Past Part Fills Part 2 -- CLOSED

[hetalia_kink]

This Past-Part Fills post is now closed to new fills.
Fresh past-part fills post HERE


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Russia Greece

[(Anonymous)]

Original Requests:
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=10575554#t10575554
and
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/3274.html?thread=3709898#t3709898


Beginning A/N: I haven’t written a chapter fic in a long while so forgive me if this will be a bit dislocated and confusing. (it’s not like I was ever a good writer anyway) Historical context are not accurate this is all fiction. As I was researching I wondered why this pairing isn’t at all implied by Himaruya I mean lol…..


Guys help me think of a title!
--

Chapter 1: Unacceptable

Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. - Wendell Phillips// Thomas Jefferson

“Sir, the Ottoman has got the upper hand--”

“That damned bastard!”

“We’ve got no choice but to surrender!”

“Surrender is not an option.”

--

Russia Greece 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

The sun shone brightly above the sky but the weather was cool. The wind brushed against pale skin and wild chocolate brown hair, its owner sighed. He stood up and brushed dusts away from his clothes. He walked slowly taking in his surroundings, not a lot has changed seven years since 1821. Indeed he was independent, but his freedom was not really freedom. It was a cage enclosing him, hurting him. He kept on walking as if to look for an escape. Something he would never find because he was a country, and every country was encaged forever either by another country or their own people.

He kept on walking anyway, as he has been doing in the past few weeks only stopping to rest. He felt he was being called by something. A call of fate maybe if one wanted to call it that. The winds had gotten chillier as he moved forward but as it got colder it was as if he was getting closer to what was calling him, to what he was looking for.

A tall scarfed figure appeared as if by magic in the barren land he was standing on. His sandy blonde hair reflecting the sunlight and his pale skin glistening. Heracles stood in awe at the sight of the stunning form who seemed out of place yet fit in just right.

The figure smiled at Heracles it was neither filled with joy nor sadness, it was almost as if it was empty. Purple amethyst eyes examined him, so deep as if one would fall down to eternity if one stared at them. Silence surrounded them and the space between them seemed to swallow up everything due to the awkward tension. The quietness remained until the taller one spoke up.

“Nice to finally meet you, little one.”

“I’m not little…” The smaller one grumbled.

The tall one smiled, a bit more mischievous than before, he had heard of this country, not exactly newly born but is inexperienced in big wars, a newly liberated country. His scarf slightly dancing in the wind the taller man closed the space between him and Heracles. He held one bandaged hand out as if coaxing his companion to shake hands. Heracles looked at the hands stretched out before him before slowly raising his hands to hold it. He shook it without thinking that it would be the beginning of a long lasting relationship with this nation. Ivan smiled.

Hetalia & Sailor Moon Crossover/Fusion

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=22245072#t22245072

I would just love fanart/fancomics, but fic and such is fine too.

Destiny - 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

A/N: sorry OP, I got this scene in my head and this is what happened… warning: genderswitch, a bit dramatic.
---

There was something in the fire.

The girl’s eyes flew open in a gasp and she breathed heavily, short cropped black hair sticking to a creased forehead. Cold sweat covered her clammy skin, and she frowned, hands shaking as she tried to keep her fingers in their proper seal position.

The sacred fire crackled on fiercely in front of her, and she blinked hard, letting the comforting warmth eventually slow the racing of her frantic heart.

For months now, there was a malevolent warning in the messages the Kami were sending.

-A war time poster flying free from a telephone pole.-

Normal, uncomplicated images… which shouldn’t have spoken of revolution, and yet, they did.

-A clatter of old cans being thrown down.-

Like the sparkling of light through a brilliant crystal, the visions always scattered into fragments when she woke from her meditation.

-Two figures. A hand outstretched. And everything burned.-

The world was coming into a turbulent era, and the land of the rising sun was not beyond its reach, despite how secluded it had been. The girl was young, and while she trained to be a Shinto priestess, she went about her daily life, watching the harbor fill with more and more naval ships by the week.

She had no part in the war. She told herself. It would never truly reach her. Her family said.

But then there were the dreams.

And try as she might, when she looked into the fire, the tumultuous visions told her differently.

---

A rustle in a garbage bin drew the Japanese girl’s attention to a small pile of boxes as she returned home from the market.

The girl sucked in a short breath, unable to dismiss the western superstition as a black cat suddenly darted across her path.

Dark eyes turned to look more closely, and once she saw it, she decided that she had been wrong. The cat wasn’t black. More like a deep chestnut colour with shaggy fur, and an odd little tuft of two curls sprouting from its head. Its eyes were a gemstone olive green as they stared back almost lazily.

The girl smiled a little. “Kawaii…”

The cat stared some more, whiskers twitching sleepily as if it recognized the word, before it ambled away and out of sight.

---

“These are times of war. Everyone, even the smallest creature, is affected.”

The weeks past, and the school teacher spoke in a rare, confiding moment, before returning to the lesson.

The girl frowned slightly to herself, taking her notes without question, but… deep inside… she did not agree. These were times of war, but not just anyone could do something. The dreams were a reminder of how she, a simple young girl, could do nothing.

What else could a simple girl do in the face of the world?

---

The climb up the stone steps to the shrine and her home was a welcome routine. The sky was blue, and at that minute it was easy to forget the haunting images in the fire. A scrap of paper skittered across the ground at her feet, and the shrine’s loud brass bell rang.

The Japanese girl saw an elder woman with her two small grandchildren giving prayers to the Kami, and she couldn’t stop the fierce remembrance of their messages to her own.

A tiny mew near her feet startled the dark-haired priestess, and she looked down, becoming aware of, with pleasant surprise, the shaggy stray cat from some time ago. Green eyes blinked up at her as if asking a question.

The girl smiled and asked one back. “I wonder… is even the small you affected?”

---

It was evening when she walked down the blue lit street. Time was catching up with the people in their land now, and while watching the twinkling city lights surrounding the distant buildings and the harbor before her, she thought about the fragility of peace.

She turned the corner. A flyer flew free from a nearby telephone pole. A chestnut cat peeked out from the alley, the sudden noise of old cans being thrown down deafening the quiet street.

And…

Her heart froze.

And finally.

Them.

I thought it would be a good idea at the time [2 or 3 depends on who's asking/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=20368336#t20368336

(That in which Tony arrives ealier than expected)

---

The Spanish explorers were hoping for an Eastern path to the Spice Islands. They were hoping for riches and great wealth.

The nations were hoping for answers. They wanted the source of the sudden Scandinavian wealth and cash in on it too.

Whatever they were expecting. They never expected this.

They looked like savages. Dressed in outlandish clothing. Of skins and furs and shells and feathers. Some of them were even naked!

But they didn’t act like savages.

They welcomed the explorers with open arms. Almost as if they’ve been waiting for them. Far off in the distance, music could be heard. The tantalizing smells of roasting meat wafting in the air.

After months of endless waves and stale, barely edible food. Not to mention the horrible company, what with England having snuck aboard. The open arms and festive smiles of these newfound peoples were a refreshing change. And the weary travelers could only fall in with the celebration. Accepting the proferred comforts, paranoia melting away.

Until they actually ventured further in land than the sandy shores. And then… Their jaws dropped.

They were being watched by the native warriors of course. Downright foolish for them to be completely unguarded. But for the most part the warriors had stayed on the fring of the crowd. They weren’t glaringly obvious until they stood at the entrance of the village stronghold. And then, they were everywhere.

But they didn’t look armed. They were all carrying weird, cylindrical devices with a large hole at one end. And something akin to a cannon. Except sleeker and lighter. Strapped across their backs. Perhaps these strange devices weapons. But they weren’t edged or appeared heavy enough to inflict damage. They looked delicate and could break easily with enough force.

And the conquistadors inwardly prided themselves on being more advanced.

Until a little, foreign boy. Obviously just by his features, he was not part of the clan, tribe or even native to the general area. He looked different. He was dressed different. And he held himself in a completely different fashion.

But it was known only to France, England, Spain, Prussia, and the Italies, that this little boy wasn’t just a little boy. Or a human child. Or a mortal.

The boy was in fact, a nation. Newly born. And barely on its feet. But a nation nonetheless.

“Amazing.” England whispered.

The tiny nation beamed at his newfound kin. His startingly, sky-blue gaze filled with innocent adoration and awe.

“You have swords?” He cocked his head, bouncing slightly.

It was quite clear that he had been dying to ask that question.

“Yes. Yes we do.” Spain cooed. Young, cute boy + Spain = Really Bad Idea. Romano was quick to unleash his (jealous) fury.

And the boy giggled. “That’s so cool! Do you collect them or something? Or are they decorative? Like a sign of power?! That would be so awesome! It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a sword!”

“You guys don’t use swords?” Prussia rose an eyebrow.

There was a mischievious glint in his eyes now. The boy reaching in the small pouch slung around his waist. Fishing out the weird, cylindrical device, that could’ve in no way or now how fit in that tiny bag, and presented it in front of the nations. The boy quick to press a round, nondescript button and a blue beam of light, solid and straight, sprouted from the curious hole.

“It’s called a ‘lightsaber’.”

[2 or 3/?] I thought it would be a good idea at the time [2 or 3 depends on who's asking/?]

[(Anonymous)]

The name was foreign, new and belwidering, just like everything else in the New World. And the ancient, forgotten tongue of the nations could not translate it.

The Italies (and France) were enraptured by the ‘pretty, pretty, shiny, shiny’ light. And Spain was awed by the child himself. Never mind the “shiny light.” But Prussia and England were yet to be impressed. The conquistadors, who were still very much in the vicinity thank you very much!, were baffled but shared the same sentiments. Psh, it made light. Big deal.

“So? What does it do?” England bluntly asked.

And the boy’s expression completely changed. A haunting smirk darkening his expression.

He chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t you like to find out? Maybe by cutting off a limb or-!”

“Yöëtsate!”

The child nation yelped, swinging the lightsaber over his head. The weapon cutting straight through the trunk of the tree. The tree creaking loudly before falling backwards with an earth-shattering crash.

It was safe to say Prussia and England were impressed. The conquistadors along with them.

Yöëtsate, as the boy was now dubbed, leaped forwards in an attempt to escape but was caught by the collar of strange shirt. And none to gently hauled back.

“What have I told you about playing with the lightsabers? Look! You just killed a tree!” An elder man, also a nation, loudly reprimanded. Wresting the weapon from the young one’s grip.

(The conquistadors were hurriedly ushered by their self-appointed tour guides in that “nothing to see here” manner. The nations were thankfully left alone.)

Yöëtsate struggled fiercely. Almost animalistic in his behavior before the elder nation whacked him upside the head.

The European nations were rather shocked. Perhaps they were savages after all. A beluef reaffirmed by the child seeming to fall limp.

“Hey! Don’t hit him like that!” Spain snapped. Ready to separate the child and the man

The man shot him a puzzled glance as the boy slowly revived. Sniffling quietly, his small frame trembling.

And then he began to wail. As in wail. “I sowwy. I sowwy!”

His language regressed, his very behavior regressed. So, so very different from the persona just a few seconds ago. Instead of the excitable/mischievious boy. There stood a frightened, bunny-rabbit of a child. Hiding behind the elder nation the moment he was set back on the ground.

“I apologize for him.” The elder nation cleared his throat. “His people are still getting used to the whole unity thing. He’s still pretty unstable.”

He patted the boy’s head, ruffling that shock of coarse, raven-black hair.

