eyes GLUED to these fudgey squares.

Who knows what the cousins’ oven would do? He doesn’t know this oven. He and this oven are taking their first whirl together and it could decide to turn on him at any time. They don’t have the brotherhood that he and the oven at his Gran’s house have built over the years! This oven could be one of those ones that maintain their temperature by turning on the broiler! He felt like he could never again recklessly trust an oven after he tried to make crescent rolls in the Viking Oven at his step father’s house and had gotten them back blackened by the broiler.

That oven had been the SINGLE thing he had been excited about during the kitchen remodel which means naturally it was the thing that had betrayed him.

He lets himself think of all the ways he hates the Viking brand as he finishes the dishes and puts everything back to where they belong.

He walks out of the kitchen with the platter of brownies and sets them down on the table where Aaron and Nicky are sat. “Oh my god they smell amazing.” Nicky says and immediately his hand is shooting towards the plate and picking up a corner piece.

FF valiantly resists the urge to slap his and Aaron’s hands away. He needs these to compel Andrew into letting him live.

“Oh wow, those do smell good.” He hears Captain Neil’s voice and when FF turns around Captain Neil and Andrew are both there. It is only in that moment that he realizes that he should have bought some vanilla ice cream to go with these.

Andrew’s love of ice cream was not unknown, probably even infamous. He was the man who, during the summer training, had been so possessive over the soft serve machine in the cafeteria that anyone who wanted any had to ask Captain Neil to get them a bowl or risk being threatened.

He starts towards the door. At this point Target probably isn’t even that bad, probably just some irate people who didn’t come with the rush and are mad they missed out, maybe some officers talking to witnesses on who threw cast the first Wii remote, and workers who will hate him marginally less (unless he gets the same check out person and they remember him (unlikely))

His progress is arrested by a hand grabbing his hoodie.

“Where are you going?”

“I forgot Ice Cream.” And he could get a five hour energy to slam on the way back home.

He then finds himself being pulled down an unfamiliar hallway.

Ah, the anticipation had been killing him more than the fear of his demise. His brownies had not contained the requisite amount of grandmotherly love to save him he had been relying on extract (Great Gran’s spirit guiding his hands) instead of organic (he does not have grandchildren or children for that matter)

Maybe ice cream would have been the deciding factor? He’ll never know.

He closes his eyes and lets himself be dragged. He’s too tired to fight.

A door opens, and he finds himself sat on a bed.

Weird.

“You are falling asleep standing up. Go back to sleep. I’ll leave you at Eden’s if you fall asleep in the booth.” Andrew threatens.

What.

FF knows about Eden’s.

He has heard about it from Nicky trying to get him to agree to go but he’s pretty sure it’d be like introducing an Amazon rainforest frog to the Sahara desert in terms of survivability for him.

“We’re going to Eden’s tonight?” He manages to ask.

Andrew raises an eyebrow at him but answers, “Yes.”

“I’m not really interested in clubs. I don’t drink out in public or dance.”

“Neither does Neil. I just drink. We can stay in the booth.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your time with Captain Neil.”

“It’s fine, neither of us hate spending time with you.”

“I don’t have clothes for a place like that.”

“Nicky grabbed some for you. You’re coming tonight. Go to sleep.”

With that Andrew pulls Nicky’s curtains close, shuts off the light, and closes the door.

FF, always very much like a bird when placed into a suddenly dark environment, starts to feel some of the exceptional sleepiness that he’d been pushing off through sheer manic desperation to earn another day of life.

He lays down in Nicky’s bed and is tired enough that he can ignore the sheer amount of body glitter on the sheets (does Nicky excrete it like sweat??) and starts to let himself drift off to sleep.

Eden’s might be something completely out of his wheelhouse but-

A conversation with Nicky from when he’d been trying to get FF to go comes into his mind and he sits straight up in bed as Nicky’s words roll around in his head like stale hotdogs at a gas station.

“Eden’s is cool, even though there’s some sick shit in the basement.”

Eden’s is a Secondary Location with a BASEMENT.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lilyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit

The requests to be added to the tag list got spread out across a few different mediums on this one so if I missed you then just ask in the replies!

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#Fluent Freshman AU #Andrew heads back out to try one of those brownies #Aaron and Nicky are both looking to the sky #'what the fuck did he DO to these? I would know if there was drugs in them right?' Aaron asks #'Is it straight that I want to kiss his grandma's hand?' Nicky asks #'It's his great grandma's recipe so it'll have to be her grave' - Aaron #'Fuck it. I'll dig up her grave and kiss her skeleton hand. These are divinely inspired.' - Nicky #Andrew tries one #Neil saved him two corner pieces #This is why Andrew intends to spend his life with this man #It's perfect #It's not like box brownies where it's all sugar and sweetness #it's bitter it's sweet is that a note of....spice? it's complex. It makes Andrew want to get a shovel and help Nicky desecrate a grave #He'll get in on the skeleton hand kiss #Maybe he'll take Neil and FF to the really cool speakeasy in the basement of Edens #It's quieter down there which he thinks FF would like #He doesn't have to watch out for Kevin tonight either #That's a good plan #Nicky and Aaron can dance and Andrew can show his appreciation for good baked goods to his friend #Nicky is not allowed near the Speakeasy nor is he allowed to know about it because it's suppose to be a secret #Nicky's terrible at keeping secrets!#He couldn't keep one if his or someone else's life depended on it #So Nicky thinks it's a straight swingers club down there #Which he has zero interest in #AFTG #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #AFTG shitpost #FF - Pt. 14

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rainyfroggy · 2 years

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I'm sorry this isn't as wholesome I expected

(Emmet isn't mad with Ingo btw, he blame himself for not take care about him better).

