#the wink!! the collar!! the waistcoat!!

[izzy246girl]

o to be drawing very pretty girls with their collars undone so a bit more of their skin peeks out than quite necessary flirting wildly with the flustered blushing girl in the corner who has discovered something about herself in that moment

[rubiehart]

tell ‘em - sabrina carpenter

this song is sooooooo kook!reader x jj in a secret relationship, hiding it from the rest of the island knowing the problems your love would cause, “‘cause if they know what we know then everything’s gonna change” is just perfect like ughhh.

“the way you looked at me felt like heaven, oh. i know they can see, i know they can tell it.” let me set the scene. i’m thinking midsummers, your relationships sorta new, not totally believing jj was going to show up but not making it obvious to your friends that’s who you’d been waiting on all night, low and behold he showed up like he’d promised, running up from the dock further down the beach, his toned body you knew all too well clad in tight dress pants and matching waistcoat, the outfit was not something he would’ve chosen to wear and you knew that by the way he was pulling at his collar where his bow tie was too tight, any other time you would’ve laughed at jj in something like this but the throbbing between your thighs contradicts your thoughts cooompletely.

despite his hate for his “kooky get up”, he looked really good, messy blonde hair contrasting with the fancy outfit making your thighs clench, unfortunately stuck in a polite conversation with a crowd of other kooks which would make it hard to get away from, peeling your eyes away from jj’s approaching figure for a second as he shoots you a wink as he disappears into the house making your cheeks flush.

a few seconds later he waltzes past you with a tray full of vodka cranberries, much too casually for your liking, signalling to him with your eyes that you needed to get away from the situation, asap. he gives you a knowing look and leaves your line of sight for a few minutes, appearing again before you could react, theatrically bumping into you and spilling the beverage all down your dress, you pick up on his idea quickly and shriek. “what the hell pogue!” making him smirk a little when all eyes were on the both of you, even the music seemed to quiet down.

“jesus, i’m so sorry!” he apologises, hands frantically trying to help in some way, you had to admit he was selling this well, you manage to both slip away in the commotion of the cleaners and the chatter picks up, dipping into a single stall bathroom and searching for each others mouths as soon as your back hit the closed door. “you look so fuckin’ sexy.” he practically growled, you wrapping your hands around his neck as he drags the neckline of your dress down. “shit, so do you.” you moan out, bunching your dress at your hips as he unbuttons his pants with a little struggle, covering your mouth with his ringed hand and looking into your eyes “gonna be quiet for me girly, yeah?” he asks before pushing into your soaked core. you were his dirty little secret.

[twinksrepository]

A villainous Kiss

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Mammon X GN!Reader

CW: Kisses, Implied sexy times

Word count: Roughly .6K

A/N: You find Mammon rather attractive in his new look, and get him alone to tell him just how much. Yea, I don't think this Obey me thing in my brain is going away any time soon. Sorry to the regulars of the fandom, I just hope you enjoy my ramblings. Images belong to Solmare.

Blinking as the light from the box fades you look around the room and can’t help the grin on your face at the new outfits everyone is in from growing to the point of pain. Your cheeks burning from the wide smile that is all teeth at this point. Once more a relic of the Devildom has provided everyone with a different outfit, and your eyes keep falling back to Mammon. 

He really does look like a villain with the thick white fur and the gems embedded in the fur lining. While everyone talks about the now decided teams you wink at the white haired demon who gets to be the leader of the villains, enjoying a faint blush breaking out across his cheeks, at least before the others start to tease him about his intelligence again. 

When no one is looking you mouth how you’ll see him in a little bit before you’re pulled into the conversations going on around you by Asmo. Well, more pulled into talking about how cute Asmo is in his new outfit. 

Later when everyone heads off to do their own thing you casually wink at Mammon to make sure he remembers your attempt to get his attention from earlier. Giving your hips a wiggle after walking past him and then slipping away down a hallway positive he’ll follow after you. 

Tapping your fingers against the wall as you wait, smirking at the sound of footsteps you know match the avatar of greeds’. “Hey hey hey, it seemed as if you were trying to get my attention earlier.” 

“Was I? Didn’t seem like that to me.” Tilting your head as he moves closer, leaving just enough space that either one of you could casually lift your hand and touch the other.

“Ya think you’re funny?” Smirking a little more as he leans closer to your face you feel the moisture from his exhale against your skin.

“Of course I am.” Placing both of your palms against his abdomen before sliding them upwards, feeling the stitching of the golden pattern etched into his new waistcoat. “You look really handsome in this.” 

“Oh? Does my human like this?” His hands are on your sides slowly moving upwards closer to your ribs. 

“I do.” Ghosting your fingers higher before curling them into the fur of the coat near one of the gems in the thick fabric. “I hope you get to keep this one after we do this little show.” You laugh softly before licking your lips with a devilish smile, using the collar to tug him forward and close the distance to give him a kiss. 

Mammon lets out a soft moan before pulling back but not without pressing his forehead to yours. “I could use a few more dozen of those.” 

“A few dozen?” The joy in your voice is clear as you question him, loosening your grip on the luxurious fur to slip your fingers inside against the warmth of his neck, hooking one into the black band that reminds you of a small collar. 

“I am greedy.” It’s all he says before closing the distance for a longer deeper kiss. One that you let him control as he lives up to his title, and leaves your chest heaving with burning lungs from the lack of oxygen as he refuses to part from you. 

At some point, the two of you make your way back to the house of lamentation and Mammon cashes in on those dozen of kisses. Well, it’s a lot more than a paltry dozen. Some on your lips, others on the skin of your neck, your brow, your chest, and your arms, anywhere he can find bare skin as he slowly strips you of your outfit while you do the same to hi. Either way, you find a good use for that fancy cloak and can’t look at it the same the next day when you return to RAD to figure out a game plan for the script.

[bookwormscififan]

Benefits of Owning A Bar

Read on AO3!

A/N: The spicy PhantomHero POV of 'He Gives Me Fever'. Phantom's a sucker for Jackie in a waistcoat.

Warnings: Smut.

--

“Why do I have to wear a waistcoat?” Jackie grumbled as he buttoned up his shirt, leaving the bathroom to see Phantom sitting on the bed in his signature waistcoat and button down.

“Because it’s jazz night at the bar, and I want all the barmen to look the part,” Phantom purred as he motioned for Jackie to come closer, sliding his hands up the smooth silk of his shirt. “And because I’m a sucker for a man in a waistcoat.”

Jackie shuddered as Phantom slipped his hands under the waistband of his slacks, squeezing his ass rhythmically as he nibbled on his chest where he’d stopped buttoning it up. Jackie’s trembling hands moved to Phantom’s shoulders, gently guiding him to move down as his hands slid around to undo his slacks.

“P-Phan,” Jackie gasped, knees buckling as Phantom nosed at him through his boxers. “Please…” his breath came out in a rush when Phantom hooked a finger into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulled them down just enough to free his cock, kissing at the base before working his way up to the tip, gently suckling on it before taking him completely into his mouth.

Jackie bit his lip to muffle his moans as Phantom bobbed his head, hands gripping at his thighs hard enough to leave bruises. The hero’s fingers tangled in Phantom’s unbrushed hair, tugging slightly before he came, spilling down Phantom’s throat and whimpering as he swallowed every last drop.

Phantom pulled off slowly enough to make Jackie’s eyes roll back, licking at the tip of his sensitive cock before tucking him back into his boxers and doing up his slacks with falsely innocent eyes.

“Come on, we’ll be late,” he stated, slapping Jackie’s ass as he stood up, sending himself and Jackie to the office of the bar and helping him to button up his waistcoat.

Poking his head out of the office, Phantom smiled as he watched Mad speak softly to Mare before shuffling away, and with a wink tossed over his shoulder to Jackie, Phantom stepped outside to greet his brother.

“He let you sing, didn’t he?” he asked as sidled up behind Mare, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks for coming.” Mare’s response was curt but appealing, and Phantom chuckled before heading to the front door to open the bar and start the jazz night.

----

Phantom couldn’t keep his hands off Jackie. Whether it was adjusting his shirt or messing with his hair, the waistcoat on the hero seemed to draw Phantom to it like a magnet. Even from the other side of the bar, his eyes always seemed to pick Jackie out from the crowd, focusing on the way the waistcoat cinched in his waist, sitting taught across his chest allowing him the glimpses of muscle Jackie had hidden beneath his shirt.

It was killing him to not be able to see those muscles.

“Phan?” Hooking his fingers into the opening of Jackie’s waistcoat, Phantom practically dragged him to the office, pushing him against the closing door and pressing their bodies together, hands grasping at every part of Jackie he could reach.

“You in this outfit is too hot,” Phantom breathed against Jackie’s neck, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat and tugging his shirt out of his slacks. “I can’t take my hands off of you,” he sang before slipping his hand into Jackie’s slacks, fishing out his cock and wrapping determined fingers around it.

“P-Phan…” Jackie groaned, holding Phantom close as his knees buckled, bucking into Phantom’s fist as he stroked him at alternating speeds, running his fingers through Jackie’s hair and making it a mess. “God, Phan…”

“Come on, Jackie,” Phantom purred against his neck, scraping his teeth along the skin just beneath his collar. “You know how you make me feel, show me what I do to you.” He grinned as Jackie stilled against him, muffling a moan as he came all over Phantom’s hand.

“T-The bar,” he stammered after catching his breath, whimpering as Phantom tucked him back into his slacks with a few choice kisses to his cheeks. “S-Someone needs to run it…” His cheeks were flushed, hair a mess as Phantom moved away from him, opening the door and waving him out, not bothering to fix his waistcoat.

Jackie saw Mare talking to the piano player on the stage, wiping down a few glasses as he glanced toward Mad’s seat. Connecting the dots, Jackie made his way to Mad, gently waking him up and directing him to the stage, catching Phantom’s eye in a silent message to give Mad some coffee.

He worked on the bar for a while, serving drinks to tired patrons and watching the crowds begin to part, before he decided to find Phantom. The barman was standing near the office door, watching Jackie like a predator watches prey, and before he could speak he was being pulled into the room once more.

Phantom’s hands were on him before he could process anything, just managing to lock the door before Phantom dragged him to the wingback armchair in the corner, pushing him to sit in it then sitting on his lap. Jackie’s hands gipped Phantom’s hips, rolling his eyes as Phantom ground down against him, and he pressed his thumbs into the dips of Phantom’s waist before sealing their lips together.

“Fuck, Jackie,” Phantom panted against Jackie’s lips, tapping impatient fingers against his chest. “You look so good, god, I want to ride you.” He groaned when Jackie’s grip tightened on his hips, reaching into his back pocket for a small pack of lube and tapping it against Jackie’s hand as he worked on the hero’s slacks.

Jackie sighed as Phantom got his slacks and boxers down far enough to free his cock, whining when Phantom climbed off his lap to remove his own clothes before settling back in his lap. He gently guided Jackie to press lubed fingers against his hole, chewing on his bottom lip as Jackie slowly pressed his fingers inside him.

“Yes, Jackie, just like that, good boy,” Phantom murmured, rocking back against Jackie’s hand as he slipped another finger in. “M-More, I need more, darling.” Grasping the back of Jackie’s head, he pulled him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning into his mouth as Jackie pressed another finger in, brushing against the spot that made him see stars before pulling his hand away.