“My name is Cuba. This country here is me. We’ve been waiting for you.” The man grinned.

“Wait, you’ve been what?!” Prussia screeched.

“Well, duh!” Yöëtsate chimed in. His personality chaning once more. “I meanm ya took long enough. We saw you coming for months now! Were you on a cruise or something?”

“Brat!” Cuba barked. “Why don’t you get outta here? The festivities are starting anyway.”

“It’s more fun here!” Yöëtsate whined.

“Leave or I tell Tony about the time you hi-jacked his flying saucer for a joy ride.

Yöëtsate squeaked, timid once more, and ran off in the direction of the music.

My Loot [1/3?]

[(Anonymous)]

I hope I'm doing this correctly!

Original request:: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=1148280#t1148280

***************

Character(s) or Pairing(s): Conquistador!Spain/South Italy
Summary: FILL FOR THE APH KINK MEME. AU in which Antonio is a slightly insane conquistador, pillaging towns and using people for his own pleasure. Written from Lovino’s POV.

***************

My breath would be gone soon. The soles of my shoes weren’t far off either. I couldn’t do anything but run, how cowardly I was being. Always trying to act though, but when the time comes, I can’t do anything but run. The sound of the tiles under my feet echoed through my ears, occasionally accompanied by the faint sound of blood splashing as I stepped in it.

I didn’t even understand what was happening. A group of men had arrived on a large ship at dawn, swords in hand, ready to pillage the town. I barely had the time to leave my home after seeing one of the bastards take my parents’ lives, leaving behind my brother, who could still be alive, or not.

My heart stopped beating while my feet ceased to move, frozen by the sight of someone walking towards me. I panted, two, three times, before my instincts came into play and yelled at me to hide. Hoping he hadn’t seen me yet, I quickly barged into what seemed to be a storage room, rotten wooden door mismatching the rest of the luxurious nearby buildings.

Legs tired, I fell down to my knees, the cold wooden floor catching me. I tried to pull myself together, breathing rashly, trying to assess the situation. I had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. I could only hide. As the thought of my parents, drowning in their own blood, and my younger brother, whom I had abandoned cowardly came to my mind, I felt tears run out of my golden eyes.

That’s when I heard the floor crack. Then another footstep. Only wanting to see the face of my murderer, I dared to look up. My gaze locked with the shining, murderous eyes of the soldier that had just entered. His green sight contrasted highly with his red outfit and blood-soaked gloves and face. Numerous jewels were hanging from his neck, wrists and fingers, the treasures most likely snatched from other villages the man had looted. Unlike the others, who wielded swords, this man held an axe in his hand, the gleaming silver stained with drying crimson stains.

After looking at me for a moment, he dared to curl up his lips, tongue licking his lips that most likely tasted like blood. I could already tell that he wasn’t sane, and that’s not even thinking about all the people the man, who was without any doubt one of the feared conquistadores of Spain, could have tortured, raped and killed.

“What a cute little thing! I’m sure you would make a perfect toy~ Much more useful than anything I looted from this worthless town.”

At the moment, I didn’t know if I was scared or angry-or if I still didn’t understand what was happening. The man started walking towards me, slowly, boots clinking against the floorboards, hips rolling to one side and another-wait, what was I looking at?

“D-don’t even dare to come close to me you bastard!”
“Oooh? You’re a stubborn one? No worries, I know how to handle eve~ry~one~”

I didn’t get the chance to reply-and anyways, what could I have said? The older man planted his right foot on my chest, pinning me to the ground, unable to speak a word.

My Loot [2/3?]

[(Anonymous)]

“Now now, let’s see~”

The Spaniard removed the leather belt that was resting on his hips, dangerously bending down on me and grabbing my wrists. He lifted his foot to allow me to sit, tying my wrists together behind my back with expert hands. The brunette kneeled down, allowing me to cross his eyes again.

“Will you stay calm now?”
“Fuck you!”

I cringed and tried to get up. Even tho I was a coward, I wouldn’t allow my pride to be stepped on… I didn’t even have time to stand straight that I was pushed back down violently, my head smashing against the ground, the taste of blood sprinkling my tongue. After a few seconds of recovery, I opened my eyes to see the emerald ones looking down on me, warm breath escaping the sly lips and the smell of gore irritating my nose.

“Antonio.”
“W-wha?”
“My name, so you know what to scream when I make you cum.”
“The heck! Let go of me you freak!”

The man’s knee pushed against my inner-thigh, making me want to strangle him with my bare hands, but his belt was still holding them tight behind my back. The murderer surely wouldn’t give me any pity. By now I understood that I was going to die here, after my body would’ve been used to its boundary. The Spaniard ripped off my shirt without any second thoughts, exposing my tan but frail body.

I shuddered as he smiled yet again, his face approaching my collarbone, strangely soft lips meeting my skin. I felt my face get warmer, the way his lips were caressing every inch of the skin up to my neck, where he started nibbling playfully at the flesh there. I threw my head back, but in silence, holding back any sounds that could hint to the fact that I was actually enjoying this. Because, really now, this man was a thief, a pirate, a freak, a murderer… a monster.

Suddenly, I felt a sting throughout my whole body, the Spaniard’s teeth feeling cold through my flesh. I could actually feel him sucking some blood, licking and tasting the crimson liquid that was pouring out of the injury he had inflicted on my neck. His tongue trailed off, finding its way back down my neck, to my chest, where he found another toy to play with. As he was working on removing my pants, the conquistador started fondling with a nipple, sucking it until it got perfectly erect. I was starting to breathe more rashly, but I still wouldn’t lower myself to the point of making any other sounds. He once again resorted to his animalistic habits, teeth sinking into the soft skin surrounding my nipple. He groaned as blood caressed his tongue, licking every single drip, seemingly blood-thirsty like a vampire would be.

I can hold back sounds, but I can’t hold back my whole body. That is most likely why the Spaniard purred as he lifted his head, feeling my erection against his stomach. He then proceeded to remove my pants and underwear more gently, not ripping my clothing off this time. This time, I couldn’t hold anything back, moaning quite loudly as his warm, now ungloved fingers ran up my shaft a single time. He then got back on his feet, leaving me there, lying on the ground, completely nude. He smiled as he admired his work so far; erect member, bite mark on the neck and bloody nipple.

“You’re so cute~ A shame you’re so young, that cock es muy pequeño! Teehee!”
“Shut up!! I-I’m… I’m already 17! A-and I…”

The Spaniard didn’t let me finish and started undressing. He threw his red cape on top of his axe, which had been lying on the floor for a while, and slowly proceeded to remove his clothes, apparently teasing me. I could have looked away if I wanted to. Hell, I could’ve closed my eyes through all of this. But did I really want to? I told him to ‘hurry the fuck up’, but the words came out as more moans, my erection just waiting to be taken in the older man’s mouth.

[Part 7] Hot for You (1/1)

[(Anonymous)]

America and Canada are in an established relationship...

... and then Nation A suddenly phones up Canada to convince Matthew that (s)he is better than America... one-sided phone-sex ensues (with Canada trying to hang up, but Nation A keeps on phoning)

Though, I would like AmCan to stay as it is

Bonus: Canada has no idea who is on the other side of the phone

http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=22311632#t22311632

Matthew smiled as he pulled the blanket up on his lap a little more, and leaned into Alfred's shoulder. In response, an arm moved around him, and lips met his forehead. He loved movie night.

Alfred reached over with his other hand, fingers lightly turning Matthew's face to his as he pressed light kisses on his cheek, then the other, and ghosted over his lips.

The phone rang.

Matthew sighed and tried to pull away, but Alfred held him in place.

"Ignore it. You have an answering machine." Matthew pulled away as Alfred leaned in to kiss him again.

"I have to get it. This late at night, it could be something important, you know." Alfred sighed, relinquishing his hold on him, and he jumped up, running out to the kitchen, answering the phone before it stopped ringing.

"Hello?"

"Finally! I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever answer the phone!"

Matthew blinked a few times. "Uhm, who is this?"

"Aw, Matt. You wound me! It's Gilbert! You know, Prussia?"

Matthew raised a brow. Prussia? "Right...sorry. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? You're dating America, that's what's wrong. Don't you know, you and me! That's where it's at!"

Matthew sighed, rolling his eyes a bit. "Have you been drinking?"

"That's besides the point! Gods, Matt. Do you have any idea what you do to me? Hold on..." Matthew raised a brow as he heard a shuffling of fabric.

"Sorry, I had to loosen my tie. Just hearing your voice is getting me all kinds of hot." His voice had gotten a little deeper, a little huskier. Matthew did the only thing he could think of. He hung up the phone.

Before he could even set it back in its cradle, it rang again. He sighed and answered it again.

"You make me so hot, I'm melting like butter on your pancakes. Oh man, I want your maple syrup all over me."

Another click as he hung the phone up again, just holding his forehead in his hand. He didn't need a mirror to know he must be as red as his sweatshirt by now.

Again, the phone rang. Matthew frowned and answered it, ready to tell Gilbert off. This was getting ridiculous.

"I'm taking my shirt off now, just imagining you pulling the buttons off with your teeth. You know, I'm way more built than America is. Wouldn't you rather ride my five meters? I'm pulling it out now. It's all long and hard just for--"

Matthew didn't even bother hanging up the phone. He just reached over, yanking the cord out of the wall. They could do without a phone for a few days.

"Who was that?" Matthew looked over as Alfred walked into the kitchen, putting a glass in the sink.

"Just an annoying telemarketer. Is the movie over?" Matthew put the phone back on its cradle.

"Yeah. Do you want to put in another one?" Alfred turned to head out of the room.

"Yeah. Pick something. I'll be there in a minute. I just want to clean up." Matthew walked over to the cabinet after Alfred walked out of the room and pulled out a bottle of aspirin.

He hadn't even done anything and he had a headache.

Re: [Part 7] Hot for You (1/1)

[(Anonymous)]

Pfffft! This is probably about the most amazing thing I've read in a while. XD I love it, good job my dear Anon. <33

Meow Means 'You Idiot' cont.

[(Anonymous)]

Previous parts: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=19727312#t19727312

there'll be more in just a second!

Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9/?]

[(Anonymous)]

thank you for the lovely comments, and sorry for the long delay (again, ha) and the short update. other fills are very distracting, sigh.
-------

The car ride back to America's house is slightly more comfortable, despite America turning on the radio quietly and singing along - at least it isn't silence, England thinks, and makes a conscious effort to retract his claws. It is still early, some time before midday, and it is not until they are pulling into the driveway that England's stomach rumbles and he realises how long it's been since he last ate.

He yowls at America when he switches off the engine, an annoyed little sound that has America leaning down to peer into the carrier, still strapped to the front seat.

"Hey, little guy. Not Olivia, I guess." England meows happily at him, and America grins. "Suppose I'll call you Oliver instead!"

England sighs, Git, and then the carrier is moving again and the swing of it still makes him nauseous, so he closes his eyes until America sets him down with a thud and he jolts upright. They are back in America's kitchen, and it smells so familiar and safe that England doesn't protest when America reaches in and scoops him up again, supporting him with one hand as he walks to the fridge and they both peer inside.

"I've got nothing for you," America frowns when England starts struggling. He can see a plate of chicken sitting on the shelf, and he wants it, but America shuts the fridge and sets England down on the floor, scratching him lightly behind the ears before grabbing his keys off the side. "I'll be back soon!"

And then he's gone, the front door slamming and the distant sound of the car starting up again, and England's alone. And hungry.