#submas #ingo #elesa #emmet #pokemon #subway bosses #tiningo #smallingo #tiny au #comic #hc ingo loves sweets so yeah #my boy have a small brain and must hold a lot of memories he need sugar okay

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celenawrites · 9 months

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okay hear me out. accidental sugar daddy price.

#like it'd be so funny yet sweet #he's clueless that what he's doing actually classifies as sugar daddy shit #he's just a concerned man taking care of the pretty gal he met #cuz all she lives off of are energy drinks/coffee n ramen #he's worried af about her and how she's survived so far when she barely sleeps #am i projecting?#yes #will i write it?#idk 😐#john price x reader #john price #captain john price #sugar daddy au #char.price #celena.rambles

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navybrat817 · 17 days

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Tattoo artist Bucky? 🥺

Our beautiful @nixakimbo edit, nonnie. ❤️‍🔥

Love and thanks. ❤️

#navybrat answers #navybrat polls #bucky barnes #tattoo artist!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #hottie and sugar #sin on skin au #thanks in advance #sweet nonnie #sending love ❤️#asks are always appreciated

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bintencogs · 4 months

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Love this wretched bunkitty 🍬 drew @fantubeyuri’s oc from @sugarrushau bcuz it has created a clot in my brain i love it sm <:3c

#art #sparklecare #sparklecare hospital #sparklecare oc #sugarcare au #sugar n. sweets

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ccarrot · 14 days

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extremely petty example of the 'one versus the other' soukoku headcanons that i mentally hate on for no particular reason and immediately stop paying attention:

dazai prefers hyper-sweetened not-coffee where chuuya likes it black.

^^ i disagree!!! not really because i think the reverse. I honestly think both of them would really enjoy sugary food

#honestly there's something about bsd characters and sweet food #sweets are associated with love and happiness and childhood <3 #ranpo liking only the redbean in the zenzai . kyouka and her crepes.. yosano's childhood at a confectionary store before the war trauma hit #actually ranpo and his fix for candy ties to his more cheerful and childish personality.#the sugar-love relationship applies to chuuya too actually: Adam giving him bubblegum to cheer him up after the funeral.#chuuya being a wine liker too. wine is definitley a lot more palatable that whisky or vodka #ahh this was just a spontaneous thought dump #been thinking abt donut shop au 2 day. it's like. about how having good friends and some good food and a nice mental breakdown can save you

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regalityandcoffee · 2 years

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I CANT THINK OF AN ACTUAL TITLE HELP

Summary: William paints your nails while you watch Adventure Time together. Yeah.

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"Dear, when's the last time you had your nails done?" William asked one night as you rested in bed with him, his back against the pillows with your head against his chest, laying between his legs as you watched television together. He had taken your hand and had been examining it for a few minutes now, you looked up at him, curious.

"Oh, um. Do you mean paint them?"

"Well, yes, but I mean like a manicure, dear."

"Do they look that bad, Sir?" you pouted. Some of them were shorter than the others from peeling and biting them, a bad habit of yours, but you tried to file them to look decent when they began to bother you.

"No, not at all, pet. I've just been curious. He let go of your hand then gently tapped the other one. You let him take into his own. "Do you paint them often?"

"No, I'd like to, but it's hard to do both hands because the left gets a bit shakey." That, and the smell sometimes made you nauseous. He hummed before continuing on. "I'd like to, though."

"Have you ever thought of acrylic nails?"

"Too heavy," you shook your head. Quickly regretting it. You knew very well he'd never make fun of your things that make you uncomfortable, but you still felt silly explaining yourself.

"Heavy?"

You looked back at the tv. "Um...I don't like the feeling on my nails. It's- they feel very heavy and I don't like the feeling of the glue or them being applied."

"Oh, it's a sensory issue. I understand."

You fought back a sigh of relief. "Um, why did you want to know?"

"You mentioned earlier not liking hair salons though doing it on your own can be taxing, and I wondered the same about your nails. You know how important it is to me that you take care of yourself, dear. If you need help with either, I'd like for you to tell me." He kissed the back of your hand, then your wrist before releasing you.

" I know, Sir." You snuggled closer to him, picking a piece of lint off his shirt. You laid in comfortable silence for a bit, before you spoke up. "Sir?"

"Yes, flower?"

"Will... will you help me paint my nails tomorrow?"

"Of course."

So, the next day after breakfast you quickly got dressed, went back home and gathered up your favorite shades of polish, top coat, remover, and your nail dryer you had found. You came back, nervous, but in an excited way. You walked back into the house and into the living room to find William, dressed in a simple turtleneck and jeans, pushing back the coffee table. " I thought that we could sit on the floor together while I paint your nails, dear," he explained.

You nodded, sitting your bag of polish and things on the table, helping him spread a bit of newspaper on the carpet. On the tv, he had Adventure Time playing. It was a cartoon you both enjoyed, though you were still suprised he had been watching it before he met you. You sat down on the carpet, and he sat in front of you.

You emptied out the bag. Along with the clear top coat, you had picked four colors: a deep burgundy, black, royal blue, and pastel pink. " What color do you think would look best, Sir?" You asked as you popped open the back of the dryer and put in the batteries.

He laughed "That's not my decision, dear."

You pouted.