“Ready?” Jackie asked against Phantom’s lips, holding his waist and lifting him just enough to line up. When Phantom nodded, he slowly lowered him down, swallowing his moans until he was fully seated. “How do you want this?”

“Don’t hold back,” Phantom replied, tangling his fingers in Jackie’s hair as the hero did just that, moving him like he was weightless, eagerly bucking into him and angling him to hit that perfect spot each time he brought Phantom down.

If anyone had walked past the office door at that moment, they’d think someone was getting murdered. Phantom’s voice cracked as he screamed his moans, Jackie’s name slipping past his lips every so often as he moved one hand down to press against his chest, feeling the muscles moving beneath the waistcoat.

“God, Jackie, you’re so good,” he babbled, dropping his head to Jackie’s shoulder, nosing away the collar of his shirt to run his lips over the skin. “You fill me so well, I’m so full of you!” With a particularly hard bite to Jackie’s neck, Phantom came against him, making a mess of his waistcoat. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he panted, wrapping his arms around Jackie’s shoulders and holding him close as Jackie continued to move him.

“Phan…” Jackie groaned as he came, fingers digging into Phantom’s hips to hold him still as he rode out his high, nuzzling into Phantom’s neck while he caught his breath. After a few beats, Phantom squirmed, signalling for Jackie to pull out and help him to his feet.

“Aw, I messed up your waistcoat,” Phantom mumbled, eyes on Jackie’s ruined garment as he pulled his clothes back on. “Still looks pretty damn hot, though,” he followed up with a smirk, meeting Jackie’s gaze with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

“It’s almost closing time, anyway,” Jackie stated with a shrug, removing the waistcoat and setting it aside. “Should make sure the bar’s cleaned up.” He paused when Phantom grabbed his elbow, stopping his exit to pull him down into a passionate and messy kiss.

“The bar may be closing, but this night’s far from finished,” Phantom whispered against his lips, giving him one final peck before letting go of his elbow. “Go, make sure Mare hasn’t torn down the bar.”

--

Jackie found Mad still sitting at the table, transfixed by Mare’s performance, so he sat beside him to watch the musician finish his song. Tapping his fingers along to the tune, he commented on Mare’s singing, smiling in amusement at Mad’s distracted response before making his exit, heading back to the bar to tidy up.

He watched Mare go to talk with Mad after his set, smiling at the scientist before rolling his eyes as Phantom approached them. Smirking when Mare left with Mad, Jackie waited for Phantom to return to the bar, leaning across the wood and waving a finger at his dishevelled appearance.

“You were saying about the night being far from finished?” He prompted, watching Phantom’s eyes go dark and laughing when he was pulled into a tight embrace, being sent home and immediately pushing Phantom into the bed.

“I don’t want to be able to walk tomorrow, hero boy,” Phantom growled, clinging to Jackie when he leaned down to kiss him.

---------------

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @rattyboyisemo @dungeon-dragons-dragons

[ei-banana]

pairing: jeanlisa (sfw)

wc: 687

There was a something hidden in every glance they shared, every touch. Lisa stood at the edge of untempered erudition, and she was just charmed enough to dive straight in.

———

The pursuit of all things known was a fickle little thing, more likely to leave you trembling in the dirt than soaring high, knowledgeable above the rest. It was a strident truth Lisa held dear, grappling for a stronghold in the all-consuming dark when its bloody coil cinched tighter.

Curiosity was a beast, and it looked quite like her, stretching out lackadaisical beneath the slanted rays of sun, dust from the yellowed pages of time-worn books hallowing her slumbering frame. She was often roused only by winsome face and hair of gold— Jean tore through, chivalrous and kind, and the beast thrashed in its binds.

Into her den, bracketed by prose, Jean dared to amble, amiability at the edge of her lips. She stopped by at the same time each day, nose and cheeks kissed pink by the sun, damp with sweat from training, smelling sweet of dewy, green grass and rich soil, windswept, charming, and… the pursuit of knowledge had not called this loudly in quite some time.

It called again where they now sat, before the ornate vanity, tailored waistcoat hooked with care over the back of the chair. Lisa leaned down, face pinched with focus as she fussed with the other woman’s collar. She hummed a note of approval when the fabric finally settled just right, hands slipping lower.

“How do I look?” Jean’s voice was quiet in the still room, almost tentative though the near boastful puff of her chest suggested otherwise. She shifted restlessly under Lisa’s practiced hands— sure fingers knotting the silken tie at her neck into something presentable— and the mage smiled, amorous and knowing.

“Positively dashing.” The murmured appraisal was exactly what Jean wanted to hear, cheeks flushing scarlet and strong frame trembling. It was a certain dance they favored, questions without so many words, acquiescence and hidden meanings she didn’t dare decipher.

How could she not lose herself while searching for the truth behind such fervent looks?

In her self preservation, she winked; it was a practiced response that often left Jean floundering, though now she looked most peculiarly brazen. Gauntleted hands settled at her waist, a comforting weight; they burned into where she was softest. She settled atop firm thighs, mouth agape when the fastidious Acting Grand Master slumped into her side, withered sigh searing the pale skin that her gown left exposed.

“You alright?” Foolhardy and yearnsome, Lisa lay a hand at the back of Jean’s neck, twining the wisps of blond hair she found, around and around.

“I just…” Jean trailed off, propping her chin on the mage’s bare shoulder, their noses inches from brushing. “Well, I suppose I’m nervous.”

“You’ve given countless speeches before, Jean.”

“This feels different, speaking before such renowned nation leaders.” Jean’s eyes were fixed to Lisa’s own, frazzled and brilliant, blinding; she puffed out her rosy cheeks, brow furrowing with ever-present shame. “Who’s to say that I am deserving of a seat amongst the delegation?”

Lisa clicked her tongue, voice low and rolling when she scolded softly, “Jean.” The beast circled, chest rumbling, moving further forward than it had ever dared. Its claws sank into Jean’s stern shoulders, forehead pressing to the other woman’s own, breath stuttering when it crawled from the centrum of Lisa’s chest and spoke with rasping boldness, “you lead with a punctiliousness I won’t soon comprehend, but I see the way you adorn Mondstadt with your undying love.”

“Lisa.” Jean pushed closer and Lisa clenched her eyes shut.

“You are worthy of their pride, and you are more than worthy of mine.” Silence followed the declaration, words anything but novel save for the way they ghosted Jean’s lips. Breathless, on the edge of abandon.

The bindings grew taught as usual, choking her silent when they reared her head back. She stared openly at the other woman’s half shut eyes, ears buzzing and hands retreating. How it would feel to kiss the bow of those pinkened lips… she wished to know.

“We should head out soon.”

“Of course.”

Despite her concession, Jean’s hands remained, squeezing tighter— hands of absolution, and they were sure to be her end.

[the-doctor-and-the-asshole]

In light of recent times and the unfortunate reality of experiencing emotions occasionally as a human being, I found you some art.

They're girlfriends, and they hatch murder plots together. They have three cats. (The art is mine(off of picrew))

[Image ID1: small masculine female drawn in a very blocky and doodle type style. She has pale skin and dark hair that is in a ponytail. Her mouth is open, displaying a top row of shark like sharpened teeth. Her eyes are squinted to crescents, and she has a bandage over her jaw. She is wearing a white button-up shirt with a red tie and a black waistcoat. Her left arm has been replaced with a sharpened knife as a substitute for a prosthetic. She has black boots with white shoelaces, and her hair is held in a ponytail with rainbow striped ribbon.End ID]

[Image ID2: a tall masculine female drawn similarly to the first, however with more nuance and a few more details. Pale skin and dark hair adorn her as she smiles with teeth pointed and sharp enough to need a weapon license. she is winking with her left eye. Her hair is too short to pull into a ponytail and is about down to her ears. Her attire consists of black overalls, a grey and white collared shirt, a white tie, black gloves, black boots, and grey sunglasses. Her right leg had been amputated, and she has a simple white and grey prosthetic.End ID]

[beccibarnes]

"What do you think?" Aziraphale asked, turning slowly in place and presenting his outfit. Crowley looked up. Lounging on the dressing room's sofa, he studied the plain white shirt and the cream waistcoat. Right down to the golden chain of the pocket watch, it was very similar to the angel's usual attire, but not quite the same. The shirt was lighter, the waistcoat had a more elaborate pattern and there was one piece that clearly stood out. For Crowley, that in particular made for a rather refreshing look.

"I didn't know you own black trousers," Crowley replied.

"They came with the top hat," Aziraphale said, stroking the unusual colour. "And with the coat. Makes for a proper ensemble altogether." He slipped his arms into the black tailcoat and then turned away from Crowley to check his appearance in the mirror once more.

"Mhm," Crowley agreed, his eyes also lingering on Aziraphale's reflection. The warm light of the illuminated dressing room mirror cast soft shadows on the angel's features, making him glow in a way Crowley hadn't seen before. He pulled his sunglasses an inch down his nose, to see it without the obscuring shade.

"Just one last thing missing," Aziraphale said to himself and started rummaging on the make-up table. With a triumphant sound, he pulled out a black pencil. Crowley's eyebrows raised but he didn't comment on it. 

As Aziraphale moved closer to the mirror, Crowley got up from the sofa and sauntered towards the costume racks. Letting his fingers travel over the fine silks, satins and cottons, he browsed through the collection of ties. Most of them were black, dark blue or burgundy red. Not quite his angel's colours. Then he found something light, hidden behind yet more dark accessories. He pulled it off the hanger and let it run through his hands, captivated by the golden shimmer it had in the dim light. A perfect match.

When he turned around again, he clenched his jaw in an attempt to hold back a laugh. Aziraphale had finished drawing himself a thin swirly moustache - the kind that would still look silly even if it was real. Aziraphale beamed with the pencil still in hand and was visibly pleased with his work. "Now I look like a real stage magician."

"Almost," Crowley said softly, coming closer. He flipped the collar of Aziraphale's shirt up and draped the silken fabric around his neck. Trying to remember how to tie it, he folded the ends, wrapped parts of fabric around each other and pulled them through a loop. He got the pieces tangled up and had to start over.

Aziraphale waited patiently. He probably knew exactly how to tie it, and would have been faster as well, but he didn't say anything while Crowley was figuring it out. He got it right on the second attempt. 

"Turn around, angel," Crowley said, gently pushing his shoulders in the right direction. Aziraphale turned back to the mirror and glanced at his reflection, illuminated by the lightbulbs around it. The magnificent glow was back, this time enhanced by the subtle golden shimmer of his bowtie. A smile appeared on his face and it wasn't the broad expression of excitement he donned a couple of times a day. It was a more incredulous smile of disbelief at his own appearance.

Crowley leaned over his shoulder, adjusting the ends of the bowtie one last time, flipping down the collar and stroking down Aziraphale’s shoulders to smooth out wrinkles that weren't there. "Now you're ready."

Aziraphale didn't answer but their eyes locked in the mirror. In his reflection, Crowley saw the hint of honest stage fright.

"You'll be amazing," he added, feeling Aziraphale's shoulders lift with the deep encouraging breath he took. 

"Thank you," he exhaled. Crowley stroked his shoulders once more, then he let go of him and picked up his hat from where he had left it on the sofa.