He looks around the kitchen, at the closed cupboards and the towering fridge, and then he pads into the living room and thinks, sod it, I'm going to sleep.



When America gets back home, his arms weighed down with bags of cat food, treats and toys (he probably got too much, he thinks, but Oliver is worth it, and he doesn't question why), he dumps everything on the kitchen counter and calls out for the kitten - he is so accustomed to his house being silent, just his own voice echoing and so long since anyone stayed over for longer than a business trip - he feels oddly thrilled about having someone there waiting for him, even if it is just a cat.

He doesn't expect a reply but he calls again anyway, wandering into the living room and then he stops completely, because Oliver is curled up on a cushion, fast asleep. America knows it is probably a bad idea to wake him up suddenly, but he can't stop himself from kneeling in front of the sofa and lightly brushing his fingers over his fur, a ghost of a touch but the kitten stirs under his hand and blinks awake, stretching with a yawn and then looks over at America with his bright green eyes still fluttering a little.

"I need to make a call," America says suddenly, as the kitten just stares at him. "You're cute and all, but I kinda miss two-way conversation."

Oliver meows, bats a sleepy paw in his direction and America laughs softly, rubbing a finger under the kitten's chin. "But I'll get your food first, then."

He leaves the kitten on the couch and heads back into the kitchen to start rummaging through the bags, pulling out a food bowl and then several tin cans. Oliver appears in the doorway a few moments later, and he watches as America cracks open a lid and starts spooning out something jellied and pinkish.

The Hospital Visit (Part 1 / ?)

[(Anonymous)]

Author's note: Have not filled for the kink meme in so long! > w < I could not help myself with this one..... since SeaPru is my legit OTP. ^___^UUU JUST GAVE ME AN EXCUSE TO DRABBLE WITH EM A BIT MORE. -clapclapclap- Ohhhh adult!sealand and Prussia. Never stop amazing me.

Also, I put this in kind of a normal un-country AU.... Sealand being still younger than sealand, but like with Sealand being early 20s and Prussia late 20s. So human names used. \ o /

- - - - - - -

Bing!

The doors of the hospital slowly slid open, triggered by the motion sensor that picked up sign of two brown boots moving towards the glass doors. As they slid open a man passed through the doorway and made his way across the hospital floor to the welcoming desk at the center of the room. Many of the occupants of the room recognized him instantly since his appearance in the hospital was not a rare event. Many of the employees had seen him around and therefore grew used to seeing him pop in for visits.

The worker at the front desk seemed to recognize him right away.

“Ah, Peter. Back again?” she questioned, smiling up at the visitor.

Peter chuckled, just as amused by his presence there as she was. “Yes I’m back again. This time it’s a surprise for me though… all I was told is that he’s landed himself in the hospital again. Nothing serious?” he questioned, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.

“Nothing serious.” The worker responded, explaining to the man where the patient’s room was. Before he had a chance to leave she added “You know, Peter… if he keeps getting into accidents like this people are going to start thinking this is a domestic violence case!” with the same amused tone.

“Domestic violence? If anything I’m the whipped one around here.” The man responded with a bright smile and then walked off down the hall towards the specified hospital room. As he was leaving a nurse approached the desk.

“Who is that guy?” she questioned as she watched Peter walk off. The receptionist only seemed to give her an odd look, so she specified. “The one with the longish blond hair and gorgeous blue eyes-“

“I’d give it up if I were you.” The receptionist responded before the nurse could continue. “That’s Peter Kirkland… ah, you must be new here. He’s here all the time, but mostly because his boyfriend is here as a patient every other week.” She explained, putting emphasis on ‘boyfriend’.

“But I think I have seen him here before around here…” the nurse started and tried to think back to where she may have seen him before.

“Oh no, you’re thinking of Arthur Kirkland. They’re brothers. Peter actually grows his hair out to avoid looking like a clone of his brother. He’s also taller and his eyebrows are a lot less intense.” The receptionist explained while making an extravagant hand gesture across her forehead to express the absurd intensity of Arthur’s eyebrows. The nurse seemed to comprehend this now and turned just in time to see the man in the dark blue turtleneck and tan brown pants turn a corner, off to meet his lover.

Peter knew exactly which room he was heading for before he even entered the hallway it was in. From around the corner he could hear muffled shouting: a trademark of his loud German boyfriend. He found the hospital room just by following the shouting and seeing a flustered and frustrated nurse storming out of the room as he stood outside the door.

Peter turned his head around the doorway and looked into the room with a smile.

“Harrassing the staff again, Gil?”

The man sitting on the hospital bed in the room went through a very dramatic change. At first he sat on the bed and looked quite stubbornly put-out and glaring down the television, pushing every button he could on it with extreme force. When he heard the voice he immediately dropped the remote and a broad grin spread over his face. His entire aura seemed to suddenly burst with joy.

“PETER!” he shouted and turned to the door with that large smile, sitting up on the bed instead of lounging back. “Finally! I have been really bored here, you know! The nurses around here won’t let me do anything fun!”

The Hospital Visit (Part 2 / ?)

[(Anonymous)]

Peter made his way into the room, picking up the remote control and clicking it so the TV turned off, then standing next to the bed. “Most people’s definition of ‘Innocent fun’ isn’t finding “on demand porn” on the hospital television sets.”

“… I never said it was innocent.” Gilbert replied with a grumble. “But that’s not the point! You are here now so now I can demand your full attention and you can spoil me and wait on me and treat me like an awesome emperor!” he announced with a proud grin.

This burst of enthusiasm was rewarded with a light chuckle from Peter. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss onto Gilbert’s forehead. “Honestly, bunny. Sometimes I think you do these things on purpose just for an excuse to get spoiled.” He said, still amused.

“… You’re lucky that you didn’t use that nickname while anyone was around.” Gilbert said while attempting to glare at Peter but only succeeding in pulling off a funny look. Peter didn’t respond to that, only laughing a bit and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“So, Gil. Why are you here this time?” he questioned.

“Oh yeah… about that…” Gilbert started off then looked at the ceiling for a moment while attempting to figure out how to word his next sentence. Anytime it started out like that it was never a good thing. It meant something very strange happened, which needed to be re-worded by Gilbert to seem like the “awesome idea” it probably felt like the moment before it happened.

“Well… I decided to try to turn the stairs into a giant slide by riding down it on a couple of trays with Antonio and Francis. Of course, I was the first one to try it out because I am awesome and brave, and that would be pretty cool! Instead of sitting on the tray and riding down I decided to try to be extra awesome and stand on the tray while going down the stairs! And… well, someone must have left something on the stairs which ruined the path of the tray because I fell off of it and ended up falling down the stairs and passed out… but besides a couple of bruises I am fine! No internal damage or broken bones!” Gilbert explained. He finished off the explanation with a thumbs-up to Peter. “Now hand over your shirt. I am freezing cold and the nurses refuse to let me get my clothing back!” he added, tugging at the plastic thin hospital gown he wore.

Peter knew that this would happen so just shook his head a bit (giving himself a ‘See? Told you so.’) and sat down on the edge of the bed. “You know, most people would find the obsession you have with wearing my clothing creepy, if not just plain weird. Besides, don’t you have a ton of blankets on this bed?” Peter questioned, then looked down at the pile of blankets that lay before Gilbert. And yet he said this all with the same amused smile. He took out a spare shirt from a bag he had brought with him, working on removing his own turtleneck.

“It isn’t weird! I just… I like taking stuff from others! It’s my conquering nature!” Gilbert declared and puffed his chest out with pride… of course he wasn’t going to admit to Peter that the reason he always stole his clothing to wear was because he liked being surrounded by that comforting smell that lingered with Peter and how warm he felt there. That would be absurd. Peter understood anyway and didn’t need the explanation. “Besides, you know I can never keep warm under mere blankets alone! And these are hospital blankets so they are thin and useless.”

Peter had removed his shirt at this point and passed it over to Gilbert. Gilbert seemed quite pleased by the offering and took a moment to stare at his shirtless boyfriend before pulling the fabric over his head. He let out a sigh of relief once he had the slightly oversized sweater on. He pulled it down so it covered his hips (much more comfortable than the hospital gowns, which only tied in the middle of his back and left all kinds of areas unawesomely exposed) and snuggled into the sweater.

Gilbert tilted his head down so some of the fabric of the turtleneck could cover the lower half of his face, breathing in the smell but stopping once he realized that Peter was staring at him.

“… What are you looking at, brat?”

[part 6] France/Taiwan - a love lesson

[(Anonymous)]

original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=16937250#t16937250

France/Taiwan - a love lesson... with disastrous results (eventually)

Luciole [part 1/??]

[(Anonymous)]

She sees him before he sees her, and she watches as he takes out a cigarette and lights it. There is no question to his identity, but she does not fear his reputation, because a reputation is harmless. After a few minutes of enjoying the sunset, he suddenly notices her, and smiling, he moves closer, cigarette forgotten in favor of a pretty girl he does not know. She shyly returns his smile, but backs away, remains just out of reach. Then it becomes apparent that his legs are much longer than hers, and she can not step back fast enough. Now she must run.

It is an exhilarating chase across the hotel garden, ducking behind trees and hedges, running along benches and fountains, even once climbing on top of a fence and then dropping down from the roof top of a shed. Taiwan moves swiftly and nimbly through the obstacles meant to confound him, and overconfident, makes the mistake of looking over her shoulder, only to see him surprisingly close. She had thought he was too slow and heavy to catch her, another clumsy white man too fond of food and drink, but perhaps love gives him wings, because France flies like an angel, feet barely touching the ground as he gives chase.

Finally, Taiwan has nowhere to run, so she climbs a tree to escape. But not quickly enough, because he grabs at her dangling foot and ends up with a slipper in hand. For a few seconds, they stare at each other, hearts pounding loudly from exertion, and then France grins.

“Mon cendrillon… I have your slipper. Will you come claim it?”

Taiwan shakes her head, not wanting to surrender her hard-won victory. He does not look discouraged, and laughing, he tells her his hotel suite number and walks away. Sputtering indignantly, she calls out after him in English, demanding he return with her shoe, but he pretends to not hear.

With a frustrated sigh, Taiwan eventually climbs down and makes her way to her own room, holding her head high. Perhaps she should have listened more carefully to Vietnam whenever she started ranting about her former sovereign nation. Still, even if France is clever and fast on his feet, she believes she can win against him in the end. It can’t be that hard; this is France, after all. Practically everyone has won against him.


France is almost surprised to hear a knock on his door later that night. He is so used to rooming by himself, and obviously no one ever sought his company of their own free will, but then he recalls the girl who gave him a most wonderful chase, so lovely and fearless, and suddenly the night does not seem so dismal.

He opens the door and immediately dodges the open-handed blow that would have broken his nose had it connected. Taiwan lets out a soft laugh, impressed.

“Bonsoir, Taiwan,” France says smoothly, as if he had not just been attacked by a martial artist.

“Good evening, France,” Taiwan replies, nodding politely. “You have something of mine, I would like it back, please.”

“Of course. Why don’t you have a seat while I go get it?”


[cendrillon - Cinderella]

The Box (2/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Hope I'm doing it right D:

_{Original Request + Prologue and Part 1: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?thread=11946250#t11946250}

I'm hoping I didn't lose the OP after 5 months :X

---

The next meeting began again with another visit from the 'comint box.' America retrieved a handful of notes and grinned, "Now that's more like it." He unfolded one.

"Dear Egypt,

Didn't your mother invent what we industrialized nations call "soap?" Maybe you want to look it up; I hear there've been great strides in the field.