"Alright, then. Let's use your favorite color, pink." He picked up the bottle, shaking it a bit. He opened the bottle. "Left or right first, dear?"

"Um...left!"

He took your hand. "Try and stay still for me dear. Just relax and watch the show."

You nodded. You watched the colorful cartoon, taking occasional peeks as the man, very focused, painted your nails. You tried not to fidget at the cold of the polish.

"The top coat goes on after the polish has dried, right?"

"Yes."

"Alright, we'll do that," William turned on the dryer, guiding your left hand into it. He then took your right, and took just as much time, care and focus painting the nails. Once he was done, you pulled your left hand out of the dryer and put in the right. "Are you having fun, dear?" He asked as he shook up the bottle of top coat.

"Yes, Sir," you nodded quickly. You tried not to squirm, excited to almost be done as he applied the top coat to your left hand. You admired his work; not a single drop was out of place, Not a single lump or smudge could be found. They were perfectly done. "I love them already."

"I'm glad to hear it," he chuckled.

Soon both hands were completely done. You admired them while he got up and made you both tea, the tv now on a Scooby-Doo movie.

He sat back down, the tray of tea and sugar now on the table. You watched his hands as he poured the tea. His were very nice, with immaculately trimmed and cared for nails. Suddenly, a silly idea sparked in your mind.

"Mr. Regal?" You asked as he made his cup of tea.

"Yes, flower?"

"Can I paint your nails?"

He paused, looking at you curiously. A smile broke out on his face and laughed again. "You want to paint my nails?"

You shook your head suddenly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, it was a dumb idea-"

"No, dear, it's an adorable idea. I think it's sweet you want to paint them. It's just that I haven't had them painted in ages, not since my younger years," he took a sip, his eyes twinkling as he looked at you. He set down his cup, and looked over the bottles of polish still on the floor. "What color do you think I'd look best in?"

You raised your eyebrows. "Um...what color would you like the most?"

"Hmm, perhaps my favorite? Let's do that, dear."

You smiled, picking up the royal blue polish. "Left or right first, Sir?"

-fin-

#regality rambles #william regal imagine #william regal #william regal x reader #yes im still on my william likes adventure time bullshit #sweet as sugar au #mitch if you see this im stealing the tag djdhshsj

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robinsdearest · 1 year

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Coffee for One

Dick Grayson x Reader

You had just single handedly pulled each of the tables and chairs inside the building when he arrived the first time.

He was nicely dressed in a button down shirt and ironed pants, expensive shoes. He brushed past you as you were grabbing your small street chalkboard with an intense urgency, as if your store was closing in just a few seconds.

Which it was.

You followed the man inside, brushed your hands off on your apron, and feigned a nice smile to appease him. He skipped the pleasantries and asked for a large triple mocha hot chocolate. You were positive that item was not at all healthy this late at night, but you shrugged, asked for his payment, and turned to make his monstrosity of a drink. You didn’t even question his tastes, you simply wanted him out of your shop so you could go home. You added the rest of the can of whipped cream to the top and dumped an ungodly amount of chocolate sauce before adding the lid. When you turn to hand the man his triple mocha hot chocolate, he’s staring directly at you. Not at the menu board above your tired head, not the counter of bean grinders, a chrome espresso machine, and a drip coffee tower- you. Exhausted, worn down, burnt out, coffee shop owner.

Your breath caught in your lungs as his fingers grazed yours in exchange of the warm cup, a small spark of electricity you felt could potentially brighten your day.

But he doesn’t even say thank you before rushing out, the bell above the door giving the only gratitude you’ll receive. He didn’t even tip.

You hoped you’d never see him again.

But you did.

You had just turned the open sign off and were about to lock the door when he arrived the second time a few days later.

You saw him coming and briefly debated how nice you were going to play. He was running towards you waving his hands, frantic. Earlier that day had been nicer, you had gotten more tips than usual, so you decided to repay karma for her good fortune. You held the door open for him as he fell through the doorframe, hurried and disheveled. You didn’t get a good look at his face last time he was here, but the way he looked at you felt the same, something unlike any other customer you had ever met. You thought maybe he needed something more than a hot chocolate.

Which he did.

He still skipped the pleasantries, but he ordered a shaken espresso, a latte with too many different flavors, and the same atrocious hot chocolate. As you’re punching the items into your register, he briefly explained he needed the hot chocolate to be made the exact same way you did last time. Emphatically. You shrugged, asked for his payment, and turned to make the drinks. While you waited for the espresso machine to whir back to life, you finally got a good look at this man.

He was tall, his raven colored hair freshly cut and framed his face beautifully, just long enough to curl on the ends. A devilish jaw and cheekbone structure to match. You could tell muscles corded beneath his dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms looked well-fit, tight. Bright sapphire eyes reminding you of robin eggs that tracked your every movement. He was familiar in a way that all customers were familiar, many pretty faces, many people in and out. Maybe you had seen him elsewhere in Gotham as well. You gave him a customer serviced smile, one he finally reciprocated. It was strikingly white and dazzling and hatched a few butterflies in your stomach. Heat pinched at your cheeks, and you realized suddenly the milk was completely frothed and the steam was overwhelming.

As you handed the man his drinks for the night, he verbally thanked you and left a crisp hundred dollar bill in the tip jar.

You hoped you’d see him again.

And you did.