"Break a leg," the demon said with a wink before pushing his sunglasses back up his nose "I'll be waiting for your cue." He put his hat back on and left the dressing room to find his seat in the audience. 

Aziraphale stayed behind, still staring at the bowtie in the mirror and couldn't help but crack a sincere smile. "Showtime!" he said to his reflection, took his top head from the dresser and headed for the stage.

✨fell the marvellous and his trusted assistant 😏✨

(bc 1941 aziracrow is my roman empire 🥹)

requested on x and based on a photo of michael and david... feel free to send ideas for aziracrow drawings in my askbox, I'm always looking for something to draw 👀

[xavierknightsbridge]

The Dinner-Date’s Belly

Scott was getting hungry. He'd dressed for dinner but his date – Mark – seemed to be putting everything possible in the way of Scott filling his belly.

It had started out so promisingly. They'd met on tinder, Mark's profile was good: athletic build, nice muscles, pecs popping beneath tight button up shirts. He was some kind of instagram sensation and to be honest, seemed more vain than Scott usually went for – but they'd hit it off and now here they were, on a dinner date.

Scott liked to dress up for dinner. Button down shirt, pressed collar, waistcoat, the works. He was reasonably toned and the slim fit formalware accenutated his ripped physique, flattering the round, full curves of his pecs and the slimness of his hips. He'd bothered to comb his unruly red hair which tumbled down to the bottom of his neck in long, lush waves. He'd been compared to a Disney prince on occasion – a compliment that had encouraged him to cultivate a physique to match. So he'd arrived to the date looking killer, belly growling with hunger (he thought showing off one's appetite an attractive quality on a first date) and with high expectations.

Expectations that had been quickly shattered. Though in person Mark was every bit as delicious as his profile pics – tousled brown hair, lantern jaw, polo shirt sexily unbuttoned to reveal the firm line of his pecs (his big nipples showing through the thin fabric, hard, like an invitation for later). But he was underdressed – and worse, had already eaten – evidenced by the big round belly that protruded from under his polo shirt, appearing whenever he stretched as his big belly pushed his shirt up, deep belly-button emerging in an orb of wobbling flesh like it was winking at Scott.

Still, Scott liked meat on a man, and the date could be saved – if it wasn't for Mark's horrible personality. The date had gone from bad to worse – Mark hadn't liked Scott's long hair (girly, apparently, which was rich from a man who had clearly spent a lot of money having his pecs enhanced to perfection), his clothes (pretentious – from an instagram influencer) and his obviously hungry belly (Scott's belly had growled when Mark's big belly had first made a surprise appearance, popping out of the bottom of his polo shirt when they'd sat to order drinks at the bar.) Apparently Scott's tummy-noises were 'low-class.'

Mark, not being hungry, had lingered at the bar and drunk too much – making him even more intolerable and torturing Scott's poor ravenous belly. Mark had insulted the bar-staff – and word had obviously filtered through to the wait staff cause it had been an age of enduring terrible conversation until someone came to take their order, and then another hour before starters arrived. Mark had wolfed his – causing a reappearance of his big, bloated belly – which frankly Scott preferred as a dining companion to its owner – and then ordered a bottle of wine from the only sympathetic waiter, a dishy Italian-American called Antonio, who filled out his tight waiter's uniform very well and had olive skin and dark, curly hair. He gave Scott a smile as he filled their glasses – but his attention was diverted by an obnoxious customer with a big belly demanding his food be reheated. So Scott still went hungry and there was no sign of his main course arriving any time soon.

The final straw came when Mark, who had been guzzling the wine by himself, knocked over his glass and spilled red wine all over Scott's shirt. Furious – and not being offered any help by Mark who said it served him right for dressing too nice for dinner – Scott had gone to the bathroom to clean up. His belly was like a ball of hunger and groaning need – and his shirt was completely ruined. The red stains were damp against his bare skin, so he stripped to just his waistcoat, exposing his lower belly, belly button gaping below the final button on the slim waistcoat (which he'd chosen because it was a bit too tight – his pecs spilled out on either side, rosy, full nipples barely concealed by the fabric). He wanted nothing more than to go home – but he was so hungry he didn't think he'd make it without passing out. So, annoyed, half-naked, belly-button on display, Scott returned to his terrible date, belly rumbling with hunger.

And then, as he sat down, Mark had made a face at his state of undress – and his noisy stomach. “Dude, you need to chill your belly out – that noise is too much.”

Furious, and hungry beyond belief – Scott realised it was time to take matters into his own hands. “Guess I'd better eat something then,” he'd said, reaching across the table.

Normally, Scott wouldn't indulge his predatory appetites in public – but his belly had needs and he'd learnt to obey his belly when it made its demands. The wait staff had placed them in a shady corner, way out of the line of sight of themselves – right by the back-door to the parking lot. The only nearby table was the one with the obnoxious customer, who was still arguing with the hot waiter over the quality of food at the restaurant – an argument that didn't look like it was going to be finished anytime soon. And Mark clearly had very few uses – lovely big belly aside – so really Scott was doing everyone a favor if his belly had managed to find a way to make use of Mark.

Mark struggled as Scott ripped his polo shirt in half, letting that big, full belly spill out over his waistband and jiggle invitingly in the air, sweating from the alcohol. He struggled even more as Scott opened his mouth as wide as he knew how and with one hand shoved Mark's head into his waiting maw, and with the other began to strip Mark so his shorts slid down his toned, plump buttocks, cock and big balls popping out at the same time (it seemed Mark had managed to do Scott a favor in going commando – though no doubt he'd imagined his cock entering Mark's mouth in a less final fashion).

Mark struggled – but his steroid enhanced muscles, impressively big as they were, were no match for Scott's hard-earned physique. Pecs straining against his waistcoat front – and biceps visibly bulging (like his belly was about to), Scott quickly overpowered Mark/his dinner and began to consume him – a reward for his voracious belly's long wait. He had to work quickly to avoid being seen but he still savoured every mouthful (and with Mark, they were big mouthfuls) of struggling young man he forced into himself. The sweat and the struggle in his mouth flavoured his meat/Mark wonderfully and Scott quickly devoured him up to his chest, exulting in the warm, satisfied (but eager for more) sensation as he felt live meat entering his stomach (and could already see his flat stomach swelling into a round, protruding ball of a belly, bare beneath his waistcoat, belly-button deeper than before in the newly expanded flesh of his gut).

Mark's big, broad pecs were an especial treat, his nipples hard and perky as Scott teased them with his long tounge, savouring the sweat pooling down the broad, full planes of Mark's pectorals as he nibbled on them, enjoying the feel of Mark's heartbeat in his mouth and then his throat as he gobbled up his date's chest. Scott loved eating another man's pecs, feeling their fullness with his tongue and his mouth, nibbling on the hard swell of muscle and arousing the nipples with his tongue before sending both wobbling, muscle-swollen pecs down to his stomach to become his – part of him – for good.

Scott's cock stiffened in his lap, tentpoling his tight suit trousers as he felt the incredible fullness of Mark's chest entering the ever voracious tank of his stomach. Looking down, below Marc's wobbling belly now hanging from Scott's full lips, Scott could see his belly swell out even further, round, smooth flesh (aside from his ginger treasure trail, plunging into the deep well of his growing belly-button) sitting in his lap like he'd eaten a basket-ball, swelling out his stomach in a perfect sphere of naked gut. But of course, Scott thought excitedly, cock twitching in his trousers, he hadn't eaten a basket-ball. He was eating Mark – and there was still more to stuff into his demanding belly.

In the mirror opposite their booth (well his only now, Mark being well on his way to being turned into Scott's belly – where Scott had no doubt he was better suited as food for his growing gut than as a person) Scott could see his meal of Mark was having a pronounced effect on his waistcoat. His new Mark-belly was swelling out below the tightly buttoned waistcoat, though the waistcoat was digging into the the flesh of his vore-belly as it expanded, just above his increasingly large belly-button which yawned just below the last button his waistcoat (though his belly-button was now at least four times as large as his coat buttons). The waistcoat was being visibly pushed outwards by the emerging swollen sphere of belly – its upper curve still contained, though only barely – and the five lower waistcoat buttons were visible straining to accommodate his growing vore-belly. Only those across his chest seemed secure – and even then the size and heft of Scott's plumply muscular pectorals put some pressure on the upper buttons too. The growing hardness of his cock was also fighting with the button on his trousers, which seemed ready to pop trying to contain the massive tentpole his fat vorny cock was making.

At this point, Scott was ready to take on his date's stuffed, fat gut, hanging from his mouth like a balloon of lovely meat. Scott slathered it with his long, pink tongue before slowly pulling the upper curve of Mark's big, round belly into his mouth, trying to guess what was inside it that had filled his date out so much. Steak? Mark tasted like a steak man. A big juicy steak in a big juicy belly – cum dribbled out of Scott's engorged cock as he began to eat Mark's engorged tummy. His cheeks swelled out like a hamster's as greedily he sucked in more and more of Mark's quivering belly. He nibbled on it as it entered, stroking Mark's cock with his free hand, enjoying how obviously aroused Mark was getting by the feel of Scott nuzzling and gently chewing his expanse of belly flesh. Then, slowly, sucking every bit of flavour he could get out of the belly-meat as it passed through his mouth, Scott began to swallow down the belly until the huge, yawning belly-button was just in front of him, and he could stick his tongue in it and twirl the button of flesh at its base, teasing his food/Mark as he ate him, reminding him that he was just meat to be enjoyed, to be played with before he entered Scott's belly – and became Scott's belly.

At last, he removed his tongue from Mark's now saliva-slathered belly-button with a pop, and sucked Mark's navel down his gullet, pulling in the delicious, wobbling lower shelf of belly-fat with it – and sending the whole enormously stuffed belly down into his waiting, growing tank. As he felt his dinner-date's stomach enter his own, and was overcome with the delicious feelings of conquest and orgasm and fullness that came from a completely full vore-belly, Scott's cock sprang free of his trousers, balls pumping jet after jet of cum through his impressively girthy shaft and out of his weeping cock-head. His trousers would be ruined – but at least for a good reason Scott thought. At the same time, he could see in the mirror that his straining waist-coat buttons were about to blow as his belly swelled to twice its previous size as it filled up – and out – with Mark's stuffed gut (Scott's now, or more accurately his belly's). With a series of pops, Scott watched (cock stiffening again, feeling his balls churn and fill with more cum) as his his waistcoat strained over his swelling planet of gut and one by one, the buttons popped off – first the one just below his big pecs, then the next, and the next, all along the great upper swell of his Marc-filled gut – running down the expansive upper curve of his vore-belly until at last the final button, just about holding his belly-button in check, right above his middle, stretched and pinged off his waistcoat to ricochet around the booth.

Immediately, the waistcoat fell open, unable to hold back the great swollen tide of belly any longer, and Scott saw in the mirror his enormous man-filled, meat-stuffed vore gut spill out and onto his lap, bouncing and wobbling in the air with the squirms of its struggling filling and the force with which it had popped open his waistcoat. Scott placed one hand on the moving, warm upper expanse of his now bare dome of belly, and began to rub and tend his bloated, predatory gut as it devoured its prey. And there was still more of Mark to stuff inside himself Scott thought happily.