Sincerely,
I can smell you from here." America cleared his throat, and looked over the top of the paper.

Everyone glanced over to Egypt, and several thought that the note was actually accurate, especially Germany.

"Dear Finland,

I'm going to break your fucking fingers if you don't stop tapping your pen on the table."

America looked closely at a word that was scribbled out before Finland. He thought it said Wife. Finland, meanwhile, froze and put down the pen in his hand. He leaned closer to Sweden, who smiled on the inside.

"Dear England (or the United Kingdom, if you will),

You're not embracing your culture enough. Wear a kilt once in a while, show us some leg."

"You little pervert!" England shouted, "You wrote that one!"

"What? No," America put his hands up in defense, "I haven't written a single one of these, I swear!" England grumbled but sat down.

"Dear whoever keeps parking his stupid Audi in the shady parking space,

I had that spot first, jackass.

And if I find it there at the next meeting, you might be taking the bus home.

Love,
I don't like opening my car door to a wave of hot air; I get enough of that in here."

"Someone water the plant in the fucking foyer, I'm sick of doing it.

If it dies, you won't see me crying."

"There's a plant in the foyer?" Austria asked, looking around for confirmation, but no one else seemed to recall. Canada quietly banged his head against the table.

"Okay okay, this one's the last one." America announced with his mouth filled with donut; he unfolded the slip and read:

"Dear America,

Donuts are for everyone. Bring your own box if you don't want to share.

Sincerely,
Would like a fucking donut at ONE meeting, thanks."

America frowned at the paper and tried to ignore the snickering.

Re: The Box (2/?)

[(Anonymous)]

I remember this fill. And it's still made of win. :D

All day I dream about sex [1/?]

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=1901688#t1901688

---

Matthew groggily sat up, wondering how he ended up in a dark room, fully naked and his left hand handcuffed to the bed's headboard. He tried to think back to what had happened before, only remembering his dick of a brother ditching him for some English ass.

He tugged on the handcuffs, fearing that he had been kidnapped by some old pervert who molested him in his sleep. He knew it was a bad idea to go drinking with his brother. He seriously knew it... Matthew had just been contemplating on how he was going destroy the headboard and jump out of the window when the door opened, revealing a tall silhouette.

"So, you're finally awake Matthew.." Holy shit. This guy totally knew his name which made everything even creepier.

"Are you trying to be all mysterious and shit because it's not working.." He heard the man chuckle as he closed the door behind him throwing the room in complete darkness once again. Matthew shivered, knowing that the guy had started to walk towards him, intentionally slow. When he finally heard the end of the bed creak, he tried to shuffle as far back as possible but stopped when he felt warm hands grasping his ankles.

"S-Stop it you f-f-f-uck-er.."

"If I remembered clearly, you were the one that asked me to take you home."

"I-I don't t-talk to strangers..."

"Who said I'm stranger?" Strong arms yanked his leg from it's previous position, his head falling onto the soft pillows.

"W-WAIT!! I-I don't even know your fucking name..." The man snorted,

"So what? Lets fuck." He was about to protest but was cut off halfway when the man leaned down, tipped his chin upwards and kissed him hard on the lips. Matthew tried to squirm away but it only made everything worse by giving himself another problem that he didn't want to think about. He felt the man's smile on his lips.

"Why don't you just enjoy it? You know I won't hurt you..." Matthew wasn't sure if he believed him. After all, he was the one handcuffed to the bed naked and just had his face molested. The stranger ground against him and claimed his mouth once again. He felt his dignity and morals crumble when he moaned loudly as the stranger tweaked his nipples, turning them into hard pebbles. He found himself painfully grabbing the others' short hair with his free hand. Fuck it.

All day I dream about sex [2/?]

[(Anonymous)]

"Take off your fucking pants" Matthew wheezed, and felt the weight on him disappear and come back once he heard jeans being tossed to the floor. He noticed the other pause and lift himself up once again, only to move himself forward ending up with his knees on both sides of Matthew's head.

"I want you to suck me off" His voice husky, almost pleading

"You've gotta be sh-" Again, the blonde's protests were cut short as something hot was forced into his mouth. Gee, he wondered what could that possibly have been. With his left hand deemed useless, he lifted his head up, taking in as much as he can and then using his right hand to stroke the rest. He squeezed the balls and licked from the base to the head, sucking the pre cum.

"You know Mattie..I would have never imagined that..You would be so good..At this.." Matthew didn't know if he should be flattered or insulted so he decided to ignore the comment all together. He noticed that the man was close and with a hum, he pulled back, resting his head on the pillows.

"Im not letting you come in my mouth you dirty perv." He smirked, still slowly stroking the erection. He heard the guy sigh heavily above him and shift backwards, spreading the blonde's legs and resting between them.

"You're arguably not as innocent as you look"

"I just sucked your cock, why are you telling me this?"

"No reason, you just looked so good doing it, Matthew." What the..? How did this bastard know how he looked- He suddenly gaped as he realized that he wasn't wearing his glasses, making him close to blind.

"Where's my glasses?"

"I took them off, you're blind without them aren't you?" He sat in alarm, not a lot of people knew how bad his eyes really were except for his brother (who had equally shitty eyesight by the way) and those who were really close to him.

"..How are you so sure..?"

"I told you I'm no stanger, schatje."

"Oh"

----

Hetalia & Sailor Moon Crossover/Fusion

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=22245072#t22245072

Ha ha...I guess I got to this second.

Prologue

[(Anonymous)]

The screen flickers to life, bobs and sways. It’s a bad recording; Alfred knows this but could seriously care a lot less. It catches her movements, the control of her body as she shifts from one spot to another. It shows her beautiful legs and how the little green skirt whispers over them when she pivots. And if he looks hard enough - and he often does - Alfred is sure he can see just a glimpse of what’s under that skirt. Her hair is perfect, an enviable shade of shining gold as it relocates itself to compensate her movements. It whips around and clings to her bare shoulders in lovely strands.

All these things are important. Together they all add to why this is one of Alfred’s favorites, but to be honest there’s another blatant reason he likes it best. It’s at 26 seconds in when her fist connects with a guy’s face. It’s raw, bloody, beautiful, and every time Alfred watches it he feels chills of excitement do a number on his spine and shoulders.

It’s a bundle of pure unbridled perfection wrapped up into a 38 second cell phone clip, and God does Alfred love it. He’s got pictures of her – in fact he keeps three of the best ones in his wallet so he can look at them when he gets bored or lonely in class - but they don’t compare to actual footage. Nothing can compare to actual footage except for the real thing, but Alfred is planning on that too, so for now this slice of perfection suits him just fine.

“I think you’re obsessed.”

Alfred knows that voice all too well. He stops the clip to swivel around in his chair and offers Matthew a smile, but it’s forced and unpleasant at best.

“I thought you said you’d stop sneaking into my room.”

Matthew matches Alfred’s smile with a pout and folds his arms over his chest. He’s leaning on the far wall of Alfred’s room, right next to the open door.

“Al, she dresses up in a skimpy outfit and assaults people on the street in broad daylight. You’re hero worship of her is really creepy and very disturbing.”

They’ve done this before-- in fact they do this almost daily.

“You said you’d stop coming into my room without my permission.”

“She’s a common criminal Al, why is it so hard for you to understand that?”

Alfred is out of his chair at that, and stalking over towards his younger brother.

“Take it back.”

Matthew shrinks a little, but doesn’t back down.

“Even if she isn’t some crazed criminal, I’m sure she thinks people like you who pore over every picture and replay every horribly shot cell phone feed are disturbed and need clinical treatment.”

“I’m not obsessed, I’m in love. This is the woman I’m going to marry.”
Matthew rolls his eyes and shifts his head to give Alfred a sideways glance.

“Really, Al? A violent woman that runs around barely clothed? I thought you had better standards.”

Alfred keeps is temper in check - exhale, inhale – and tries to let out all of his tension before continuing. When he does speak again it is even and controlled.

“We’ve done this before Mattie, she’s a hero. Not some crazed vixen - a hero - and I love her. She’s beautiful, powerful, everything that a good woman should be. And it’s not like she goes around asking for people to take pictures of her. Everything that’s out there are split second sightings. I wouldn’t like a woman that went out of her way to turn heads.”

Matthew’s obviously looking unsure now. He can handle it when Alfred blows up and is upset and angry, but when he’s calm Matthew has no footing.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you about your disturbing high school crush. Mom’s done with dinner.”

Without another sound Matthew slips from the room, closing the door behind him.

Alfred watches as his brother leaves, and waits till he can’t hear Matthew footsteps any more before turning back to the computer. He takes one more look at the video as a sloppy smile spreads across his face.

“I, Alfred F. Jones, and going to marry you, England. You can bet on it.”


---


Somewhere, a slight man with green eyes, straw shaded hair, and bushy eyebrows sneezes. He wonders if he is coming down with something.

Russia/Finland, Finlandization

[(Anonymous)]

Original request here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=953720#t953720

Russia/Finland, Finlandization (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Finlandization) during the Cold War.

Finland crawling in the feet of Russia.

This too shall pass 1/3

[(Anonymous)]

Finland hated how Russia showed up at private meetings like he owned the place. He never knocked, just walked in, stole someone's chair and watched with that distant smile.

"I don't like that person," Russia said while still smiling innocently as they discussed a rising politician. Everyone fell over themselves to agree with him and Finland clenched his fists. But he couldn't blame them for being afraid of Russia. Being stalked by the pretty much immortal anthropomorphic personification of the Soviet Union was bad enough when you were a nation yourself, citizens had very good reasons to beware.

Russia was insane but he seemed to have some affection for Finland's boss, Finland had heard the two of them had meetings he was not invited to and discussed god knows what. It was upsetting but Russia going back to Moscow and complaining to his bosses about their lack of cooperation would be worse. Perhaps the boss just did what he felt he had to.

It made him sick with anger to think of how he was grouped with the losing side and had to pay Russia and apologize because Russia failed to invade them entirely and they wanted their own territory back. Finland always kind of liked Germany the person but the crazy of his government was obvious (Finland had learned about the concept untermensch from Sweden and had hit him in the head with the report) and he done his best to distance himself from that even if they had some common goals. Now Germany was beaten and held responsible for what he had done. While Russia won and got away with it.

Finland hand ran over the knife in his pocket and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. If Russia planned to try to coup a feel in public again he was going to get stabbed. Perhaps it wouldn't be the smartest thing to do but he had to make sure Russia remembered that Finland was not his bitch. No matter how much they had bended over for him lately.




When the room was emptied of humans and locked from the inside Finland allowed Russia to feel him up a little. It was easiest that way.

"I respect your efforts in the war, believe me, I really do. I never expected that level of commitment from you and your people. But I would not invade in the winter again and I would not come unprepared thinking you would just crumble. No, I have taken the other countries around me and adding you would be little trouble."

"I will not let you annex me," Finland hissed.

"It is not a question of 'letting'. I am sure your ex would be livid, America would threaten me and there would be endless boring summits where everyone told me I couldn't do this. But I can and I would if I wanted to, all they ever do is talk and talk. They will not interfere because they are afraid of me and my weapons and my children."

Russia was right, that was the worst thing.

"Do you know why I don't?" Russia asked with a smug smile Finland hated so much that he wanted to stab him. The urge was rising when Russia's hands traveled down his back.

"Because I crawl enough anyway,” Finland said, not without bitterness.