The man showed up every couple of days, orders drifting between only one drink and four or five different drinks at any given time, but the triple mocha hot chocolate was forever constant. It became almost normal, you thought. You’d even stay open a few minutes longer each night just in case. Just in case the unconventionally attractive man made his way to your door to show his lovely smile and alluring charm. Mystery man never said more than a few words, and you never pushed, but a small affection forged, a nice level of respect. He had learned to say hello and goodbye, but never much more. Friendship seemed too intimate a word for the interactions.

As you owned your tiny coffee shop in a high traffic area for tourists, you got a lot of customers, travelers and locals, kind and rude alike. Also as a small business owner, it was hard to keep a staff beyond just you. So naturally, you resorted to only keeping yourself employed- it made profits easier and the HR team was a delight to work with. On the other hand, when mornings got busy and the line for your coffee trailed out the door, it made you frustrated. Worried this was a war you couldn’t handle. Mystery man appearing every few nights, however, would remind you that the struggle was worth it. He gave you something to look forward to beyond the monotonous day-to-day barista career. The days he came to see you were some of your favorite nights. You hoped he would take that extra step or make the move that you were too afraid to commit to, too afraid to lose one good constant in your life.

You were sitting behind your counter for thirty minutes after your posted closing when he arrived another day.

Just his presence was electrifying, and you had to calm your racing heart before even looking directly at him, afraid you would melt into a puddle on the spot. Crisp dress shirt and pants, as if he had just put them on to come here, a sole mission to maybe impress you. Tonight he didn’t look rushed or distraught, yet he still he darted through your door with a nervous quickness that piqued your interest and cocked your head.

“Hey there,” he cooed. His voice was sultry, velvety and smooth like hot mocha.

“Hi,” you answered, easily and automatically matching his smile, as if you were sure his grin was the singular reason the sun awoke each morning.

You stared at each other like that for a few seconds, heat climbing your cheeks to rest easily on the bridge of your nose and the tips of your ears. He always had this effect on you: sending your heart into overdrive and leaving your brain in the dust. Like you were back in school and your first crush was finally speaking to you. You were lucky making drinks were all muscle memory at this point. After the few weeks that he had been coming to your shop, you would have hoped he would speak to you more, asked you something beyond his coffee order. You spoke to people all day, every day- you wished someone would want to talk to you more than a series of caffeinated drinks.

He cleared his throat, bringing your attention back to his face. You realized horrifyingly that your wandering mind had taken your gaze to his chest, strong and competent and muscled. Caught red-handed and starry eyed. You sputtered and coughed, the heat of embarrassment now torching your entire body.

“I’m so sorry about that, must have trailed off. What can I get for you tonight?”

His grin turned nothing short of devious, and he chuckled quietly. He ran a hand through his hair before resting it on the back of his neck. If you knew any better, you’d say he looked almost sheepish.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask for a barista style favor.”

Your heart dropped, the little food you had in your stomach becoming heavy with disappointment. You had a little more of higher expectations for this conversation, but that was what you get for being optimistic. You surprised yourself with how quickly you mocked up a small smile that you hoped did not look as fake as it felt. You nodded for him to continue.

“I want you to cater this work event we’re having next week, and it’s kind of an all day thing, so you’d have to close up shop here and come to the building.”

Your fake smile quickly crumbled as annoyance and irritation bubbled under your skin. Just another customer, nothing more. He was here for the coffee, but you reminded yourself you made damn good drinks. You shrugged indifferently, mentally building a formal wall around your head, heart, and voice.

“Sure thing. I’ll give you prices if you can just write down your name, company, and number of estimated people.”

You steeled your eyes to glare at him, yet he looked taken back, his lips curling down just briefly. He laughed, unsure and a bit forced. When you don’t return the laugh, his smile truly does turn into a frown. The moment turned awkward, neither one of you entirely happy where the conversation had gone.

“Oh, come on. I’m all over the news.” You looked around your store as if to gesture to the lack of televisions in your line of sight. He shuffled back and forth on his feet and ran his hand through his hair again. Genuine surprise lit his features.

“Wait, you really don’t know who I am?”

“No, I do. You’re the jerk that comes into the store minutes before and after closing.” The joking tone you intended was actually not the tone the was used. The man flinched, and you kicked yourself behind the counter. Play nice. “It’s been a very long day, could you just help me out?”

His hands shot up in a quick surrender in front of his chest. His eyes landed on anything but you. “No, no. I’m sorry. I don’t want- I mean, I just-“ He sighed loudly. “I did this backwards, I think. I’m going to start over.”

You don’t give him a reaction, you simply watched as he rolled his shoulders and looked back at you. A type of determination in his eyes that you think you’ve only seen in superheroes, the vigilantes that ran the streets in this town.

“My name is Dick Grayson, and I think your coffee is the absolute best in town.” An authentic smile graced his face again, and you’re back to your heart melting in your shoes. “I wanted to help your business a bit with an event. And then I was hoping you would go to dinner with me afterwards.”

You’re shocked your jaw doesn’t make a sound when it hits the floor. He waited patiently for an answer that you easily knew but couldn’t find the ability to voice. You closed your mouth so that you could beam at this man- Dick Grayson- you corrected. A name for the mystery man.

Your brain short circuited as quick connections were made.

“Wait, like the Richard Grayson? Like the Wayne Enterprises, a work event?”

Mystery m- Dick, you corrected again- laughed, a deep resounding sound that eased any and all tension you had in your shoulders. It was on reflex that you echoed the action. His eyes soften with your laugh, and you thought he might like the sound. He leaned forward on the counter, placing both forearms down to inch closer to you.

“See, you do know who I am. Is that a yes?”

You leaned forward as well to match his stance, your pinky dragging alongside his.