Next up was his date's cock and big, round balls – perfectly spherical (the mirror of his distended vore-belly, Scott thought sucking on his date's obviously cum-filled loins). He gave Mark a blowjob, forcing his pleasingly fat cock in and out of his full lips until he blew all over Scott's tongue and lips (and he could hear his date moan inside his massive gut as he climaxed, even as he was being eaten up by Scott's big hungry belly). Scott figured someone may as well get some action since this was supposed to be a date (though now one very much between Mark and Scott's belly) and besides, he loved it when his food flavoured itself. Patting his belly in thanks for the cum, Scott swallowed down his food's still-twitching cum-slicked cock and fat, full balls, slurping them down and sending them straight to his still growing tank.

After that, the rest of Mark went down pretty smoothly – though his legs kicked, thick thighs tensing as Scott chewed and nibbled on the muscles. He didn't mind – he liked a struggle and a nice active belly afterwards. He horfed more of his dinner-date into his swelling gut, cock orgasming uncontrollably in his lap (and balls then immediately fattening with fresh cum) as he filled up and out with ever more of Mark in his tank. Looking down (mark now being all belly but for his feet kicking futilely from where they hung out of Scott's maw), Scott was impressed with the size and heft of his swollen mound of belly, belly-button a deep, dark crater in the center of the wobbling planet of satisfied, squirming gut. The sides of his waistcoat were hanging at either side of his enormous, bloated stomach, fabric pressed against the heaving sweating sides of his awe-inspiring sphere of belly – and the material across his thick, heaving, round pecs was stretched so far that there was a huge gap revealing the firm line of his pectorals, buttons a thin string of thread stretched taut above his half-naked chest.

His predatory belly gave a great groan, demanding Scott send the rest of its dinner down into his engorged tank. Never wanting to deny his belly anything, Scott slurped the struggling feet of his former date (now belly) into his mouth and swallowed them down. As he felt all of Marc enter his belly, feeling the rush of power and fullness and orgasmic feeling of superiority over his meal that came from having a newly filled vore gut, Scott watched as the final buttons across his pecs gave out, pining across the booth, freeing his full, hard-nippled pecs, now bared to the room, heaving and dripping with sweat (sweat that rolled down to his gently moving sphere of Marc-belly, dripping into his chasm of gaping belly-button, a bottomless hole in the center of his shifting, distended mound of pred-belly, or mingling with the sweat clinging to the hairs of his ginger treasure trail before it plunged into the great dark depressing of his enormous belly-button). His belly pushed outwards another several inches, achieving its desired size and shape (that is filled up to complete fullness with Marc wriggling and squirming inside it), causing the fabric of his open waist-coat to tear as it was forced further outwards.

At the same time as his bloated tank expanded further outward (swelling in size like a pumped up balloon – except the pumping was a young man being eaten up and put in his belly where he belonged) – Scott's cock pumped out great wads of cum, coating the lower swell of his sweat-drenched vore-belly in sticky seed (mingling with the red hair that formed a kind of mountain trail down the vast lower slope of his predatory gut). Some shot into his belly-button, filling it to over-flowing so hot pulses of his seed dripped out of that great well in the midst of his vore-gut to run in slow, sticky rivers down the stretched skin of his squirming gut. Scott could hear screams accompanying the wonderful wriggling going on in his tank – so he gave the upper swell of his vore-tum a chastising slap (producing a wonderful thick, meaty noise – and caused his great predatory belly to wobble uncontrollably).

Grinning to himself, Scott leaned back in his seat, belly spilling out over his lap like a massive beach-ball of satiated flesh and settled in to digest his date, rubbing the bloated flesh of his belly-drum that had been the handsome, muscular Marc – now destined to be Scott's belly-fat. His belly looked incredible – smooth swollen ball of gut, framed by his ruined waistcoat, dripping with cum, belly button a massive dark hole in its middle, tufted with red hair that ran down the lower curve of his expanded belly to his twitching, cum-producing loins, emphasising the sheer size of his gut – and visibly squirming in his lap as his belly began to gurgle.

“Well Marc,” he said, addressing his squirming naked sphere of belly, belching and relishing the aftertaste of the guy digesting within his enormous bare dome of gut, “Looks like dinner's on you.”

Scott stayed in the booth for a while longer, belly-out and heaving. Lovingly, Scott caressed his distended vore gut, arms unable to close around the great expanse of his middle, below which gaped his deep belly-button (from which Marc's moans and shouts occasionally emanated). Ruined waistcoat hanging open over his pecs, massive prey-filled gut sitting smug and swollen and enormous beneath the fabric, visibly moving as its contents (Marc who was now belly-food) struggled and squirmed inside. Scott's loins twitched and moved of their own accord in their nest of ginger hair (hair which continued up in a furry red trail up the steep curving climb of his lower belly before plunging into the gaping maw of his belly-button), while Scott, lost in belly-making ecstasy felt long spools of saliva drool from his mouth and onto the massive curve of his upper belly. He prodded and slapped Mark/his belly, triumphing in the sensations his date/dinner produced within him.

So lost was he, that he didn't notice the shadow approaching the table. (The shadow being large enough to eclipse the table altogether). It was only when a smooth voice asked “And how was the food, sir?” that Scott realised he wasn't alone.

Panicked, Scott looked for a way to disguise his massive sphere of pred-gut, but the only thing in reach was a napkin. His waistcoat ripped as he tried to pull the folds over his upper gut, flapping free as his briefly-constrained belly rolled out onto the table with a hefty thud (producing a disgruntled grunt from his belly-filler, Mark). The napkin was even less use, it fell from its brief perch on the upper shelf of wobbling belly-dome and slipped down the long, deep curve to hang over Scott's large, deep, dark belly-button – but the size of Scott's bare belly-button was such that the napkin hanging over it barely covered a third of it.

Suddnely, there was a pinging noise and Scott felt something small and hard fly into his belly-button, where it fell several inches before landing with a thud. Startled, Scott reached into his distended belly, fingers scrabbling in the crevice of his belly-button, to uncover a small white shirt-button. Looking up, he discovered the cause.

Antonio the hot Italian waiter was standing in front of him, or rather his belly was. Hugely swollen, pear-shaped and hanging from below a pair of dark-haired and flexing pecs with round dark nipples, hard as hell, was a massive gut that shifted with a squirming, indignant prey struggling beneath the waiter's olive skin. Antonio's shirt hung open, buttons pinging around the room. A dark line of brown hair ran from the cleft between Antonio's big, full pecs down his navel and over the massive expanse of his groaning, swollen vore-gut. Antonio's cock and big, swollen cum-making balls popped out from below his work trousers, and rubbed against the lower curve of his distended, enormous gut. The belly groaned and squirmed, its contents visibly fighting – each movement visibly arousing Antonio more, and causing his balls to swell with further cum.

Antonio belched. “Sorry, sir. A disagreement about the quality of meat served from the kitchen,” he gave his massive, squirming swell of stomach a prod. “He won't be complaining about that again.” A line of drool fell from Antonio's full lips and cascaded onto the shifting expanse of his sweaty upper gut. Antonio grabbed a piece of cloth – the complainer's ruined, torn shirt – which given the way Antonio's gut was beginning to gurgle, he wouldn't be needed again – and wiped his mouth with it, visibly enjoying tasting his meal again on the fabric. Antonio drummed both his palms against the expanded fat sides of his gastronomical (and astronomically sized) tummy and let out another belch.

“I thought it best to sample the food he was complaining about myself, and where better to eat from than the horse's mouth,” Antonio stroked his exposed, protruding vore-belly lovingly. “And I can confirm he had no cause for complaint – indeed the food tasted even better inside his belly. And I must say feels delicious too.” A hand traced the curve of his meal's gut inside the bloated sphere of Antonio's engorged stomach. Antonio licked his lips, cock-head twitching against the hefty underside of his bare belly. “But how was the food for you, sir? Was everything to your satifsfaction?”

Awed, and aroused beyond belief, Scott pushed out his own swollen dome of bare, sweating, groaning vore-gut where it sat, hefty and proud on the table (straining it visibly) and smiled. “You tell me,” he said, slapping his bloated sphere of belly triumphantly, as Marc (his food) moaned within it.

Recognising the invitation, Antonio grinned and stepped forward, belly first. With one great crash, his big gut, hanging out from his ruined waiter's shirt pushed over the table separating their bellies and with one wet, sticky meaty slap, pressed their bloated vore-guts together. “Well, sir certainly seems satisfied,” Antonio said, breathlessly as their twin guts squirmed against each other, a collision of two belly-planets sticking together with cum and sweat, hot and heaving. Their belly-buttons, yawning chasms within the expanded centers of their swollen guts, pressed against each other, rubbing against each other like they were kissing.

“No complaints here,” Scott groaned, pushing his vore-gut out further, loving the feel of Antonio's prey-filled, hot gut moving and sliding against his own, the wet slap of flesh against flesh and the pop as Antonio withdrew his gut and then pressed it back against Scott's Mark-belly all the more forcefully. “Though a few from Mark here.” Antonio grinned and bounced his great, hefty prey-filled tum against Scott causing both men and both their bellies to moan as their massive, expanded, fully-fed guts collided. They both moaned – and climaxed, balls already swelling to make more cum – seed mingling and sticking their big bare vore-bellies together. Sweat coursed down two sets of heaving pecs and onto the rolling, wobbling domes of bellies that hung beneath them, mingling and pooling into two deep dark belly-buttons.

As they continued to rub their bellies together, the pace increased – as did the pace of their digestion. Soon Antonio's olive-skinned drum of belly and Scott's ginger-tufted sphere of gut were gurgling and blorting, belly-flesh round and smooth and swollen as they belched into each other's faces, expelling the last of the air within the great caverns of their expanded stomachs. Sweat coursing down their faces, sticking red hair and black together, Antonio gave Scott a triumphant smile while Scott, sweat pouring down his face, nodded. Forcing their big, prey-filled digesting guts together so they could feel the movements within the walls of each other's stomach, gurgling and shifting as their bellies devoured and digested the guys they'd filled them out with, Antonio leaned into kiss the younger pred. They stayed locked like that for some time, rubbing their digesting guts together, delighting in the sensations of the gurgles and groans, belches, blorts and gentle movement within each other's belly pressed up against their own, knowing the other one was experiencing and enjoying the exact same process – that they were both triumphant preds, processing some guy into food for their voracious bellies – and pudge on their big bellies.

As Antonio's sweat-drenched, olive-skinned belly gurgled the rude customer away, which Scott could feel happening as it pressed against his own light-skinned, red-haired bare belly, currently noisily and with much movement and wobbling digested Mark away into permanent belly-fat on his tum, Antonio at last withdrew with a wet, meaty pop as their prey-filled swells of gut detached from each other. Antonio's hanging swollen belly wobbled in the air as it detached itself from Scott's digesting, massively expanded gut. Pecs heaving, belly-buttons facing each other, cocks twitching and still hard despite the amount of cum slicking both bloated bellies, the two preds regarded each other in awe and triumph.

“Will sir be leaving us a review,” Antonio asked, voice raw. Noisily belching, Scott nodded, licking his lips. “You bet.”

Slapping his belly, Antonio smiled. “Of course, if sir's belly keeps up its current pace, sir might find he has room for dessert.”