Because his boss insisted on a very careful approach against Soviet, not because he is afraid of Russia Finland remanded himself and felt a hint of inappropriate disdain for the leader who just wanted to keep his countrymen safe. The Finno-Soviet Pact of Friendship, Cooperation, and Mutual Assistance was probably the best of bad alternatives.

""Exactly."

PolandxLietxFem!Poland

[(Anonymous)]

Original request here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=19514832

Lithuania being ganged up on by Poland and his girl counterpart, with normal penetrating from the bottom, fem riding from the top at the same time. Smut please. :D

A Tale of Two Polands [1/?]

[(Anonymous)]

I apologize for the title; the fic isn't humor, but this is the only thing that would come to mind ;;

“Hey, Liet, I'm home! And guess what? Something, like, totally crazy happened on the way back from work today!”

Lithuania had been searching around in the fridge for the leftover potato pancakes – honestly, did Poland always have to move things around when he got a snack? - but his partner's announcement startled him, and in his surprise he knocked his head on the roof of the appliance. Grumbling, he rubbed the back of his head, shut the door and turned around. When Poland came into the room, however, Lithuania felt certain he must have hit his head harder than he'd thought.

Because, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, there were two Polands.

“Um...”

It was the most surreal thing Lithuania had ever seen: Poland was standing there, dressed just as he had been when he went out that morning; but next to him was another Poland, wearing army greens, and looking...infinitely more feminine than Lithuania had seen even Poland manage. So feminine, in fact, that he could have sworn he saw the faint outline of two mounds under the stiff fabric of second-Poland's shirt. Still dumbfounded, Lithuania could only stare and try to form a thought, a question, an admonition – did this call for an admonition? it probably wasn't Poland's fault, but still – or something to say. Poland (the original one, or at least Lithuania assumed so), on the other hand, flounced across the room and dropped his purse on the counter as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and proceeded to rifle through the fridge.

“D'you want something, 'Licja?” he called back over his shoulder, presumably to the other Poland.

Even the voice that replied was feminine, though the manner of speaking was the same. “Do you have, like, diet cola?”

With a scoff, Poland snatched up the drink in question and tossed it to his counterpart, who caught it expertly, almost as though their minds were working on the same wavelength. For all Lithuania knew, they probably were. “'Course we do,” the blonde replied. “What do you think I am, a total fatty? I only drink diet.”

The other Poland stepped toward Lithuania, taking him in from head to toe as she (he was fairly certain now that it was a she) took a sip from the soda and then set it down on the counter. “I'm Poland, but the name's Felicja, by the way, Liet. And you're totally cute. I'm, like, so jealous, Felek!”

“I met her at the end of our driveway!” Poland added from behind Lithuania's shoulder.

This sudden explanation startled the other out of his shock. “Is she...is she you?” he asked hoarsely.

“Dunno,” shrugged Poland. “Are you?” he addressed Felicja.

“Dunno!” she chirped cheerfully in response.

“Come on, Liet, don't stress out about it so much.” Poland's arms went around Lithuania from behind, and he rested his cheek against the other man's back. “It's two of me! Which is totally awesome. Right?”

The girl-Poland stepped forward, wearing a smile that was eerily familiar. “Yeah, you should just, like, chill out, Liet. You worry too much!”

“How do you...know me?” Lithuania managed. The other was standing way too close for comfort now; he could catch a whiff of Poland's perfume he'd bought last Christmas, and underneath it, a scent that was both essentially Poland and at the same time slightly not. His pulse was speeding gradually, but now he thought it might have less and less to do with the anxiety-inducing bizarreness of the situation.

“Because, I'm him. Or he's me. It's the same thing, really, I guess. Anyway, I know everything about you that he knows!” She smiled disarmingly and brought a hand up to touch Lithuania's cheek in an achingly familiar way. “I know your big pet peeve is towels that get left on the bathroom floor, and I know you love lemon-flavored shaved ice, and that you've gone to Mass every Sunday since we converted you except for one.”

Lithuania flushed at the implication that she knew why they'd missed that one Mass, too.

“And,” continued girl-Poland, leaning up to wrap a hand around the back of Lithuania's neck and whisper into his ear, her breath soft and hot, “I know what you taste like, too.”

Pretty Little Things [Part 1]

[(Anonymous)]

The original request asked: "A sudden craving for Spain/Austria hit anon today like a ton of bricks. So anon would like to see something with this pairing (in that order please) with historical details, if possible. Smut is appreciated (and thoroughly enjoyed) but not necessary."


Also, because Austria basically screwed his way to the top. So the year is 1496, and here are Spain and Austria, sealing the Habsburg deal the fun way. >Db
---------




Roderich has a beautiful home, with arches constructed in the Classical style and marble floors polished so brightly that they shine like a mirror. Antonio can’t help but catch sight of himself in the sheen of the floor while walking along the hallway, and the sight tugs hard on something within that he will tell himself for years is only his imagination. It’s something there, something buried very deep, where dwells the voice that whispers in his ear that even the fine linens he’s got on today, the finest he owns, are too coarse for his current company and that they will always be. It’s the same voice that sets his blood to thundering at the sight of gold, that voice which whispers now how fragile these things are, how very fragile, and indeed, it’s as if he could wreck the place with just a touch. Just a little touch would be all it’d take.


He does his best to walk more lightly so that his boots do not scuff the marble.


Fragile as the whole of it may be, one cannot pass through Roderich’s home without their heart stilling in their breast. This, Antonio suspects, is in no small part an effect of Roderich’s acquisition of Italian territory and of the boy’s artisans by extension. Little Feliciano’s artists are masters at what they do, and just thinking about it again tugs on that traitorous something inside Antonio: It whispers. He ignores it, and admires the gilded buttresses, which are lovely even if the leaf is peeling.


Roderich has a room to receive him formally in, and when he is shown the way and seated, Roderich has them both provided wine and requests that they be left alone to enjoy their libations. The servants close the door so quietly behind them that Antonio does not even notice they have until they are long gone.


“You will forgive me for prioritizing matters of state over those of comfort,” Roderich says. He picks up his goblet and motions for Antonio to do the same. Antonio thinks that the red of the wine complements the goblet’s gold very well— Roderich’s motion tilts the cup ever so slightly forward, flashing the barest hint of the wine inside. That’s all it takes. Already Antonio is mesmerized. “But I only aim to make this as easy possible for all. I understand that your journey has been long, and so the sooner such matters are dealt with, the sooner you can rest easily.”


Antonio shakes his head—he feels groggy already. “The sooner we’ll all rest easily,” he agrees, and Roderich’s lip purses in what might be just a hint of a smile.


“Then it’s all for the best.” And that’s about the sum total of things. Only then does Antonio start to drink his wine.


“I do not wish to make enemies,” Roderich says. “True friendship,” he says, “Is a rare and beautiful thing.” Antonio nods, because he knows exactly what Roderich means, and it isn’t necessarily about friendship in the slightest, but Roderich fancies himself too much a gentleman to put gauche war so much as to his tongue.


“Beautiful things ought to be preserved.” This much is a lie, but Antonio supposes that it’s alright since he is in Roderich’s company and disingenuous gets as disingenuous gives. He takes another sip of wine, and thinks to himself that it looks quite remarkably like blood.


Roderich takes another sip, too, but a much smaller, slower one. He does a strange little something with his lips like he’s taking a moment to think about the wine, and whatever it is, it leaves them stained a deeper shade of red than before.

Pretty Little Things [Part 2]

[(Anonymous)]

“I thought you might understand” is what Antonio thinks he might have heard Roderich say, but his eyes are fixed on the red and the gold of the wine and the goblet and Roderich’s lips and the room blurs around him so he doesn’t really hear what Roderich has to say. The wine’s such a beautiful color, it makes his heart ache— red has always been his favorite. He tries to seal the moment in a memory because he does like beautiful things, he really does. But if he cannot destroy it, then yes, he supposes, preserving it (even if only in memory) will have to do.


And he really would like to destroy it. A vision flashes through his mind, one of many possibilities. He could lay waste to Roderich’s pretty house, with the instruments of siege, or with his own two hands. He might like to do the latter: taking destruction into one’s own hands, it’s so much more personal. He could do it with his axe. It wouldn’t be hard, just a little touch would be enough.


He could have Roderich on the ground before him, dirt ground into that fine silk clothing of his, and that fine white face. One good punch, and he could split Roderich’s lip right open, make him bleed. Just one.


Roderich seems to notice he is not listening, because he sets down his drink and stands then, pushing his chair carefully back beneath the table once more.


“Or perhaps the journey has been too taxing. If you cannot focus, you should rest the night before we continue. I will have your quarters prepared for you.”




Roderich calls for a servant to prepare Antonio’s room, and another to show Antonio the way. Waiting for him in the guest quarters is a four-posted bed with a stead of fine mahogany, it’s form one with sprawling curves and clawed lion’s feet. Beside the bed is a table set with another goblet of wine. Antonio thanks the servants, and when he is left to his own devices he runs his hands over the soft blankets, marveling in the gentle weave, the softness beneath his ungloved fingers. His callouses catch on it if he moves against the grain.


He does not wear gloves, but Roderich does, with little black buttons at the wrist. He’d noticed them when they’d sat down for wine. Antonio wonders if the gloves are made of the same stuff as Roderich’s cravat.


He falls asleep almost as soon as he has pulled the blankets over himself. He probably has the wine to thank for that, and for the faint, ghostly music in his ears that follows him into dreamless sleep.

Part 4: Germany Has a Cold (moved to the right Fill area oTL)

[(Anonymous)]

REQUEST: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=10433474#t10433474

This fill has a little less fluff and a lot more retarded Prussia. SORRY OP oTL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Weeeeeeeest, wake up, I got something for ya. Weeeeeeeeest."

Germany groaned as he pried his eyes open, the edges of his eyelids lightly coated in crust. "Bruder, I--" Germany all but choked as his dear brother Prussia forced a spoonful of something into his mouth, utensil touching the back of his throat. As Prussia was preparing to feed him yet again, Germany shot his hand out, clamping down on Prussia's arm, causing steaming chicken soup to spill on the bedsheets. Germany's facial expression toggled between incredulous and irritated, sitting up to face Prussia. "B-Bruder, what is all this? Why are you here?!"

Prussia clicked his tongue, pushing (or trying to, anyway) Germany's head back onto the pillow. "You're sick, West, I was trying to feed you some chicken soup. They say it helps when you're sick, you know."

"I can feed myself, thank you!" Germany snatched the bowl and spoon from Prussia's hands, spilling more soup onto his bed as he began to eat without the help of his brother.

"C'mon, West, don't be like that! You let me take care of you when you were a kiiiid," Prussia persisted, despite the fact that Germany couldn't even remember his childhood.

"I-I most certainly did not! I wouldn't be alive if you'd done such a thing!" Prussia noted how red Germany's face was, embarrassed by the attention he was getting, and Prussia decided he would press just a few more of his brother's buttons.

"West, you're so CUTE~" Prussia snickered, knowing full well that Germany would kill him for such a statement, and gave him a bone-crushing hug, the soup spilling all over Germany's nightshirt from between him and Prussia.

Silence.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, DUMMKOPF!!"

With that, Prussia was flung out the window into the bushes below, branches jabbing at his body painfully.

"L-love you too, West..."

Re: Part 4: Germany Has a Cold (moved to the right Fill area oTL)

[(Anonymous)]

Aww. I loves me some cute brother time!