“Of course it’s a yes. It’s also a yes for the work event.” Dick wrapped his pinky around yours in a promise. “So long as I get to meet the child who drinks the triple mocha hot chocolate.” You giggled again. The extremely handsome man you’ve just agreed to go on a date with looked like you just slapped him.

“What do you mean ‘child?’ The hot chocolate is for me!”

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #such a sweet dick grayson #i do not see this man drinking anything other than sugar #nightwing fanfic #dc fanfic #robinsdearest #coffeshop owner au thingy? idk i liked the thought #let me know how you feel about this one and there might be a part two?

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sugarrushau · 9 days

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beach day! :D

#sugarcare #sugar rush au #sugar sweets #uni cornelius #sparklecare #suni #art #the update is cooking i prommy. in the meantime have a rq from uni to help me get used to drawing again ^_^

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sapphire-heart-tippy · 6 months

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Happy Birthday Vanilla!!

(headcanon birthday, his canon birthday remains unknown)

Vanilla's silly boyfriends, Bel and Tippy, (as well as the rest of the villain crew!) decided to throw Vanilla a little surprise birthday party!

Vanilla's a little awkward about it because he's not used to having the attention on him, but he's having fun 🫶🩵💙💜

(Bel uses he/xe/they pronouns and my s/i Tippy uses he/xe)

#beltipvans #vanilla my sweet #self ship #villain f/o #villain f/o birthday party #drawing #digital art #art #self ship community #safeship #safeship selfship #bel jjba oc #my art #jjba au #sapphire heartverse #sugar crash void bash #jjba selfship #jjba self insert #jjba oc

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

Note

Happy 300!! ❤️❤️ Can I have Din with “🍑” please 💕

thank you sweetpea! 💕 omg yes you can I’ve had so many din thoughts lately and this was the perfect place for them

a/n: this turned into a whole ass fic too lmfao because I physically cannot write din djarin without LOTS of exposition so here we go - would be considered an au I guess since this would be after the events of book of boba fett/we don’t know what season three brings yet

ANYWAY ENJOY THANK YOU!!! ♥️

sweet like sugar - manda’lor!din djarin x serving girl!fem reader

warnings: a whole lot of descripton lmfao, p-in-v sex, din has a bit of a dirty mouth, wrap it before you tap it people

✨kay’s 300 follower celebration✨

Din’s still making sense of it all.

It’s everything he never asked for; the crown, the palace, the responsibility. The weight on his shoulders that just seemed to be replaced every time a different weight was removed. The only bright spot most days is his son by his side, Grogu often taking to following Din around the palace grounds, his little feet much quicker than they were before he trained with Luke Skywalker. It’s another thing to add Din’s list, another thing to process.

Boba and Fennec, Cara and Greef, they’d all given up their stations to come with him, to help Din take the throne of Mandalore, to get his feet under him and be the friends he’d come to know them to be. His advisors, his Council. Boba was splitting his time between Din’s Council and the Daimyo seat on Tatooine, and Fennec went where she was needed. Cara was glad to stay and Greef was just happy to be included.

And it’s helped, some. Helped him make sense of what he’s agreed to, show him where his attention is most needed. Sure, there are advisors galore on Mandalore, Bo-Katan and her crew desperate to be heard, but Din’s trust lies with his friends. With his son, with his family. The people who have proven to him time and time again that there is, in fact, good in the galaxy. It sometimes just looks a little different than imagined.

He first notices you the day of his coronation.

The palace’s great hall is filled with people, murmurs and whispers moving through the crowds as Din strides through. Darksaber on his hip, his comfortable cloak replaced with something much finer, the fabric thick and heavy against his back as he walks. The Phoenix is hidden away in his personal armoury on one of the higher levels, but most of his beskar remains, including his helmet.

Bo-Katan had given him hell when she realized he would keep his face covered for the ceremony. His head still swam with confusion at the memories; the refinery on Morak and his face being scanned into the Imperial systems, Grogu’s hand on his bare face on Gideon’s lightcruiser, the Armourer’s assertion that he was a Mandalorian no more.

But he had a saber, and according to every legend he’d pulled from the Archives, Bo-Katan’s adamant refusal to take the weapon from him, and every other person he’d come into contact with since winning the saber from Gideon, that made him heir to the throne. And, by some stroke of idiocy, he’d agreed to it.

So here he is, on a seat he never asked for, darksaber twirled in his palm, surveying the crowds before him. It’s not something he ever dreamed of, when he was young. He never longed for wealth or station or a crowd full of people listening to his every word. He’s a strange mix of comfortable and anxious, glad to have at least some of familiarity around him. Boba and the rest sat at a table nearby, and Grogu’s crib had been upgraded to his own smaller version of Din’s throne. The kid is thrilled to pieces, babbling away beside him, sticking his little fingers in anything that’s presented to him.

“Can I get you anything, your majesty?” a soft voice asks, stepping up the dais to refill the tiny cup of juice beside Grogu’s plate. He coos happily, grinning up at you, and behind the helmet, Din is blushing.

You’re beautiful.

There’s no other word for it, and it catches him off guard, back straightening in his seat, gloved hands gripping the arms so tightly Din’s shocked they don’t snap off. Dressed in the same soft garb as the other servants, your hair braided ornately around your head, a silver pendant at your throat. It’s beskar, he knows; every servant and worker in the palace has one, a symbol of their loyalty.

Vaguely, he hears you repeat the question, your eyes nailing him to the spot. His tongue feels too big in his mouth, and Din fumbles for an answer, shaking his head. “N-no, I’m fine, but thank you.”