Scott regarded the bloated, heavy sphere of smooth, swollen post-vore gut protruding out from under his waistcoat thoughtfully. He gave the enormous swell of belly-pudge a smug wobble. “Well, sir's belly is always up for a challenge,” Scott said with a grin, even as his body heaved with the exertion of digesting Marc.

Antonio grinned, evidently delighted to spend more time feeding up a fellow pred. “Well, if sir sits tight and relaxes – the evening service starts in just a few hours.” He gave his hefty post-vore gut protruding over his slacks a heavy, fleshy slap. “And I'm certainly in the mood for seconds.” He gave Scott's bare swollen heavy belly a lustful glance. “Shall I bring the menu over when they're here?”

Grinning, and with one final belch bringing up a last aftertaste of his meal of Mark, Scott could only nod and lick his lips in anticipation.

Antonio gave his olive-skinned swell of post-vore belly a loving rub. “On the house, of course.”

Scott leaned back, rubbing the mound of bare pudge that was/had been Mark. He could feel a five star review coming on.

[oumaheroes]

Timeless

Summary: “Belgium tugged on his arm as the music softened, bringing him back to the well disguised present, ‘Do you still remember how to waltz?’ ‘I am offended that you need to ask the question, madam.’”

Word Count: 1365

Characters: England, Belgium (engbel)

-----------------------------

‘So,’ Belgium tipped her head to look up at England under her eyelashes, ‘What do you think?’

‘Of this?’ He gestured with his head to the gaudily decorated ballroom around them, crystal and glass catching the candle light to make the whole place glitter, ‘Hideous.’

Belgium laughed, ‘Do you know, I thought you would say that.’

‘Did you?’

‘Oh yes,’ She grinned, linking her arm through his and staring back out at the dancers, ‘Very much not your style.’

‘Anything French is far from my style.’

‘Stop it,’ she swatted him gently on the chest with her fan, ‘You have to at least admit that France worked hard to put this all together.’

England matched her to look over across the ballroom, taking in all of the meticulous detail of the room’s decorations. Everything had been gathered from the same late decade in the 18th century to be as historically accurate as possible and England felt as though he’d stepped back through time, despite the weight of his mobile phone in his trouser pocket, ‘He certainly spent far too much time on it for a weekend summer party.’

‘I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get from you.’

‘Better than nothing. I also dressed appropriately, didn’t I?’ He gestured down at himself, cream waistcoat and dark green coat, finely trimmed and cut accordingly along with excessively buckled shoes.

‘Indeed,’ She grinned up at him prettily, ‘Not entirely accurate though, you don’t have a wig.’

‘I have a hat. I made the wig fashion mistake once and I swore never to again, if the frog wants to complain let him do so whilst moulting. Besides, I’m not the only one who isn’t quite right.’

‘No,’ Belgium rolled her eyes and opened her fan to whisper behind it, ‘Did you notice? Poor Ukraine has her stomacher and petticoats from at least three decades before.’

‘The utter gall of some people.’

‘For shame.’ Belgium nodded sagely before breaking to give a light laugh, ‘Oh, but it’s fun though. Nice for everyone to dress up again. These sorts of get togethers were always much more of an event in previous decades than they are now and we rarely do them anymore.’

England huffed, ‘Far too much of an event entirely if you ask me.’

‘Well, you would say that. You cannot lie to me though, dear. I know that you like parties despite what you say and that you’re fond of the 19th century look.’

‘It was elegant,’ England defended immediately, ‘None of this frill and lace nonsense but a lot more refined and dare I say colourful than most of the stuff today.’

‘I oddly do miss corsets,’ she patted her chest, fingers gently brushing the delicate lace trim around her collar, ‘They gave a lot more support.’

‘That I can’t attest to.’

‘You certainly saw a fair share,’ she gave him a warm wink, arm tightening in his.

They watched the dancers for a while in silence, England unconsciously tapping his foot along in time. The smell of fresh flowers in tall vases, melting wax, and the heat of people was heavy, and he could feel the effect mix with the wine he’d drunk earlier to leave him slightly lightheaded. It was not hard to imagine that if he walked out into the night right now, he’d find a carriage waiting for him, ready to take him another candlelit room or to a dock by the open sea. The creak of tall wooden ships under a bursting night sky of stars, roads to a not-yet crumbling ruin of a house bumpy and winding through ancient woods now lost to housing estates.

They were in France, in the south but it made no difference. The past had been bundled up and held tight in this one evening and England couldn’t help but travel to a version of himself he’d almost forgotten.

Belgium tugged on his arm as the music softened, bringing him back to the well disguised present, ‘Do you still remember how to waltz?’

‘I am offended that you need to ask the question, madam.’

‘Well,’ Belgium casually waved her hand outwards towards the dancers, ‘Australia seems a bit… now, how do I say this without accusing you of child neglect?’

England laughed, catching sight of what she was referring to immediately. Australia, with all the grace of a bull in a chin shop, was happily twirling Vietnam about the dance floor in a vague rendition of a waltz. Vietnam looked to be enjoying herself, bearing with the treatment extremely gracefully whilst Wy looked on aghast from their table, ‘I can assure you I taught him much better than that.’

‘I have yet to see proof.’

‘You are goading me, Marie.’

‘Are you goadable?’

‘That’s not a word.’

Belgium gave a very unladylike snort, ‘If you understood it then it served its function.’

‘I cannot argue with that,’ England gave a short bow and held out his hand, ‘Shall we then?’

‘We shall,’ stepping out to the start of a new dance, England placed his hand on the small of Belgium’s back, pulling her close to him and Belgium bumped him with her hip, ‘If you’re good, I might keep you for the rest of the evening.’

England led them off in time to the step of the music, spinning them into the first turn, ‘Alas, I have promised myself to another.’ Belgium had done up her hair in the tight pin curls of the age, most swept back and tucked under a hairpiece and leaving only a few remaining about her face. It made her look younger, nostalgic and new all at once.

‘Oh?’ She raised an eyebrow, gripping his other hand holding hers, ‘And who is my rival of your affections today?’

‘I have given my word to Wy,’ England pushed them as fast as they could go whilst remaining in time to the score, weaving in and out of the other pairs easily. He missed dancing, not the sort of thing that America expected him to do in clubs or bars, or at music events but real dancing, with intricate steps and a conversation held secret in the middle, ‘She lamented to me about Australia in the car ride over and I told her I would fill her dance card to save her from the shame of being stepped on.’

‘He’s not that bad,’ Belgium looked about them, catching Australia’s eye and shooting him a grin as they passed, ‘just enthusiastic. And he wasn’t born yet when we did all this, you can hardly blame him.’

‘Oh, I know. He’s a lot better than he used to be, too. Sadly for him, however, Wy has been watching Bridgerton and now has expectations’.

‘Ah, I see,’ Belgium gave a dramatic sigh, ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to make do. I’m sure France will be free at points.’

England span them unexpectedly, pressing them closer together to keep her upright and she made small noise of surprise, ‘I’m sure Canada or New Zealand will be happy to take my place for her if you ever feel yourself leaning towards such desperate measures.’

‘You’d break a young girl’s heart, for me?’

‘Wy has been raised to be honourable, she’ll forgive me when she knows what I’d be saving you from.’

‘Honourable? It’s most certainly not you raising her then, is it.’

‘I don’t remember you being so overt with your insults in the 18th Century.’

‘My apologies, I’m out of practise in sly bullshitting.’ She cleared her throat and tried again, ‘Tell her that she has my thanks for being so gracious and that her proper breeding must be all her own doing. How about that?’

‘Perfect. I shall make sure to tell her.’ The dance ended and they slowly moved apart, England kissing her offered hand, ‘You look beautiful, by the way.’

‘Stop it you, you have plenty of time left of the night to charm me.’

‘I thought I’d start early.’

Belgium gave him a searching look, a smile creeping easily into the corners of her mouth, ‘Another dance?’

England glanced over to Wy and saw Wales offering her his hand, ‘Go on then.’

-----------------------------

AN:

There is a horrifying lack of engbel in this fandom and I couldn’t help but submit my own small contribution to fix that. This is entirely unresearched and self-indulgent, don’t look at me

[stone-stars]

[ID: A collection of illustrations of Callie in her new autumn eladrin form, wearing various outfits, on an orange background. She has dark blue skin, ears like bat wings, vampire fangs, and greenish blue watery hair that, while being styled differently in each outfit, is full of small plants and flowers in all of them. She wears a pair of teardrop shaped orange sea-glass sunglasses, and her skin is freckled with raindrops. Her outfits are described top to bottom, left to right.

The first illustration has Callie sitting and reclining, winking towards the camera with one leg bent. Text next to her reads "been imagining her in marcelines the star fit(?)". Her hair is shoulder-length and siwept over to one side. She's wearing an orange blouse, high waisted dark blue pants with orange trip, and brown boots with gold buckles. She has fishnet gloves on, a choker, gold bracelets, and a half-skirt of autumn leaves. The second has her standing, holding a broom in one hand as she smiles and waves. She's wearing a ruffled button up cream shirt, brown pinstripe shorts with suspenders, dark blue leggings with a diamond pattern, and gold boots. She has the same autumn leaf half skirt. There are blue accents across her outfit, and her hair is in twin braids. The third has her floating, with one hand raised and glowing. She smiles wickedly towards the viewer. Her hair is in one long braid with an orange bow on it, and she has a white ruffled button down with a cravat, dark blue striped pants, and brown boots. There's an orange chain hanging from her waist, and her shirt has orange accents. The fourth has her standing and holding her saber, which is opalescent and rainbow colored. She's rubbing the back of her neck and looking up with a slight blush. There's a crown of autumn leaves in her hair. She has a light orange shirt and dark blue pants, with a corset belt. A cape with a horned hood and a train like bat wings hangs from her back. The fifth has her in a dark orange dress with stripes, the hem of which is ruffled like rushing water. She's wearing an apron with a pumpkin on it, and is holding Foster tucked under one arm. She has a dark blue cape and witch's hat, the inside of which has an orange brim. Her tongue is poking out and her hair is pulled back. The sixth has her in a dark blue evening gown, speckled with light blue. A slit goes up to her hip on one leg, revealing thigh high boots. The drooping sleeves of her dress are shaped like bat wings, and the dress has a low v-neck. She's wearing a choker, and has a belt of blue gems. She holds her clawed hands forward and grins, showing her vampire teeth. Her hair is down, cascading over one of her eyes. The seventh has her smiling towards the viewer, her arms resting at her sides. She's wearing a dark purple witch's hat decorated with mushrooms, and her hair is braided back. She wears a high-collared cream dress with light purple patterns along the hem. On top of it is a bat-like dark purple waistcoat, cinched at the waist by an orange belt. The eighth has her with a mischievous grin and looking to the side, her hands tucked into the pocket of an oversized dark blue hoodie with Jack Skellington on it. She's wearing striped dark and light blue tights. Her hair is down. It's labeled "callie in the hot topic jack skellington hoodie..." The ninth has her grinning wickedly, holding up the brim of her witch's hat, which is decorated with autumn leaves, with one hand. Her hair is in twin braids. She's wearing a cream button down, with a leafy bow, and ruffles around the neck. She has on brown fingerless gloves. Her skirt is dark blue, striped in orange, with the spaces filled in with constellations and stars. It's cinched at the waist with an orange corset belt. She's holding her saber in her other hand.]

callies before i listen to new naddpod ep... ultimately calliope petrichor is like cat nip for artists who like drawing characters in outfits

[alstroemeriadissonance]

dr richter's short story part two 🥺

Thanks for the interest! But unfortunately it's just a one-time thing. Dr. Richter already satisfied his yandere urges AND won at the same time.