Spreading Poison 1/? (another sequel to Financial Crisis!gangbang)

[(Anonymous)]

Original Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?thread=12783114#t12783114

America gets revenge.

Author's notes: I know there's already other fills, but I couldn't resist. I love America when he's being an idiot, but I love America just as much when he's insane and sadistic too.

SPREADING POISON


In some ways, Alfred F. Jones wished he had died that day.

How he longed for that sweet, eternal darkness that was denied him because he had to live for his people. For he could not abandon them like the world had abandoned him.

He had lost count of the minutes, hours, days he hadn’t slept, because he felt so filthy, filthy, that even if he clawed his skin off he would never be clean again.

His nights were long and his not-sleep was nightmare-ridden in its brevity. Empty bottles of alcohol surrounded him on the floor, and cigarette butts found new resting places inside those empty bottles as all the ashtrays were overflowing.

But his memory was still tauntingly clear.

Every moment was replayed in his head with terrifying clarity, and it was like reliving it again.

And again.

And again.

The question continued to burn inside his head.

“Did I deserve it?”

His voice was barely more than a harsh whisper, but it filled the room.

The hand that wasn’t clutching his gun clawed at his chest, where the whispers in his head were saying yes, and then no, and that he had it coming, and that punishment did not fit the crime, and his head hurt because the voices were splitting him apart, just like those dicks had split him apart.

Christ, he needed more alcohol. Maybe if he drank enough his liver would finally fail and then he didn’t need to think about this betrayal.

His eyes burned. Whether from the lack of actual sleep or from unshed tears, he didn’t know.

But he did know one thing: right or wrong, he was going to get his revenge.

Re: Spreading Poison 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

It was the first meeting in three months after the incident that America attended a world meeting. Well America’s President had attended, but Alfred had been conspicuously absent for a long time. So his attendance generated a fair bit of buzzing amongst the many nations and their leaders, the majority of which had no idea why Alfred had been away for three months. Apparently Alfred had been very ill, according to his President.

When the President of the United States of America stepped into the room, with Alfred beside him, there was almost a collective murmuring.

Alfred was wearing a dark suit, which was odd to say the least – Alfred loved his bomber jacket and khakis more than most things - and he wore a pair of sunglasses, which was even more unusual since he always had Texas on. Alfred seemed thinner, and his face was sharper. His face looked unhealthily pale, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in months.

Then the President murmured something to Alfred, and Alfred slowly removed his sunglasses for the sake of ‘manners’. The collective whispering grew louder. Alfred’s eyes were bloodshot, from illness or exhaustion or both, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His eyes even seemed more gray than blue.

The American President allowed the attendees to continue speculating for a moment, before gently but firmly reclaiming attention to the meeting at hand.

---

Arthur felt his heart lurch in his chest when he laid eyes on Alfred for the first time in months.

Alfred looked…haggard, to put it mildly, and Arthur felt guilt well up deep in his gut.

And he couldn’t help but notice that Alfred did not look at anyone during the meeting. The younger nation’s gaze had been trained securely onto his wristwatch and he had remained completely and utterly still, not even volunteering a single word during the entire thing.

He tried to convince himself that Alfred would snap out of it eventually, and then the world economy would fully recover, and then maybe…maybe, he could approach Alfred again. Because Alfred would have finally understood that what they did was for his own good.

Arthur ignored the voice on his shoulder that told him he was dreaming.

---

Eventually the meeting was adjourned, and the leaders of each country decided to convene elsewhere for dinner, while the country representatives were left to entertain themselves and take a break.

There was much excited chatter amongst nations who hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

Alfred did not move from his seat, still staring at his wristwatch.

---

The monster inside his chest roared and threatened to consume him.

They were acting like nothing had ever happened.

Like none of them had ever tied him down, choked him, raped him.

Alfred is addicted to The Sims

[(Anonymous)]

http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=15865634
I would like to see this:

America disappears for a few days, and everyone wonders where he is. Finally Nation A goes to see what happened to him, only to find him at his computer...playing the sims.

Cue America denying he has a problem with sims addiction. How problem is solved is up to Anon.

Bonus: If he made a sim-self, (ah sim selfs-the marysues of the video game world) to court a sim verison of Nation A.

Not An Addiction [1/?]

[(Anonymous)]

"It's unusually quiet."

Japan's soft comment made many of the nations stop to think (save for the warring France and England). Germany looked around slowly, then groaned.

"Where's America?"

This caught the attention of the warring nations. England looked back from where he was throttling a faint France, and he glanced towards the chair decorated with a gaudy oversized (and sparkling, where the hell had he gotten the sparkles?) American flag. Said chair was empty, and there weren't even crumbs littered about the floor and table. In fact, it looked almost clean.

That was the first hint that there was something seriously wrong.

"When was the last time anyone saw America?" England asked. He never noticed when Italy approached ("Ve, are you alright France?"), or the fact that Japan was looking at the (blue) Frenchman with concern.

"He called in sick," another voice tried to cut in, but no one noticed.

"It's been a few days." Germany looked surprised by the realization. The American had been missing for a few days, yet no one had noticed? It was... Odd, to say in the least.

"Germany, what if America's hurt?" Italy whined.

"I told you, he's sick."

"Those burgers have probably already killed him!" England said gleefully.

"He's si-"

"What if there was another terrorist attack?"

"Fuck it."

"England should go check on him," Japan cut in.

England stared at the black haired man incredulously, loosening his fingers enough for the Frenchman to fall out of them and drop to the floor in a twitching heap. "What?"

"No one else here is as close to him as you are," Germany said haltingly.

"Except France, but I doubt he can do it right now, eh?"

No one noticed that last comment.

England glared at Japan, and the nation had enough decency to look embarassed.

"I'm not going," England said bluntly.






Which was how England found himself walking down the long hall towards the American's room, grumbling all the while.

Spirit and Soul [0a/?] - Prologue

[(Anonymous)]

this is the prologue. It’s a bit long, but it is needed to put down a believable background. Please do drop me some comments to let me know if it’s good enough to be continued…

Also, it will be mainly Gen, but it’ll have some soft pairings (US/UK, AmeIta, HRE/Chibitalia, FrUK, etc) but just how much these will appear… well, we’ll see how it goes, and what OP wants (are you reading, OP?)

---

Prologue

England sighed, flopping down next to the river and watching the salmons pass by.

This ‘new world’ he’d sailed to was truly a beautiful place, but the presence of France so close kept bothering him –he could barely walk around by himself and then, almost as if sensing he was searching for territories to claim, the French Frog would pop up, smiling and flirty, and all of England’s attempts at making a colony out of this continent were burned away.

‘Fucking frog –why didn’t I kick his ass harder last war?’

Tugging at the wide expense of clothes he was wearing, England stood up, stretching his back; he needed to go back to the camp, of course, but there would be France waiting for him.

“I should curse him” he muttered, grunting in pain when his naked foot hit a rock. “Damn frog, it’s all his fault anyway…”

Besides, there wasn’t just France. There was Spain, who kept bickering with Holland all the time, as the two didn’t want to share the new territories between each other (well, they would all be England’s anyway, so no need to fight over that!), and there was the cute kid, Italy was her name, somewhat related to France, brought over with a few humans of her own.

And Denmark. Damn the man, always following around Sweden and Finland –who by the way, were trying to build a summer house somewhere around there, too.

It was getting far too crowded at the camp!

Something rustled.

Looking up, he faltered. A creature of some sort, brownish in colour, was a few meters from him, dressed in bland, clear clothes, and was staring at him from inside a bush; the moment the small creature noticed his staring, he dove into the bush.

England froze.

The dark head peered up from the bushes, clearly keeping distance between the two of them, and England couldn’t see well, but he finally realised it wasn’t a creature, or an animal –it was a small child. A native.

This wasn’t the first time meeting with locals, of course, but he’d been quite fidgety when dealing with them –his people were both afraid and contemptuous, scared by the diversity, determined in considering the Natives as unworthy slaves, much like with the colonies of Africa, and England, despite never having been attacked before by one of them, was scarcely going to believe otherwise.

The fear for something different… it had always been present in his history, and it wasn’t easily ripped out.

Thankfully, England was also above petty things such as claiming that the natives were devils or demons, as many of his children thought lately, and all he wanted was to make sure they were friendly, before reporting things to his people.

He didn’t want to make things difficult either, so he forced himself to smile. He was just another ambassador, after all.

Besides, this was a child. There was nothing to be afraid of.

“Hello” he spoke clearly, cursing himself when he noticed the small figure in the bush flinch.

Of course, he then realised that there was no way the child would be able to understand him; the kid was probably only able to speak the language of his tribe, certainly not English, nor Spanish, French or Deutsch.

“Damn it” he muttered under his breath, reverting to his own speech.

He slowly lifted one hand in a salute, trying to not look threatening.

Spirit and Soul [0b/?] - Prologue

[(Anonymous)]

The small figure didn’t move from his spot, but the bushes rustled again, and after some painstakingly long minutes, it finally moved out, revealing himself to England’s eyes.

Yes, it was a kid –chubby and short, with skin of a pleasant mix of reddish and brown, exactly like the other natives’ skin had been, and the hair was of a dirty, darkish blond. The eyes were of a deep brown, and were wide with curiosity and quite a bit of fear.

“Uh… I… I don’t want to hurt you” England scrambled around for words, looking to the side and then down at his hands. “No hurt!” he repeated, stressing the words a bit.

The kid was still staring at him in confusion, but looked calmer. England allowed himself to relax as well, feeling something nagging in the back of his brain but ignoring it, choosing to stare at the kid instead.

Maybe he could bring a few natives back with him, to Europe, to show his people they didn’t pose danger to them…?

He looked cute, but England wasn’t sure he really wanted to take this kid to his world. Changing his life this way, without explanations, no, maybe it wasn’t the way to go.

Besides… besides…

He kneeled down, and gently offered a biscuit to the kid.

The small kid stared at him, then shook his head strongly, and jumped into the bush, disappearing in a moment.

England blinked, then sighed, standing up. He really needed to go back to the camp now.

………………………

“You’ve met a native? Wow, look at me, I’m shocked” France rolled his eyes and controlled that the fish on the fire wouldn’t get burnt. “What’s the deal? I’ve met a lot of them already, so what?”

“You–” England stood up, eyes flashing in anger, but then a figure rolled towards them, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and France’s mock irritation melted completely, his attention focusing on the small chubby girl running to him.

“Fratellone Francia~” the young state that was called Italy promptly shoved her hands towards France, and opening them wide, let the butterfly she’d been holding fly away, giggling in happiness.

France chuckled, watching the small girl bounce around. Turning to England, he smirked “she’s going to belong to me, in the end” he pointed towards the small girl.

“Pervert” England replied, snorting.

“Oui” was the answer he received.

Italy bounced away, chasing the colourful butterfly, and England steered conversation back to the point.

“I meant… your people. What do they think? Are they afraid?”

France’s amusement was drained away from his face. He sighed, rubbing at his chin. “Yes” he finally admitted, sitting back down next to the fire. His eyes followed the dancing of the small state, who was now running to her humans, holding flowers in her chubby fingers. “They’ve seen… things. These natives scare them, and they don’t like it”.

Both Nations remained in a quiet silence for a moment, knowing that fear brought out the worse behaviours in their people.

“I am afraid they’ll decide to fight them, and you’ve surely seen these natives’ weapons –they’re primitive, they would not do well against us”.

England clenched his teeth, not wanting to think about that.

He didn’t like thinking of such a war.

It was one thing when both sides were equally matched, but this way… based off of hatred and fear, it would be nothing short of massacre.