Beside him, Grogu has managed to pour his entire cup down his front, and you make a little surprised noise, bending down and pulling a rag from your pocket. “Careful, ad’ika,” you say, and the kid gurgles in response as you wipe the juice from his face. “I’ll get you some more.”

He’s pretty sure his mind goes blank at the term of endearment slipping from your lips. “You speak Mando’a?” he asks, nearly sputtering out the question. Why is he suddenly so nervous?

“Yes, your majesty,” you reply smoothly, a grin painting your lips. “Many of the servants do. I was born here.”

His brows raise. “You’re from Mandalore?”

Another nod, the grin growing wider. “Yes, your majesty. My family was killed in the Great Purge. Until it was announced you would take the throne, I was making my way on Coruscant. Then I returned here.”

“You returned to be a servant?”

“Yes, your majesty. My family has served the Manda’lor for many generations. It’s an honour.” You bow your head, knees bending in a curtsy, and Din still can’t tear his eyes from your face. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I could get you?”

“Your name?”

A blush blooms through your cheeks, and just when he thought you couldn’t be any more beautiful. You give him your name softly, knees still bent, and Grogu chirps happily as you say it. Din repeats it back, leaning forward in his seat and offering you his hand. You take it hesitantly, and he can feel the warmth of your skin even through his gloves.

Another servant calls your name, and your head turns towards the voice. “I’m coming!” You look back at Din, offering another smile. “If you need anything, just ask, your majesty.”

And then you’re gone.

In the months that follow, Din finds himself more restless than he’s ever felt in his life. Things were so different before, when it was just him and the kid on the Crest. When he could go anywhere in the galaxy without notifying anyone, without needing an entire security detail following him around. When his days were filled with bounties and adventure, not policies and votes and debates that made him want to fall asleep in his chair.

It’s important, his position, he knows that, still feels the weight every day, but damn if it isn’t boring sometimes.

His nights are restless, sleep evading him more often than not. He wanders the halls of the palace, occasionally with Grogu’s floating crib at his side, but usually on his own. It’s much more quiet at night, any visitors either gone from the palace or retired for the evening. Sometimes he runs into a servant or two, but the hallways are generally empty.

Tonight, however, he finds himself inching towards the kitchens, his growling stomach taking over his wandering feet. He’ll find something to snack on, something he can sneak back to his all-too lavish rooms on the highest level.

He’s not expecting to find someone in the kitchens at this hour, least of all you.

Your head doesn’t lift as he steps into the room, the door whooshing shut behind him. Your face is smeared with flour and spices, your hands covered in more flour and something purple. “I’m almost finished, Myla, I swear,” you say, focused on the task at hand. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

“I’m not Myla,” Din manages to say, his voice strained and awkward. It’s not the first time he’s seen you since the coronation; you’ve been everywhere, in every corner of the palace, at every meal, inching into the corner of his vision everywhere he turns. You flinch at the sound of his voice instead of your friend’s, neck snapping up so quickly he’s concerned you’re going to hurt yourself.

“Oh, gods,” you mutter, immediately starting to reach for the bowls and containers spread across the counter. “Your majesty, I’m so sorry. I was just…” Din tilts his head to the side and you inhale sharply. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“You were here first,” Din says slowly, grinning beneath his helmet. “Doesn’t that mean I’m disturbing you?”

“Oh,” you stutter, linking your hands together in front of you, staring down at them. “You could never, your majesty.”

Din steps further into the room, coming to stand before the stools lining the opposite side of the counter you’re stood at. You look up at him through your lashes and his stomach lurches. Your face has been etched in his brain since the first time he set eyes on you, but still, having you there before him is another thing entirely, making his breath stutter beneath his helmet.

“Is there something you need?” you ask, and he knows you’re flustered more so because there’s a pause before you add, “your majesty.”

It gives him an odd sense of satisfaction, knowing he has a similar effect on you that you do on him. It levels the playing field some, and he pulls out one of the stools, sliding atop it. “I was just looking for something to eat.”

“Of course,” you say brightly, wiping the purple from your hands. He’s still curious to know what it is. “Anything in particular? They delivered some really good fruit this morning; I think there’s still some left. And I could make you some tea?”

“That sounds perfect,” Din replies, and you give him the most dazzling smile, tucking your rag into your back pocket and setting to work. A few minutes later, there’s a plate of neatly sliced fruit slid to him, along with a steaming cup of tea.

He realizes then that he’s still wearing his helmet, and watches the realization pass across your face. “I’ll give you some privacy, your majesty.”

“No,” Din calls far too quickly, feeling his cheeks heat under the helmet, and your freeze, eyes glued to him. “You can stay, it’s all right. I’d…like the company.”

“All right,” you say, your voice quieter than he’s ever heard it.

The kitchen goes deathly silent as Din hooks his fingers into the rim of his helmet and lifts it off his head.

If it’s possible, you’re even more beautiful without the slight distortion of his visor. Your eyes are brighter than he thought them to be, your skin smoother. Gods, it’s been a long time since he’s felt like this, this attracted to a woman. And he knows the cliché of it all: the king and the serving girl. It’s a story that’s been told a million times over, but he doesn’t care.

There’s a wry smile on your face as he sets the helmet down on the table. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just…there are rumours, about what you look like under there. And you…you’re very handsome, your majesty.” Your eyes go wide and you clap a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry, that was much too forward.”