So instead, have a bit of crack on what went on "behind the scenes" while Rosa was knocked out

(NOTE: It's just crack! This is not necessarily what I had in mind when I wrote Dr. Richter's Horror Story haha):

1st instance

Rosa: *loses consciousness*

Vyn checks Rosa's pulse and pupils to make sure if the drug has taken full effect.

Vyn: All good...

Vyn scrambles out to the parking lot to retrieve his props and costume.

However, he and his things get rained on, and is a dripping mess when he gets back to Rosa's apartment.

Vyn grabs a mop from Rosa's supply closet and, again like in Mercury in Retrograde, just spreads the rainwater all over the floor.

Vyn: It will dry soon enough. I hope.

Vyn checks his watch. He has some time left to change BUT he needs to dry his lab coat first.

He has little time left over and cannot just leave his coat out to air-dry, and so Vyn, hurrying to Rosa's bathroom, struggles to do the drying with Rosa's hairdryer. All the while wishing and hoping that all the racket he's causing does not wake Rosa up prematurely and ruin everything.

Vyn: *holding out the slightly damp, warm coat in front of him, inspecting it* Yes, this will have to do.

He then quickly slips out of his casual clothes, and painstakingly puts on his usual layers of clothing that he wears to the research center: shirt, waistcoat, necktie, sleeve garters, collar pins...

Vyn: *checks watch. Only a little time left before Rosa would stir awake* Why the [expletive] do I have to wear so many clothes?! *tugs at necktie*

Vyn finally shrugs his lab coat in place. He checks himself in the mirror; with his fingers he "arranges" a few strands of his hair deliberately out of place. Satisfied with his artfully tousled hair, Vyn then practices a few of his smiles in the mirror.

Vyn: Sufficiently mysterious, sufficiently menacing.

Vyn: *winks at his reflection* You got this.

Vyn then puts on the final touches: pour the wine he brought along into one of Rosa's wineglasses, hiding the bottle into a dark, hidden corner of the kitchen area; grab the rose, position himself by Rosa's window like so...

And Rosa starts to stir to wakefulness...

2nd instance

Rosa: *loses consciousness*

Vyn checks Rosa's pulse and pupils to make sure if the drug has taken full effect. This time it is even more important, as he will need to handle her and hope against hope he does not jostle her enough to wake her up.

Vyn: All good...

He then picks up Rosa's clothes dropped to the floor, and stares at each article of clothing as if comparing jigsaw puzzle pieces and seeing if they fit.

Vyn: *mutters to himself* What goes on first again? Panties? Pantyhose?

He somehow figures out that the panty goes first (he supposes that pantyhose would feel uncomfortable if worn directly on the crotch), and so with deft fingers Vyn slips the panties on over Rosa's legs all the way to her hips.

He then gathers the thin fabric of the pantyhose in his hands.

Vyn: *finds himself confounded at the enigma of which side of the pantyhose is the front* Ah.

He manages to figure out which side is the front by checking for that slight stretch to the fabric caused by the toes.

Vyn: Now, to put it on...

Vyn bunches up the pantyhose in his hands, his thumbs stretching out the entrance, where he slips Rosa's foot in, and with careful tugs he tries to stretch out the very thin, very delicate-looking silken fabric over her legs.

With Vyn's careful stretches the pantyhose only reaches to the middle of Rosa's thigh.

Vyn: Am I supposed to stretch it out more? Will it not...tear the fabric?

With tentative fingers he checks for the durability of the fabric; if he somehow accidentally rips the pantyhose, he is quite done for. Finding that it stretches sufficiently, Vyn bites his lip and, with careful fingers, tries to stretch the pantyhose even further...

Vyn: *muttering* Trust the fabric, trust the fabric

However with the darkness of the room Vyn does not notice that one of his fingernails gets caught in the pantyhose, and as he already tugged at it before he notices the fatal error there is now a very noticeable run in the pantyhose stretching all the way to the calf.

Vyn: Oh, [expletive]

The proverbial milk already spilled, Vyn quickly formulates a plausible reason how or why there is now a run in her hosiery as he finishes stretching one leg of the pantyhose.

Upon realizing that the process needs to be repeated for her other leg, he decides it is just the right time for a quick wine break.

Vyn: *after returning from having a few gulps of wine in the kitchen* Right.

He then repeats the process for the other leg, and he was able to stretch the entire hosiery up to her waist. After that he is able to put on the rest of Rosa's clothing with relatively no difficulty: bra, shirt, skirt, cardigan.

And then he realizes he still is in his costume--his research center uniform--and while he wants to linger and watch Rosa's sleeping face very very very very very closely he needs to tie up loose ends; and so once again he scrambles to her bathroom to change back into his casual clothing, quickly gather his props and newly-shed costume (the rose drops off his arms into a forgotten corner of the living room), run out to the parking lot to stuff all evidence of his staged dream sequence into his car trunk, then, run back to Rosa's apartment...

...where he manages to catch his breath, then settles himself on the end of the sofa by Rosa's feet.

Vyn: Finally.

And so he waits for Rosa to stir awake. And if he has done everything right, maybe he will get a certain reaction from her...

[bookwormscififan]

He Gives Me Fever

Read on AO3!

Concept Art

A/N: Ok, but please just imagine Mare singing fever with the vocal range that Elvis has.

--

“Why did he even suggest a jazz night?” Mad asked as he sat on the couch, setting his book aside to watch Mare roll his sleeves up. “Do people enjoy jazz?”

“He suggested it because he wants Jackie in a waistcoat,” Mare stated with a smirk, brushing off his purple waistcoat. “It’s not so much the music, anyway. It’s the atmosphere.” Extending a hand, he helped Mad out of the couch, lading him into a short twirl with a wink.

“Alright, then why are you going? You said you wouldn’t perform again.”

“I’m not planning to perform.” Mare looped Mad’s arm over his before leading him to the front door so they could put their shoes on. “I’m betting Phan’s going to be so distracted by Jackie that he’ll need someone to man the bar.”

Mad waited until they’d arrived at the bar in a soft cloud of purple smoke before speaking. “If you want to sing at any point tonight, you can.” Giving Mare a small smile, Mad quietly shuffled away to his spot in the private lounge, curling up in the booth in the corner.

“He gave you permission to sing, didn’t he?” Phantom’s question was laced with smugness as he strolled up behind Mare, arms folded over his chest. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”

“I’m not staying all night,” Mare replied, voice firm. “If you can’t keep your hands off Jackie, close the bar early. I’m only staying as long as Mad wants to stay. Now, go get your jazz night started.”

--

The night was beginning to wind down when Mare finally took the stage. Jackie gently nudged Mad awake, greeting him with messy hair and an undone waistcoat before directing him to one of the seats close to the stage.

Blinking drowsily, Mad accepted the mug of coffee Phantom handed him from the office, turning to face the stage when the lights went down. A single spotlight focused on the microphone, casting Mare in shadow as he stuck one hand in his pocket, head bowed before he started to snap his fingers.

Never know how much I love you,

Never know how much I care.

Lifting his head, Mare met Mad’s gaze with a crooked smile, taking his hand from his pocket to hold the microphone closer to his mouth. His eyes seemed to gleam as if he could hear Mad’s heart thudding in his chest, tilting his head as his smile sharpened into a smirk.

When you put your arms around me,

I get a fever that’s so hard to bear.

You give me fever…

The lyrics faded as Mad’s brain focused on the deep rumble of Mare’s voice, reverberating in his chest and making Mad forget where he was. Grasping blindly for the glass of water on his table, he gulped the entire glass down without breaking his focus on Mare, cheeks dusting red as his head grew light. All he knew was himself and Mare’s voice, deep and rich and occupying his every thought.

It took a few moments before Mad realised Jackie was sitting beside him, shaking his thoughts away to focus on the hero’s words. Jackie’s waistcoat had long since been removed, and he was sporting a few new bruises just behind his collar, wearing a smile as he spoke to Mad.

“He’s pretty good,” he commented, nodding toward Mare and tapping his fingers against the table. “He’s always surprising me with his range. Is it the same for you?”

“I’ve never heard him sing this low,” Mad whispered, resting an elbow on the table to lean forward. “His voice is so rich and deep. I feel like I’m being held close and lulled into a deep sleep from his voice alone.”

“You’ve found a new thing to admire about him,” Jackie joked, tapping the table before standing. “I’ll leave you in his capable hands. Enjoy your night.” Mad barely raised a hand to wave him away, transfixed on Mare getting off the stage and heading toward him.

“Hey, starshine.” Mare perched on the edge of the table, folding his hands in his lap as he tilted his head to smile at Mad. “Enjoy the show?”

“I need you to take me home. Now,” Mad demanded, leaning forward to catch Mare’s lips in a deep and heated kiss, pulling away with a flushed face. “I love how deep your voice is.”

“Hey, Mare, thanks for taking the stage—”

“Not right now, Phan,” Mare interrupted, getting off the table and scooping Mad into his arms. “I’ll call you later.” With a blink, he sent them home, setting Mad onto the bed with a smirk. “You really enjoyed the show, huh?” He purred, voice deep and rich again.

“Y-Yeah,” Mad breathed, reaching for Mare’s collar to tug him back down into a kiss, prepared for whatever Mare wanted to do.

----------------------

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @rattyboyisemo @dungeon-dragons-dragons

[bugfam]

[ID: A drawing of Takayuki Yagami from Judgment and Ex from Puyo Puyo Tetris from an alternate universe than their canon appearances. They are both teenagers. Takayuki has longer hair than in canon, and is wearing a red jacket with white sleeves and a flared red and white collar. He is slightly bent forward, smiling and looking to the side, with one eye closed. His arm is around Ex, who is standing tall and grinning, also looking to the side and winking. His hair is fluffy, and he is wearing yellow jacket and a purple waistcoat over a white collared button-up shirt. He has an arm around Takayuki. The background is a screenshot of real footage from the Millennium New Year’s celebration in Shibuya, Tokyo, Japan. End ID.]

photo bg time again, this time ex and tak in @popfever‘s reach for the stars au!  these two went back to earth for new years in 99-2000,,, this is set then c:

[frannyzooey]

Take Me To Church: 9

Rating: Explicit

CHAPTER NINE: THE CONFESSION

It’s been several weeks since Din’s seen you last and he lingers in the bath longer than usual tonight, savoring the warm, slippery press of your body against his, your soft caresses, your scent; the hot steam of the bath catching it and making it fill the air around him.

He is tempted to slip his cock inside you, just to be completely enveloped in your warmth, but he can’t seem to find the right time to get your attention – you’ve been talking to Gracie ever since he walked in, about a dance happening in the next town over. He doesn’t mind it though; content enough to listen to the conversation and liking the way you look when you are excited about something, he slides his eyes shut as you play with the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

“The dresses”, you sigh dreamily, “what do you think those are like?”

“I bet they would be beautiful”, Gracie replies, leaning her elbow on the rim of the tub. “All silk and lace and – wait. Do they wear those hoop things?”

“Yes”, Din replies, his eyes still closed and the both of you look at him; the word being the first one you’ve heard from him in awhile.