Besides, his humans wanted treasures. Gold, gems, silver… anything would do, as long as it could enrich them. He understood this, but if their seeking gold would bring them against the natives, then…

He didn’t want that.

Sharply, he turned his back to France, growling when the other nation asked him where he was going.

He needed his magic. Right now, he needed it.

Innocent

[(Anonymous)]

Original request:http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10530.html?thread=16319778#t16319778

Request was: Brit!Angel consensually turns America younger so that he and England can play out their shota fantasies.

This is complete and utter smut. With a tiny bit of story. And shota-con, if you hadn't figured that out yet.

Innocent [1/?]

[(Anonymous)]

England woke up feeling like he had distinctly done something magical. And it must have had something to do with Britannia Angel, if the sparkles and glitter in his hair were any indication. Someone must have made a really powerful wish- their heart’s desire, so to speak. Too bad he couldn’t remember who had made the wish. Then he could discreetly check up on them.

There was a body cuddling up next to him, and he curled around it, thinking it was America. Only… it was much too small to be America. His eyes shot open and he looked down at the body snuggled between his arms. Oh, it was America all right, only much, much younger. And dressed like he had been in the years before the Revolutionary War.

England almost reared back, but realized he would wake him up if he did. He looked as if he was thirteen or fourteen in body, before he shot up and got taller than England, but just old enough to be in the throes of those awkward teenage years, when the mind ran wild… And England’s mind was running wild.

How he remembered those days, when he denied the fact that he had wanted to touch so bad, to help along that neediness he’d seen in those eyes. He knew America used to wank off, because he’d found those stains on his sheets. He had touched them, and wondered if America had dreamed of him…

But that was years ago. And he wasn’t about to give in now. He already had America now, grown up America. There was need for him to fantasize about having sex with a fourteen-year old America. No need to wonder what those small hands would feel like on his body, what it would feel like to enter that body… oh, god…

That was when it dawned on him what had happened. Someone had made a wish to turn America back into a child and Britannia Angel had granted it. No, not just a child, a teenager with sexual needs and urges and England just so wanted to touch him…

But whose wish had it been? Had it been his inner, depraved wish that Britannia Angel had responded to? Or was it…?

America’s eyes opened, a clear blue not obscured by glasses, and smiled. “Hi, Arthur.”

“Hello,” he said stiffly. If Britannia Angel had made him younger, then it was quite a possibility that America didn’t have his memories. He thought it was the early 1700s, and that England was still his caretaker. England had to act befitting of that, and not give into the need to utterly ravish him.

That was why he had no idea what to do when America leaned in and kissed him. A tongue tentatively ran over his lips and he opened his mouth. The moment their tongues touched, something inside England snapped. He pinned America to the bed and utterly dominated that mouth, exploring every inch of that wet, hot cavern.

He drew back, a thread of saliva connecting their mouths. America was flushed, panting, and utterly young, splayed out under him. His hands were running all over that small body, feeling him through his clothes. It was like they had a mind of their own, and couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop until they had felt every square inch of his body, memorized it.

England pulled America’s shirt up, over his head, exposing the young flawless chest. It was at this point that England’s logic slammed on the metaphorical breaks and he hesitated, wondering if he really was going to touch this innocent virginal boy like this, was going to take advantage of America’s teenage neediness like this when he knew better.

“What’s the matter, Arthur?” America asked, panting. “Don’t you want me? Aren’t I good enough?” he asked, his bottom lip trembling like he was pouting. “I know I’m just a colony, but I need you, and then I can be yours forever.” England’s heart stopped beating for a few seconds, then started playing some sort of erratic solo in his chest. America gently grabbed his hands, so much larger hands, and pressed them to his chest.

England told the part of him protesting to shut the bloody fuck up as he leaned down and covered America’s stomach with kisses, tickling him. “I’ll take care of you, because I love you and want you, so very much.” Fingers flicked and teased America’s nipples, and he listened to the breathy moans and whispers of his name.

Part 4: Who's That, Su-san?

[(Anonymous)]

REQUEST: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=10258114#t10258114

Oh my, this is my third fill. GO ME. <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finland merely stood, soapy sponge held against a dirty plate midwash and boiling water burning his skin, not that he noticed. Finland was much too busy staring at Sweden and the little boy in the doorway (the child's name being Sealand, if he was not mistaken).

"Su-san...who is that?" Sweden glanced down at Sealand for the first time since they came in the house (as if he didn't know he was there, the jerk).

"Th's S'l'nd. I b'ght 'm off th' 'nern't."

Finland paled. "B-bought him?!" Sweden offered a grunt in response, leaving Finland to stew in his confusion and suspicion.

Sweden was...replacing him? With England's clone? The very nerve...!

"Su-san, what were you thinking?? You're replacing me because I don't want to be your wife? I can still love you even if you're not my husband! Surely a prostitute wouldn--"

"S'our n'w son."

"...What!?"

"Y'seem l'ke y'feel l'n'ly w'th j'st us two h're, so I'th'ght we c'uld 've ch'ldr'n." Sweden offered a small shrug as if to end his statement.

"That means you're my new mama, Finland!"

"Our own child...?" He couldn't help the stupified expression that fell onto his face, quickly shocked back to reality by taking note of his scalding hands, Finland retracting them with a yelp of pain.

Sealand scurried to Finland's side, standing on the tips of his toes in order to turn the faucet off. "Be careful! Mama's sure careless, huh, Papa?"

"I-I'm not Su-san's wife!"


Thus, the parenthood of Sweden and Finland begins.

Re: Part 4: Who's That, Su-san?

[(Anonymous)]

CACKLESSSS


OH HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE that was hilariouss

Part 4: My Name is Sealand, Please Marry Me, Poland!

[(Anonymous)]

REQUEST: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/6850.html?thread=9128386#t9128386

Anon is on a roooooooll.
----------------------------------------------------

Light blonde hair styled fashionably.

The voice of an angel.

A figure any woman would envy.

And the most dazzling eyes Sealand had ever seen.

She was perfect.

Poland, as he had learned her name was only a short time ago, was the most beautiful creature that had ever walked the planet, as far as Sealand was concerned. He'd never had the opportunity to properly meet her (yet), but he planned to soon. Very soon indeed.

From his place under a bush Sealand could only discern Poland's gorgeous legs and the pants and shoes of a uniform, probably belonging to that faggot Lithuania.

Lithuania (or "Liet" as Poland addressed him) was the one thing standing between Sealand and True Love. After gossiping with Hungary for a while (as a nation it was his duty to know all about world affairs, and Hungary was more than willing to divulge such information), Sealand learned that Poland and Lithuania had been friends since childhood, and that their relationship was so "moe". Sealand wasn't sure, but he suspected that "moe" was a very bad thing. With determination, Sealand vowed that his marriage to Poland would be the most un-"moe" thing in the universe, and that they'd live happily ever after FOREVER.

As he watched Poland and Lithuania (or their legs) converse, he realized that not only was watching and waiting very, very boring, it got him no closer to True Love.

With that, Sealand promptly launched himself from the bush, landing on his chin a good five feet away from the two.

"W-what, what is...?"

"Like, whoa, Liet, check out this kid."

Sealand shakily looked up into the face of Poland, her eyes appearing as lidded emeralds to him. This was his chance! Sealand hastily scrambled to his feet, dusting off his clothes as he spoke. "Hey! I'm Sealand, and I'm a really awesome nation! Poland, I love you, will you marry me?!"

In contrast to Sealand's youthful vigor, Lithuania could only be described as one suffering from cardiac arrest who was already sickly in the first place, and is also possibly confused as to why the heart attack was occuring.

Poland, however, offered her sweet little smile and knelt down a bit. "Oh my God, Liet, isn't he so cute? I'll like, totally marry you when you're older, 'cause you're like...really young right now."

"Poland, you shouldn't go around saying things like that..."

"Shut up, Lithuania! She said she's gonna marry me, so stop interfering with True Love!"

"Haha see, Liet? He's so incredibly cute~" Leaning over, Poland pressed a kiss to Sealand's forehead. "There ya go. Now go grow up, like, okay, Prince Charming?"

Sealand flushed deeply as he radiated more determination. "I'm gonna grow up so fast, Poland! I'll be the coolest, biggest nation ever, and then we'll get married! Bye!!" With that, Sealand ran off to who-knows-where, most likely to grow up into the coolest, biggest nation ever.


Poland stood up again and chuckled as he flipped his hair. "I like, love playing house."

"I think he was serious, Poland."

"Whatevs, Liet. You just don't get it."

Lithuania sighed, secretly wishing that Sealand would stay a micro-nation and never grow old enough to wed.

Re: Part 4: My Name is Sealand, Please Marry Me, Poland!

[(Anonymous)]

"With determination, Sealand vowed that his marriage to Poland would be the most un-"moe" thing in the universe, and that they'd live happily ever after FOREVER."

You're kind of awesome, anon.

The Mouse and the Angel(?) Part 1 of ?

[(Anonymous)]

Soo...this was requested here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/9482.html?page=23#comments (Near the bottom of the page) and...well...being the Gilbo fangirl that I am I had to add another fill. Holly =/= anon, however. And I'm working on not making her sue-ish. It's hard.
----

“You look like an angel. Welcome to Earth.”

Gilbert looked up from his drink. Beside him stood a pretty-enough girl, probably in her early or mid twenties, blushing like no tomorrow.

“What?”

The girl’s blush darkened, surpassing the unnatural cherry-red of her hair. She flicked her gray eyes away for a moment (Gilbert followed her gaze and saw a group of laughing, similarly-aged women) before returning to Gilbert.

“M-may a thorn s-s-sit among roses?”

Gilbert picked up on the game and gently wrapped long, pale fingers around the girl’s arm.

“Of course, my lady,” he said, gently pulling her into his lap. She squeaked quietly, but let him any ways.

“What’s your name?” he murmured huskily in her ear. She was too tense. Gently he rubbed circles on her lower back.

“H-Holly,” she managed, “Holly Weiss.”

“Holly…that’s a pretty name…what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Her perfume was nice. Citrus and jasmine.

“Girl’s night out,” Holly said, trying to move so she was comfortable on Gilbert’s bony lap, “…sorry, but you’re kind of a dare…”

“I thought so…what’re the rules.”

“They pick the hottest guy in the room. I have to…”

She ducked her head in embarrassment. Gilbert lifted her chin with two fingers.

“Have to what, lieb?”

“Pick him up using cheesy pickup lines.”

“Ah, lieb…kleiner maus…I think you’ve won your dare…”

He kissed her lips gently, tasting a hint of watermelon.

“What else have you got?”

“What are you doing at 3am?” asked Holly, straddling Gilbert’s knee at last. He wrapped his arms around her and shifted his knee slightly, making the red head gasp.

“You, hopefully. You want to go back to my hotel?”

Holly paused, and Gilbert followed the path of a single red lock of hair down her neck to her collar bone, from her collar bone to her cleavage.

“…alright,” she finally said, a little breathless.

“Awesome,” Gilbert said, kissing her a little less than chastely as he slammed some money down on the bar. Who cared if it was twice as much as his drink cost? He had a pretty and willing red head in his lap!

“Wait, I need— ”

“Do you have a coat?”

“Yes, I-- ”

“Take care of your friends. I’m staying at the Hotel Northampton. What’s your coat check number?”

“Seventy-eight. Meet you at the door?”

“You got it, lieb.”