Din actually laughs, the sound almost startling him. He’s not used to hearing it so loud and clear, not processed through his helmet. His cheeks are heating at the compliment, and he reaches for the tea. “You need to stop apologizing.”

Your brows raise. “I’m so—” You cut yourself off, making a little huffing noise that makes Din grin. “Yes, your majesty.”

“What are you doing down here so late?” he asks.

You pause. “I’m not sure I should tell you,” you say quietly, reaching for the rag again. “I’d hate to get myself into trouble.”

“Your secret is safe with me, mesh’la,” he tells you, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I give you my word, as Manda’lor.”

Did he just call you beautiful?

“What did you…” you start, but then you shake your head. Your heart is hammering around in your chest so hard you’re worried it might jump out of your throat. He’s here, in the kitchens, in the one place you’ve been able to hide from him since your first encounter at his coronation.

You still played over that first conversation in your head, but this? Sitting across from you, drinking the tea you made, helmet discarded and those gorgeous eyes staring back at you. He is handsome, there’s no denying that, but the way he’s watching you, the way his eyes dart from your mouth and back up again every time you speak, it’s making something in you heat.

But he’s the Manda’lor. And you’re…you. Nobody.

You’ve done a good job, thus far, you think. Keeping yourself scarce when you can, but there’s only so much avoiding you can do when it’s your job to serve him. And gods, he’s so kind. It’s distracting, the quiet way he has about him, so shy and yet so commanding at the same time.

Watching him interact with his son is another thing entirely.

He reaches across the counter, fingers closing around your wrist, and it’s then that you realize that you’ve never seen him without gloves on. His fingers are long, knuckles calloused and criss-crossed with scars, more on the backs of his hands beneath the light dusting of dark hair.

He’s looking at you expectantly, waiting for your admission, and you rub a hand across the back of your neck, staring down at where his hand is still holding your wrist. He can probably feel how wildly your pulse is racing, but he says nothing, just watching you.

“I stay down here most nights, after everyone’s gone to their quarters,” you say, the words coming out in a rush. “It’s quiet, once they’re all gone, and I like it. It’s nice, helps me clear my head.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Why would you think you’d get in trouble for that?”

“I…” You trail off, at a loss. “I’m sorry, your majesty, but you make me very nervous.”

Slowly, he slides off the stool he’d been occupying, and rounds the counter, coming to stand right in front of you. He keeps his hold on your wrist as he moves, fingers tightening slightly as he stops before you. “The feeling is mutual.”

You blink. What? “It is?”

He nods, the moment slow, eyes darting all across your face. “It is. Since that first night I saw you, I haven’t…” He shakes his head. “I cannot get you out of my mind. Do you know what that’s like?”

Yes. Oh, sweet Gods, yes. “Y-yes, your majesty.”

He’s so close now, looming over you. He’s tall, too, his chin at the perfect height to rest atop your head. Slowly, he releases your wrist, drags his hand up your arm, until it reaches your shoulder, and then his fingers are under your jaw, keeping your face tilted towards his.

“Din. You call me Din, mesh’la, you understand? My name is Din Djarin.”

Your words are gone, caught in your throat, so you just nod.

Din. Din Djarin.

“Can I…” he starts, then pauses, clears his throat, and lifts his hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He murmurs your name. “Can I kiss you? I don’t…I don’t know how to a—”

Before he can get another word out, you lean up on your toes and kiss him.

It shouldn’t surprise you how soft his lips are, but it pulls a little noise out of you when his hand dives into your hair, the other reaching down to rest at the small of your back, pushing you until you chest touches his.

He tastes sweet, like the vormur flower tea you’d made him and the sharp tang of fruit. There’s something else too, something that just belongs to him, and you wish you could bottle the taste. He’s so tall, all broad shoulders and hard muscle beneath the soft clothes he’s wearing.

When his arm tightens around your waist, you can’t stop the little whimper that slips between your lips. You reach up, taking his face in your hands, feeling the scruff lining his jaw tickle your palm. Before you know it, the arm around your waist sinks beneath your ass, and he lifts you up. Your legs seem to wrap around his hips of their own accord, and Din sets you on the counter, mouth still hungrily attached to yours, kissing you like he’s been walking through the Tatooine desert forever and you’re the first drop of water he’s found.

It’s hungry and it’s heated and there’s something so forbidden about it that you have goosebumps, nervous energy rioting around in your gut. He keeps one hand in your hair, and the other moves to rest on your thigh, fingers pressing into your flesh. It sets everything in you alight, lust and arousal searing through your veins.

The soft fabric of his pants is doing little to mask the evidence of how aroused he is. It’s a bold move, you know, letting once hand skim down his chest, dropping to cup your palm against him. You’re rewarded by the way his jaw goes slack, mouth still moving against yours, a debauched moan sliding from his lips to yours.

“I need to be inside you, mesh’la,” he whispers. “Please.”

You nod frantically, and there’s a quick shuffle of clothes, your pants yanked down past your ankles and dropped to the floor, Din’s pushed down his hips. It all happens in an instant, his hand sliding up your thigh and hitching it over his hip, pulling you to the edge of the counter. His lips meet yours just as he presses into you, and you gasp into his mouth, one hand fisting in the front of his shirt, the other reaching around to sink into his hair. It’s ridiculously soft, the strands curling about your fingers.

And then he starts to move.

Your head is a mess, still confused as anything by what exactly is transpiring. Not half an hour you were here by yourself, and now you’re…

“Din,” you groan. He sets a ruthless pace, hips snapping into yours, jaw dropped as he stares down at where you’re connected. You tilt your head back, kissing his cheek, pressing yourself into him as much as possible, meeting his every thrust.