You tug lightly on his damp curls until he opens his eyes, and he smiles at your puzzled expressions.

“I attend some of those parties sometimes”, he explains, looking between the two of you with a shrug. “They can be useful places to get information. I even caught a bounty at one once; the host was furious.”

Gracie’s eyes shine bright as she begs him to tell the story, her chin resting in her hand as she leans close. The deep rumble of his voice drifts into the background as you only halfway listen, preoccupied by the thought of what he must look like at these parties – it’s a concept that has never crossed your mind.

You slide your hands down over his neck, bracing them on his chest as your thumbs softly stroke the strong lines of his collarbones and you feel the vibration of his voice under your palms as you let your mind wander.

You imagine his body; his solid, firm form encased in a suit – the rich black material tightly fitting around his thighs or over his strong back. You picture him taking the jacket off, the tailored fit of a waistcoat accentuating his broad shoulders, the collar of his pressed shirt open to reveal his tanned throat; the feature you love so much, the one you think about when he is away. The soft skin there, the way it bobs when he speaks, the way it looked the first night you saw him as he swallowed his whiskey, the way it looks when he is under you, his head pressed back into the pillow as a groan crawls out of it ---

“You okay, girl?”, he asks, and you blink, the sound pulling you from your daydream. You can tell from the look on his face that he’s guessed what you were just thinking about, or has an idea anyway, and a wry grin tugs at his lips as he curls his hands around your hips and winks.

You shyly smile back at him and Gracie wrings out the rag into the tub before draping it over the side to dry.

“The dancing is what I want to see the most”, she says, leaning back in her chair and you nod in agreement, slightly squeezing your thighs together to soothe the low ache between them as the image of him dressed in fine clothes lingers in your mind.

“I’ve always wanted to learn those dances”, you admit, trying to scoot back on his thighs, but he holds you tight in place and subtly flexes his hips up against yours, watching your face with a smirk.

“I could teach you, girl”, he says and for the second time, the both of you look at him in surprise.

“What?”, he asks, raising his eyebrows in mock innocence. “Don’t I look like someone who knows how to dance?”

--

“I had to learn when I was younger”, he explains, holding his limbs out as Gracie runs the towel along them. “My mother insisted. She imagined I would find a wife at one of those dances, someone from another well to do family.”

You temporarily pause, looking up at him from drying yourself off - you never knew he came from a privileged background; he’s never talked about his family before.

“I think she’d probably be disappointed in my choice”, he continues, his warm brown eyes admiring your face, watching as your features falter slightly at the statement, “Though I’m not.”

He reaches out for you and pulls you towards him, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip before leaning in to press a light kiss to your mouth.

Walking you over to your vanity, he hands you your robe and you shrug it on while watching him put his pants back on. Peering into your mirror, he takes your brush and runs it through his hair, slicking the stands straight back before turning to face the both of you.

“Now that I’m all fancy”, he says with a grin, looking down the length of his body, the top of his pants still unbuttoned, his chest and feet bare, “it’s time for a dance lesson.”

Gracie’s body is almost vibrating with eagerness and he reaches for her first, laughing at how quickly she assumes her position and how serious she looks. You lean your hip against your table and watch the two of them; the way he takes Gracie’s hand in his own, holding it high in the air as he gently guides her down the length of the room, explaining the dance. It isn’t complicated, a series of steps repeating themselves in a pattern and they laugh as they bow at each other before starting again.

Her face in scrunched in concentration, she watches his feet carefully on the way back and he pulls her close for a second, guiding her in front of him as he slides one arm behind her waist to grasp her right hand and pulls her left hand across the front of him, holding it lightly. Walking her back to you, he lets her go and she immediately makes him repeat the steps.

You watch as he walks away from you, his muscles lightly flexing under his tanned, smooth skin, the dip of his lower back above the loose waist of his pants and he must feel your gaze on him because he twists his head back to look at you; a lock of his damp hair hanging over his brow. He says nothing, smiling at you before twirling Gracie around to walk back.

Reaching the vanity again, he bows to her and kisses her hand lightly.

“The pleasure was all mine, ma’am”, he says in a reverential tone and she laughs; both at the joy of being fawned over and also at the sight of this shirtless man bowing to her, looking up at her with a wink.

Letting go of her hand, she steps to the side when he reaches for you.

“You ready for your lesson, girl?”, he asks lowly and you shyly approach him, placing your hand in his. His grip is firm and warm as he pulls you closer and you try to assume your position like Gracie did, but he keeps pulling on your arm until you are flush against his body.

“Wait a minute, mister”, you say quietly, looking up at him with a smile. “I don’t think this is right.”

“Who’s the teacher here?”, he teases you, a stern look on his face as he drapes your arm around his neck. Placing your other hand on his chest, he slides his arms around you, one hand bracing against your lower back and the other reaching down to cup your backside; his palm sliding over the slippery silk. “Trust me, this is exactly how they do it.”

“They can’t”, you laugh as he begins to turn you in a slow circle. “What about their hoop skirts? You wouldn’t be able to get this close.”

“Don’t I know it, girl”, he sighs, his lips brushing against your temple. “Those damn things always get in the way.” He pulls away to look down at your chest pressed against his, the collar of your robe open to show a wide gap of flesh between the soft silk. “Good thing you aren’t wearing one; I wouldn’t be able to hold you like this. Just how I want to.”

Pressing you tightly to his body, you rest your ear against his warm, bare chest and listen to him hum a song; the bass of his voice vibrating against your cheek. Swaying to the music, you melt into him; cupping your hand around the back of his neck while your thumb absentmindedly strokes the soft hair along his neckline.

Normally quick to rush through his bath to get you into bed, he has been uncharacteristically patient during this visit, as if your company alone was all he came for but as dances with you, turning you in a slow circle, you can feel his cock gradually stiffen as he presses your groin to his, the firm length pushing into your hip. 

You slide your eyes shut when he sings the lyrics: the words detailing a lively jamboree, he slows them down while dipping his fingers into the neck of your robe; the pads sliding against your skin as he pushes the fabric open, reaching down to untie the sash and you shiver; both from the ghosting of his fingertips and from the low murmur in your ear.

“So grab your partner, and hold on tight”, he sings, dropping the sash to the floor and sliding the robe off your shoulders. Placing his palm lightly on your breast, he feels the weight of it in his hand and looks at you, a small smile tugging at his lips at the next line. 

“Cause we ain’t stoppin, till’ we see the light.”

--

“Another reason those skirts are no fun”, he murmurs, kneeling on the floor as your thighs cradle his torso, “is because I wouldn’t be able to do this.” 

Resting his broad hands on the inside of your thighs, he slides them up, slowly spreading you open for him.

Sitting behind you, Gracie pulls you back into her body as you shift your hips to the edge of the mattress and you watch as he leans in to kiss the crease of your hip; a gentle touch of his lips before mouthing the skin there.

“I wouldn’t be able to touch you like I want”, he mumbles against your skin and your body tenses against Gracie’s when he slides the tip of his finger through your wet folds, before leaning in to kiss just over your entrance. “Wouldn’t be able to taste you like I want.”

His tongue glides through your cunt and you suck a breath in at how wet his mouth feels against you, his tongue a warm liquid heat inside your cunt and you arch into the feeling as he holds your hips steady. Looking up at you with the thick waves of his hair falling over his brow, you reach down to push it back with your hand before pulling him closer, cupping your hand over the crown of his head. Your hips roll against the slide of his tongue and he scoots closer to you, his broad shoulders forcing your legs open wider.

“Kiss her, Gracie”, Din quietly orders, and her hand reaches up to tilt your face towards hers. Her mouth is always so soft in comparison to Din’s and her sweet breath mingles with yours as she gently opens your mouth with hers.

“We gotta take good care of our girl”, he tells her before putting his mouth back on you and Gracie deepens the kiss as he slides his tongue against your clit. They move in tandem, her tongue slipping into your mouth just as his slips inside of you and his hands hold you tight against his mouth as you whimper into hers.

“You taste so good, girl”, he tells you, licking a wide, flat stripe up through your seam. “You always taste so sweet, just like you look.” 

Sliding the tip of his tongue up from your entrance, he draws your slick into his mouth and swallows, licking his lips with a hum before putting his mouth back on you. Gliding his tongue over your clit, he watches as you kiss Gracie and reaches down to palm his cock; pressing the heel of his hand along the length of it before wrapping his hand around the base, squeezing lightly.

He groans at the sensation and you pull away from Gracie to look down at him. You can see his bicep flexing as he strokes himself, his mouth still buried in you and you try to pull away from him; begging him to come up and fuck you, but he growls into your cunt as he laps at it harder, his tongue firmly pressing against your clit.

Your body curling into the feeling, Gracie pulls you back against her and you are trapped; pinned between his mouth and her hold and you feel the spreading warmth seeping through your hips and down as he keeps stroking your clit with his tongue.

“Din”, you beg, tipping your head back against Gracie’s chest, “Din, please.”

Please what, you don’t know; you can’t even think about anything but his tongue and he doesn’t answer you anyway, pulling you tight against his mouth with a grunt, draping your legs over his shoulders to get closer.

You think about how shiny his mouth will be when he pulls away from you, how his cock must look in his fist right now, how his back looked when he danced with Gracie, how it feels right now under your calves, how he would look in that waistcoat you’d imagined and he doesn’t stop; his tongue relentless against your clit until you come with a cry; a rush of arousal sliding into his mouth.

Gracie’s hands smooth over your stomach as she holds you, feeling it twitch under her palms as aftershocks flow through your body and Din still doesn’t take his mouth off of you; not until you reach down to push him away with a tired shove.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he presses kisses to your hip and your belly and bracing himself on the edge of the mattress, he leans up to kiss your sternum before resting his head there, sliding his arms around Gracie’s backside.

Catching your breath, you slide your hand over his head, twirling a curl around your finger when he looks up at you, the mussed crown of his hair tousled and sinful looking.

“That was your reward, girl, for being a good student”, he smiles. Reaching up to stroke Gracie’s cheek, his eyes grow heated as he presses his thumb into her mouth, watching as she sucks on the digit.

“Now I think it’s Gracie’s turn.”

--

It’s late, Gracie having slipped back to her room to get some sleep and the two of you lay entwined together, your hushed voices the only sound in the room.

“I never knew you grew up in a wealthy family”, you say, your cheek resting against his shoulder.

“Yea”, he replies, dragging his fingertips down the length of your forearm and back up again, repeating the action on a loop. “It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about it. My parents died when I was a young man; too young to be responsible for myself, let alone a household.”

He is silent for a moment, lost in thought before a continuing with a sigh.

“I didn’t take it very well. I fell in with a rough crowd, eventually getting caught up in bounty hunting as a means to make money and I never went back.” He huffs a laugh, and you look up at his face, a rueful smile there. “I really do wonder what my mother would think – this is a far cry from the life I’m sure she had planned for me.”

“I think she would be proud of you”, you reply, resting your chin on his chest. “You’re a good man.”

His hand freezes on your arm and he looks down at you, asking you to repeat what you said.

Pulling yourself higher up on his body, you get closer to his face and softly repeat your words as you trace the line of his jaw with your finger. 

“You’re a good man, Din Djarin.”

