she runs a Bakery
Here’s something I started in september or something, and got too lazy to finish :’D (I’ve cropped out most of the whole thing) I should try to draw buildings again some time
aph belgium is a literal strawberry i love her to death
//she twines their threads through her lips. ~5 kisses Belgium and another nation shared.
It’s the scent of sea salt that clings to his sweat-slicked skin and she fills her lungs with the ocean as she inhales him wholly. His brilliant crimson coat bellows behind him as he closes the distance between them and presses her back to the wall and his chest to her chest. There’s hunger in his glass-green eyes, an all-consuming hunger from lonesome and exhausting travel.
He whispers her name like a prayer to the Virgin Mary, wholesome and revering. Her pretty pink lips furl into a smile. Loving Antonio is action upon action - his hands sliding down her arms, elbows, wrists, pin the back of hers against cold stone and fingers entwine and… - His mouth is warm, welcoming. There’s his tongue, fast and skilled and sweeping over her bottom lip, over her teeth and over her own tongue.
His pelvis pushes against her and a low growl bubbles from the depth of his throat. Months have passed and Antonio’s famished for her touch. He moves onto her jaw, tries to leave the indents of his canines into the bone, all the while watching her reactions. His fingers squeeze, she chuckles and surrenders. They trail down the hallways of Escorial, to his chambers.
Her surroundings have a pastel pallet, all soft colors and light furniture and silk sheets. Her feet and legs are bare, whatnot with her sleeping gown hitched up to her thighs and Francis’ tender fingertips trailing up and down the inside of her knees. She’s ticklish and can’t stop a barrage of helpless giggles spilling from her swollen lips.
He’s reminiscent of moonlight, burning candles, stuffy leather-bound tomes and evenings bent over desks. The most dangerous thing about Francis is the kindness in his smile. Endless things he’s taught her and teaches her still, like holding someone’s gaze while your hand slides over someone’s thighs, past the boundaries of modesty in fabric, like leaning in and tempting the heart with sinful lips and even more wicked words unspoken. Words like Je t’aime and speaking la verité.
She feels his love before she feels his kiss and then she feels his fingers and being traded from empire to empire seems to hurt a tiny bit less.
Everything there is to know about Gilbert Beilschmidt she can find in the far-stretched moments when he thinks no one is looking. No, she’s perfectly aware of the sardonic words he hisses when someone’s purposefully listening and the sadistic visage he sews onto his pale features when there’s a crowd. However, his smirks and crudeness do not deter her from her goal.
She wants what her brother had, the same rights in Moresnet and the same respect her older sibling enjoyed. And if she could just about kiss the arrogance off his lips she would.
It’s not what she expected, the sudden stuttering halt to his stream of words, as if a part of him disconnects, hitches and knots. His hands brush against her shoulders and he pushes lightly, staring down at her in confusion. In turn she shakes her head, curls her finger underneath his chin and holds him there, assessing him.
For a moment he tries to fall back into character, attempts a wolfish grin and a sexual remark which falls horribly flat. There’s a strange complacency when she asks him to drop the act. Gilbert’s almost timid then, with how he holds the back of her head and tangles his gloved fingers in her honeycomb curls.
This time the kiss goes better, their lips mash together and when she sucks on the tip of his tongue, Gilbert moans softly, eagerly.
iv. South Italy
They’re not angry, they’re dead-tired and dragging on with the weight of the world on their thin and fragile shoulders. Romano refrains from cussing in her presence as his contraband cigarette refuses to lit, as if manners still have meaning in a war amongst men. She grabs his wet, useless match, breaks it in half and throws away the remains.
There’s itty-gritty dirt on his cheek and the cut in his forehead has started to bleed again. He doesn’t bother changing the blood-stained bandage, there are no clean ones left. She holds onto his clenched fist and slumps against his shoulder. Romano, barely taller than her, tries to tuck the crown of her head under his chin, but realizing the height difference, gives up and merely leans against her with his temple.
When the war has ended, they celebrated by kissing, until their lungs were empty and their mouths wet and stinging. He holds her by the waist, gingerly, and keeps their lips sealed shut together. Somewhere in between, Romano confesses his love and she cries because she’s happy, because he makes her happy. She doesn’t want more than that.
Her relationship with Ludwig resembles a flip of a coin, because he could be awkward and sweet with her. It’s in his nature to be meticulous and observing, so he holds the door open for her, shoves her chair back, helps her out of the car. She loves to tease him, imprint the word chivalry on his red cheeks in a cheeky way and surprise him with touches. She dubs this ‘heads’.
However, ‘tails’ is the side they assume in the privacy of their home. He’s strong, so strong and picks her up effortlessly, like she’s a china doll, and holds her above the ground against his chest. Her legs wind around his waist, her hands are steady on his broad shoulders and the button of her nose trails down the bridge of his, before he reaches up for her with his mouth.
Ludwig likes being in control, and he’s mindful of her, but sometimes she wants him to let go. And it’s amazing, the drag of his teeth on her bottom lip, his hands on her behind, his hot - hot mouth and his long tongue. His thumbs delving into her ass cheeks and massaging while his tongue personally counts each and every one of her teeth.
Now, she likes all of his kisses, the shy embarrassed ones where he fumbles through and the scorching dominant ones where her toes positively curl, but personally she likes his half-lidded eyes during the kisses the most.
Oh my goodness, thank you so much!!
I hope this is alright, lmao. Silly Ned is my favorite Ned - he’s a master of the subtle art of deadpan and not giving a damn.
Geeze, Bel, way to be a killjoy.
Nothing particularly special, but I enjoyed it just the same.