It’s filthy, the way the sounds of his flesh against yours fill the kitchens, the slick sound of just how wet he’s got you echoing through your mind. He barely touched you, but you were ready before your pants even hit the floor. His kiss has awakened something in you, and you can’t get enough.

He’s big, and it’s a stretch, but the slight burn just makes it better, the pain ebbing just as quickly as it arrived. Your ankles lock around his back, drawing him closer, tipping your head back as he fits his face against your throat.

“You have the sweetest mouth, mesh’la,” he murmurs against your pulse, nipping at your thin skin before laving his tongue over the spot. “I wonder if you’re just as sweet somewhere else.”

His hand drops from your hair only to snake up underneath your shirt, palm cupping your breast, swiping his thumb across your nipple. You keen up into the touch, back bowing to push your chest towards him, but then it’s gone, hand dropping between your spread legs. He kisses your throat almost roughly, beard scratching against you, but you barely notice as he slides two fingers through the wetness spilling out around his cock inside you, then draws them up, moving in a perfect circle over your clit. It knocks you breathless, yanking at his shirt desperately.

Then he pulls his fingers away, pushing them between his lips and moaning at the taste.

“I was right,” he murmurs, dropping his hand again, drawing another circle around you. “Just as sweet.”

Your brain is swimming with pleasure, unable to push a coherent thought past your lips, nothing but his name drawled out, bouncing off the walls. “Din.”

“I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” he grunts out, thrusting deeper than before, tightening an arm around your waist again, keeping you close. You drape your arms around his neck, pushing your face into his collar. “Touching you like this, being so deep inside you. Hearing the sounds you’d make for me, tasting your mouth. Gods, mesh’la, you’re more than I ever could have dreamed.”

He rubs a hard circle against you and you cry out, digging your hands into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. “Please, Din.”

His hips continue to piston against yours, and his fingers continue to circle your clit. Your nerves sing in response, sparks of pleasure shooting up and down every limb, your jaw going slack against his chest as it starts to pulse through you, hitting you like a blaster bolt to the stomach. Your whole body seizes, nails digging in hard, and Din gasps, pressing his mouth against the crown of your head, hips still moving. “So tight,” he chokes out, “are you…? Can I…?”

“Implant,” you whisper out, and there’s only a breath before he’s finding his own bliss, gripping you so tightly you can barely breathe. You lift your head as he gasps, grabbing his chin and tilting his face so you can kiss his pretty mouth, swallowing down his sounds until he stills against you.

You legs are numb, fingers and toes tingling as you both catch your breath.

And then you both start laughing.

It’s blissful laughter, interspersed between kisses and gentle touches. He stays there, fitted between your legs, pushing the hair from your face and kissing every inch of your face until you’re giggling helplessly, gripping his waist like a lifeline.

A knock at the door makes you both freeze.

Myla calls your name. “Are you coming or what?”

You look at Din, open-mouthed, and he just starts to laugh. “Be there in a second!”

It’s a slightly awkward shuffle apart, both of you wincing slightly as he pulls out of you. You both redress yourselves, righting clothing that had been moved askew, running a hand through your hair. Din pulls up the collar of your shirt, pressing it against your throat. “I left a mark,” he admits, his voice a little sheepish, and you lean in to steal a kiss, your lips soft against his.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, fingers under his scratchy chin. “I like it.”

He blinks down at you, tilting his head to the side, letting his hand span your ribs. “Can I see you again?”

You just nod before you lean up on your toes to kiss him softly once more, and then you turn on your heel and disappear out the door, careful to make sure it closes behind you, keeping him hidden.

You see him again the next night.

And the night after that, and the night after that. A few days you go without, only to deter the other servants who have been asking questions, wondering where you’ve been disappearing to. You can only chalk so much of it up to late nights spent in the kitchens, especially when your bed lies empty and you appear the next morning in the same clothes as yesterday.

Before long, it’s been months of secret trysts and stolen kisses.

Sometimes, he comes to you in the kitchens, like he had that first night. Other times, he requests you specifically to bring him dinner in his chambers. He’ll happen to walk down a hallway and find you walking the opposite way, and pull you into a darkened corner, kissing the breath from your lungs before letting you go.

Eventually, he asks to have you moved to the servants quarters on his floor. Your things are moved upstairs, and are very quickly deposited in his rooms. Your every night is spent by his side, and you love it.

You love him.

As time goes on, you learn everything about each other. Your histories, your pasts, the things you love and the things you hate. Every planet you’ve ever visited and the ones you can’t wait to see. Din is planning the trip to Naboo seconds after the words are past your lips.

You voice your hesitation to be with him, what people might say about the king courting a servant girl, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It doesn’t matter what you are, mesh’la,” he tells you. “It matters who you are. And who you are, is the woman I love.”

And then, one night…

You’re both sprawled in his bed, naked as the day you were born, the silk sheets covering you from the waist down. Din’s on his back, head nestled in his pillow, and you’re on your stomach, lying on his chest, your fingers tracing over the scars that litter his body, evidence of the life he once lived. He’s relaxed, but when you glance up, you can see the hard expression on his face. It’s almost like you can see the wheels turning in his head.

“What are you thinking about, cyar’ika?” you ask, leaning up slightly to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I’m thinking,” he starts, and you lean up higher so you can see his face, stare into those gorgeous eyes, “I might like to make you my queen.”

—————

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