You can’t describe the way he is looking at you right now, the intensity of his gaze, the longing in it and you suspect no one has told him this in a very long time; if ever.  

Looking at him in the dark, you think about what his mother might have wanted for him and about how he lives now; the two being so vastly different. You think about how he could be living if he had stayed, the wife he could have found, the children he might have by now and you tell yourself that he has chosen this life; chosen to spend his time with you, but you can’t help but compare yourself – a working class whore, if you’re being honest – to what he could have had. You think about his comment from earlier, about his mother being disappointed with his choice of partner and fit your face into his neck when you ask him if he regrets it.

“What?”, he asks, reaching to pull your face back up to look at him.

“Do you regret what you did”, you repeat, referring to his choices, even though that’s not the question you really want to ask. Deciding to be brave, you ask it. 

“Do you regret not finding a wife at one of those dances? One of those fancy women?

Looking at you for a moment, he turns towards you, rolling you onto your back and making sure you are looking him directly in the eyes before he speaks.

“I don’t regret anything, girl”, he tells you. “Not leaving, not this life, not any of my choices - and especially not finding myself a fancy lady to marry.”

You smile at the way he makes a face at the word “fancy lady” and reach up to stroke the hair at his temple. Turning his face into your touch, he kisses the heel of your hand before shifting on the bed, sliding his body between your legs.

“What use would I have for one of them?”, he asks you, dragging his nose up along the center of your chest, nuzzling it into the hollow of your throat. “You think they would fuck me like you do?”

Your breath catches at the turn in the conversation, at the sudden crudeness of it and he smiles against your neck at catching you off guard. “Think any of them would let me eat their cunt the way I like to eat yours?”

“I don’t know”, you reply, tipping your chin up as he presses kisses to your skin, his hair sliding against your cheek. “Did you ask them?”

He laughs in surprise, pulling back to look at you and you raise your eyes in question, waiting for him to respond.

“Maybe I should have, girl”, he replies. Clearing his throat, he imitates a polite tone. “Excuse me, m’am – may I have this dance? And can I lick your –”

“Stop”, you laugh, covering his mouth with your hand and you see his eyes crinkle above it as he smiles; his eyebrows wiggling up and down. Turning his face away from your hand, he leans down to kiss you, your lips pressing into each other’s as you both keep smiling and he nibbles at your bottom lip before opening his mouth wide to softly bite your chin before kissing it.

“Even if they did say yes” he says softly, reaching up to brush your hair back from your face, “I wouldn’t want any of them. None of them hold a candle to you, girl.”

“You’re just saying that because I let you do whatever you want to me”, you joke, and he stays quiet as he shakes his head.

“No”, he replies, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m saying that because you’re better than they are.”

You lightly scoff, rolling your eyes at the statement and leans down to kiss you. It’s soft at first, slowly building in urgency as he slants his mouth over yours, opening up to you with a deep inhale to breathe you in as he licks into your mouth.

The mood of the room slowly becomes more heated as he keeps kissing you – it’s like he’s trying to communicate something to you, trying to show you how he feels with the kiss and you push back, sliding your hands up through the back of his hair to pull him closer. His mouth devours yours, a deep hum into it when he grinds his hips against you and you reach down between your bodies to circle him with your hand.

“No”, he pants, his breathing heavy as he pulls your hand away from his cock, bringing it back up to his face. Pressing a kiss to your palm, he follows the line of your wrist, his moustache tickling your skin and he kisses it once, twice before leaning back down to heatedly kiss you.

Confused as to why he stopped you from touching him, you try to reach down again and he grabs your hand a second time, pressing his fingers between yours as he pushes your hand into the bedding.

“Let me show you, girl”, he quietly pleads, resting his forehead against yours as he catches his breath and you don’t quite understand what he means, but you wind your legs around his waist as he lines his cock up, the thick, blunt tip of it pressing against your entrance for a moment before he pushes slowly into you.

He watches your mouth stretch open in silent moan as he fills you, your slick walls gripping him tightly as he slides in and he doesn’t stop until you are fully fitted together; his hips pressed tight against yours. Keeping your hands entwined, he rests the heavy weight of his body on you as he reaches down to hook your leg up over his hip, slowly pulling out of you and rocking back in.

“Din—“, you breathe and he kisses you deeply, cutting you off. His face scrunched in effort, his mouth sliding over yours, he squeezes your hand tighter in his grip as he strokes smoothly into you and you can feel his ragged breathing when he rests his lips against yours.

“You are better than they are”, he says and you whimper at the words; like he saw straight into your heart and found your worries, seeking to push them out and fill it with reassurance, with praise; with him.  

You feel so full with the stretch of him when he pushes into you, but it’s nothing compared to the fullness in your chest and you are grateful that the room is dark when a small tear leaks down across your temple into your hair. 

His lips nestled on your collarbone; you close your eyes to feel his mouth, warm and delicate on your skin and sigh into his touch as he gently cups your breast, running the rough pad of his thumb over the soft underside.

Another tear when his hushed voice chants in your ear, a praise for each thrust. You’re better than those rich people, girl. A deep thrust.  Better than anyone. Another one. The best girl. Another one. My best girl and when his tongue licks at the small drop running over your skin, you pull him in for kiss.

Cupping his face, his sparse stubble scraping against your palms, you open your mouth to him and you can taste the sharp salt of your tear in his kiss; a soft moan escaping from your throat at the feeling of his weight pressing you deep into the mattress; at his arms surrounding you; at the way he is moving inside of you.

Pressing his face into the space between your neck and the pillow, he inhales your scent as he mouths at the damp skin there and when he pulls back, you want to cry with how he is looking at you; his dark eyes pleading. 

 “Love me, girl”, his lips brushing against yours as he whispers; a kiss before he slides his nose across your cheek. “Love me like I love you.”

--

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[tommyshelbysgirl]

You place your waistcoat onto your thin & petite figure as you get ready to head to work which was for The Shelby's of course you was known to be one of the hardest Peaky Blinders so Tommy & Arthur always had you with them.

After you buttoned your waistcoat up you put on your suit jacket looking in your mirror to make sure that the collar was sitting perfectly, the last item of clothing to go on would be your long jacket coat but most of the time you had no use for it.

You sat on the edge of your bed reaching down to pick up your heavy black combat boots which you always wore where as the others wore shoes or normal boots but you always stuck to combat boots as they was much more comfy & hard wearing.

There was a knock at your bedroom door as you fastened up your last lace "Come in" you turned around to see a smiling Tommy stood at your doorway you smiled back at him.

"Tommy you know we can't be seen leaving together or arriving together"

"I know I just wanted to come & give you a kiss before I headed out" he smirks at you then heads towards you, you stand up & meet him half way.

He leans in while placing one of his palms onto your cheek & kisses your lips softly, you go all shy on him.

"I guess I will see you in a little while Y/N" he legs go of you then leaves the room as soon as he has left you let out a smile.

You never wanted to find love this early on but you both fell for each other practically instantly & to keep it a secret from the family was hard but sometimes Tommy wanted to keep his love life private.

You finish up what you needed to do at home before heading to the family home, every time you walked down the street people would move out of you way as well as also stare but you was used to it.

You reach The Shelby's house & enter swiftly making sure that the door was secure before you made your way into the kitchen where most of the time the family was, you smiled as a vision of Tommy's soft lips on yours came into your head.

You reach the kitchen where Tommy instantly looks at you & smirks.

"About time you turned up Y/N!" Arthur turns & says to you.

"It takes a little while to look this good Arthur unlike you, which takes never & you can tell"

Sniggers of laughter fill the kitchen as Arthur turns back around & mumbles to himself.

Polly takes on look at you then Tommy, you take no notice & stand next to Tommy you feel Polly's eyes following you around the room as you stand right next to Tommy & you both move a little.

"So Tom when are we taking over the pub then?" Arthur asks.

"Today this is why I called this meeting"

"Got something to tell us Tommy?" you all look at Polly as she has a eyebrow raised & a cigarette gently resting between two of her fingers.

"I've told you the plan the other day to take the pub over Pol"

You smirk at his remark & giggle

Polly gives you a glare.

"Noooooo there is no way Pol" Arthur looks at you both as Polly is giving you that look you better come out with it & quick.

"Shes to hardcore for Tommy" Arthur smirks.

You smirk & change your posture a little & Tommy looks at you & gives you a sly wink.

"Nothing gets past me Tom & Y/N so how long have you both been dating?" Polly asks with a happier tone now.

Arthur spits out his whiskey & it ends up near your feet.

Both you & Tommy Smile "That's for us to know Pol & no one else"

[ashen-crest]

💗 OC Kiss Week: Emry & Cal

Pretty sure they’d manifest in my room and kill me if I didn’t let them kiss during OC week, so...

Synopsis: Emry and Cal get ready to go to dinner.

Word Count: 507

TW/CW: romance, kissing (gets a lil spicy, I’ll hide it under the cut)

“All right, how do I look?”

Emry poked his head out of his room and smiled. Cal stood in the hall, swishing her cream-colored skirts across the floor. Her gold accents—earrings, necklace, hairpiece—winked at him in the candlelight. “Beautiful, as usual,” he responded. There were many other words he could add, of course. Angelic, perfect, radiant…but they were already late for dinner, and there was no time to expound.

“Are you almost ready?” Cal asked, her footsteps approaching his room. Emry ducked back behind the door and sighed. He had already changed his waistcoat three times, but nothing he wore made him look remotely deserving of her. Perhaps he could borrow something from Marko—

“Em?” Cal pushed open the door. “Decided against the red waistcoat?”

“The red one?” Emry scoffed. “I look awful in it.”

 “But it’s colorful.”

He huffed and adjusted his coat. “You southerners and your colors. Do I look presentable, or will you be ashamed of me?”

“I’d never be ashamed of you.” She strolled up and neatened his collar. “It’s just dinner with a few other students, there’s nothing to be worried about.”

  “Sure, nothing to be worried about until they start asking me questions.” He pitched his voice higher and tilted his head back and forth. “Hey Emry, where did you study? How many carriages do you own? And my personal favorite, is that a tea stain on your cravat—?”

“Tied this way, you can hardly see it.” When Emry shot her a look, Cal smiled and kissed his cheek. “Really, Em, it’ll be fine.”

He let out a breath and nodded, expecting her to step away. Instead, she continued fiddling with his cravat, a smile lingering on her lips.

“I’m not going to change the tie,” he said firmly. “They already have to deal with my Senne accent, they’re not going to care that it’s the Senne knot.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Her fingers brushed against his throat. “Just fixing it, that’s all.”

Then her touch trailed up to his jawline, and he closed his eyes. “Cal…”

“What? I can’t help it, you look so handsome.” She rested her hand on his cheek. He turned and kissed her palm.

“You sure we have to leave now?” he murmured and started a trail of kisses down to her wrist.

“Not enough time, I’m afraid.” She gently squeezed his hand and pulled her arm away. “And I put a lot of work into looking this nice, you can’t go and mess it up now.”

He grinned. “Does that mean I can mess it up later?” 

She rolled her eyes and leaned in to kiss him. He assumed it was a quick peck, one just to placate him—so when she raked a hand through his curls and swept her tongue over his lips, he could hardly breathe. He tried to reach for her, to close the door and return the gesture, but she pulled away just as quickly, her perfume trailing behind her as one final tease.

“Later,” she whispered.