They met up at the door, as promised, and he helped her put on her black woolen coat. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the chilly December night towards the hotel. He punched the elevator button a little harder than necessary, then half-shoved her into the car.


“You look sweet. Can I have a taste?” he asked, pinning her to the back wall. Gilbert’s hand slid up her thigh.


“Of course,” Holly said, placing a wet kiss on his neck. Gilbert purred and attacked her neck, leaving a trail of bites down her neck.


“Do you mind if I leave marks?”


“Nnngh…n-no…”
-----

((Narf. Posted this in part 8 'cause I'm a newbish-newb. -sighs- but it's here now!))

Re: The Mouse and the Angel(?) Part 1 of ?

[(Anonymous)]

Mary sue or not, I'm all about seeing Gilbert get some hot, straight action for a change. Please continue. Things are definitely heating up.

Part 7 - US/UK

[(Anonymous)]

Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=21913552#t21913552

England and America have been together for a while and England has been reluctant from the start to make it public knowledge. America is convinced that it's because England is ashamed of him and so he decides to just ask England in the form of a random 'what if' ways what England would change about him if he could. England thinks that America is joking or just fishing for compliments and so proceeds to give a big long list of things that he would change (though honestly he just makes half of the stuff up on the spot). America takes the list as England's word and begins to try and change the things on the list. At first England rather likes it but when it starts to get up towards bigger and bigger changes he's like WTF stop I want my America back. And then the truth comes out.

Bonus: England didn't want to share because he wanted something that was just there's...since he has to share America with the rest of the world on every other level more often then not.
Bonus #2: When the truth does become public knowledge they get the biggest non-reaction ever because most of the nations had just assumed they'd been together for decades.

Change the World! 1a/?

[(Anonymous)]

America glanced meaningfully out of the corner of his eye at England for the umpteenth time that meeting and waggled his brows suggestively when the irritable nation turned to hiss “stop it” at him. Not deterred, America reached under the table and squeezed England’s thigh, only to have his hand slapped away for his trouble. He jutted out his lip in what he knew was an adorable pout, but England didn’t even bat an eye and merely grunted noncommittally. Thus, America decided to settle for holding England’s hand, but even that privilege was denied when England yanked his hand away and folded them mercilessly in his lap. America stared dejectedly down at his notes and ignored whatever Japan was saying about the supposed top issues.

After all, what did he care about global warming when there was the much more pressing issue of convincing his lover to make their relationship public?

And why not? They had confessed to their love months before, only to spend the time after sneaking around and acting nonchalant later. America had been ready to announce to the world that England was his and only his, so hands off, but England had other plans. When confronted about it, England had refused to mention just why he wasn’t ready to tell the world that he loved America, and either changed the subject or shut America’s mouth up with his.

The meeting adjourned and America dashed out to wait in the hallway, or more specifically to wait for England, who he grabbed and shoved into the nearest closet, immediately crushing his mouth to the island nation’s.

“Ameri-mm,” England hummed, any questions or protests dissolving into the kiss he pressed eagerly back against America’s demanding lips, his hands tangling in wheat golden locks and pulling closer.

“England,” America panted, getting only a groan in reply, and moved his ministrations from England’s mouth down to his neck and worked his way up to kiss at England’s eyelids. “Why don’t you want to tell everyone that we’re together?”

England, panting and flushed, stared at America with half-lidded eyes. “The bloody hell’s with the eyelid kissing?”

England was changing the subject again, but America decided to play along and shrugged. “It’s romantic,” he said simply and did it again.

The older nation snorted. “You? Romantic?”

“Damn straight,” America said with a smirk, and resumed his exploration of England’s face and neck. “It’s the Hollywood in me.”

“Ha! Bloody Holly--ah. Hollywood. You and your ghastly movies--oh yes, right there!” England gasped as America hit a particularly sensitive spot on his neck.

“You know you love it,” the younger nation murmured against England’s throat and decided to take his exploration down south with his hands, the moan he earned music to his ears.

“I never…said anything of the sort,” England managed to say between gasping breaths and started tugging off America’s tie. “Pants off. Now.”

America was all too happy to comply.

-----

Not that he minded random sex in storage closets, especially since England was hot when he was needy, but he hadn’t been lying when he said he could be romantic. It really was the Hollywood in him that enjoyed corny love stories and wanted a happily ever after with his true love. He knew England was his true love, but he couldn’t have his happily ever after if he had to keep that love a secret from his boss and fellow nations. He wanted to be able to hold England’s hand in front of others and kiss him more often than just when they were behind closed doors.

He wanted England to be as proud of their relationship as he was, but he had the sneaking suspicion that that was just the problem. England was ashamed of him and their relationship, and didn’t want to confess that he was in love with such a bumbling idiot.

That Hollywood need for a happy ending was striking with a vengeance inside him, and America thought he would change whatever bothered England about him to make him happy and proud of him. He had to do it, he needed to do it.

Due pomodori (Two tomatoes) [Lovino/Lovina][1/3]

[(Anonymous)]

Request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=18325200#t18325200
Romano x Romano I don't care how you do it. Just make it have alot of pronz

Hope vague pronz and more foreplay is okay op. And that it was fine for genderbending. Human names cuz it's how I roll~

She’s smaller than him, which shouldn’t surprise him. Smaller and curvier, though not as much as her sister. Though that might be simply because unlike her sister, Lovina wears her clothes loose, knee length skirts and tops buttoned up so there’s only the briefest hint of cleavage. Lovino still thinks she’s beautiful, though that’s rather narcissistic. She is him after all, merely in a woman’s body. He’s beginning to see why Antonio finds his blushes so cute.

“What the fuck are you staring at dammit,” Lovina swears, glaring at him from the couch. In the background he can hear the others talking, some getting along, some not. If he listens hard enough he can hear both of the England’s arguing over who caused this. Shrugging, Lovino steps further into the room, kicking the door shut. As a peace offering he holds up a bottle of wine, and rolling her eyes Lovina shifts, making room for her alternate.

They start with glasses, and yet in the end they simply swig from it, the bottle being passed back and forth. Lovina’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes slightly unfocused as she curls up against him, murmuring in a mix of English, Italian and even the occasional Spanish word will slip in. Lovino nods, slowly sipping from the bottle, his fingers somehow finding their way into her hair, dragging themselves through the loose curls.

Lovina sighs softly, letting her head flop onto his chest and Lovino wonders if she can hear the way his heart speeds up, the blush on his cheeks now caused by embarrassment and not alcohol. It’s been awhile since he’s had a girl draped over him, decades actually. And even then, he doesn’t remember them being so warm, so soft or that they smelled so good. Lovina smells of lavender, and lowering his head Lovino nuzzles her curls, chin bumping against the headband she wears.

There’s a stifled moan as she shivers, Lovina’s hands curling in his shirt as she wiggles slightly, brushing against her thigh. Lovino swallows, shifting back as he feels himself stiffen slightly. His body’s humming, she’s so closed, white teeth pressed into pale pink lips as she sits up. Lovino’s captivated, even as he apologises, “S-Sorr-”

She cuts him off, those pale pink lips pressed against him, Lovina straddling his legs. With a muffled groan, Lovino pulls her closer, shuddering when his alternate sits down his lap, pressed against his groin. Lovina keeps kissing him, one arm around his shoulders as the other pulls her headband off. Her hand then guides his fingers to the hair curl that bounces free, forcing him to hold it before she strokes his. Together they moan, her fingers rolling his curl while he strokes hers, both of them grinding against each other.

He’s the first to let go, clumsy fingers undoing her shirt as his tongue slips into her mouth, Lovina moaning her approval. They leave the top to hang loosely off her shoulders, Lovino breaking the kiss to press his lips to her collarbone, running shaky fingers along the edge of her pale pink bra. Lovina’s sigh is soft as she presses his hand against her breast, undoing the front clip of the brassiere, shuddering when Lovino pushes the cups away from her breasts, cupping one as his thumb swipes over the nipple. One, two, three more soft rubs and it’s hard and he lowers his head to suck slowly on it.

“F-fuck!” Lovina’s hands tug at his hair, her spine arching but the Italian man ignores her, switching to the other breast. Lovina cries out again, slipping into Italian as she manages to tear a hand away to rip open his top, pushing him back against the couch, her lips crashing against his and her own hands explore his chest.

Due pomodori (Two tomatoes) [Lovino/Lovina][2/3]

[(Anonymous)]

Shuddering, Lovino lifts her, bringing Lovina to her knees. The girl whines as he kisses underneath her breasts, shifting even though there’s nothing to grind against. She mewls when his tongue slips into her belly button, swirling as his hands push her skirt up. Meeting soft cotton, he hooks his fingers into her panties, dragging them down, encouraged by her soft, “Sì… sì… per favore!” ’s

Once the underwear reaches her knees Lovina stands, letting them fall to the ground, stepping out of heels she’s stubbornly clung to. She’s so sexy, cheeks flushed, hair a mess from where he’s run his hands through it and her shirt and bra hanging off her chest. With a groan, Lovino forces himself to move, undoing his belt as she straddles his legs again.

“L-let me…” Lovina murmurs, Lovino nodding wordlessly as his alternate pulls his pants down, pausing at his boxers. A blush spreads across her cheeks, her teeth tugging at her now red lips, bruised from their kissing. He’s not an idiot, he can tell that for all her impulsive actions, she has no clue what she’s doing. If she really is him, it’s been a long time since she’s slept with a man, if she ever has.

“H-hey…” he starts to say, before kissing her again, softer this time. She’s him, he’s knows how fragile they are even if they won’t ever admit it. She meets his eyes when they pull apart, Lovino still cupping her face. Gently Lovina’s fingers press against his own cheek before returning to his boxers. The fabric is dragged off slowly, Lovina holding Lovino’s gaze even as her hands slip between his thighs, teasing the soft skin of his thighs. Lovino groans, hand slipping under Lovina’s skirt in retaliation, holding her tight as he leans forward to grab a condom out of his wallet.

He fiddles with the foil square as he sits back, hand slipping down the back of her thigh, resting behind her knee. Fingers stroke the skin there gently, Lovina moaning as her alternate kisses her softly. Shivering, her fingers cling to Lovino’s shirt, biting his lip gently before she pulls back. “H-hurry up d-dammit.”

Rolling his eyes, Lovino brings the foil square to his teeth ripping it open, catching the condom as Lovina shifts back to give him room. She watches, fascinated as he rolls it on, stifling a groan. His hand now free he grabs her behind her other knee, pulling her closer, the tip of his erection rubbing against her wet folds. Lovina shudders, hands on his shoulders as she shifts before pressing down slowly, Lovino catching her lips to muffle to soft moan that slips.

There’s the slightest hint of resistance, but the end she settled in his lap, panting softly and so is Lovino. She’s so tight, tight and warm and it’s been so long, he’s half missed this, even if he has Antonio. Lovina presses against her chest, Lovino’s hand firmly on her ass, groping it slightly as she rocks before lifting slightly. Then he holds on to her hips, tongue slipping into her mouth as he guides her down.

Lovina’s hold on his shoulders becomes progressively tighter the faster they move, the girl eventually bouncing in his lips. Through their groans and pants they managed to push out stuttered Italian swears, until Lovina’s mouth crashes down onto his. Not that Lovino’s complaining, as he digs his hand into her hair, thrusting into her tightness. He’s going crazy, or maybe he was already this mad. He is fucking his fucking alternate, himself, as a woman, and can you get more insane and self absorbed then that?

The Final Dream

[(Anonymous)]

Original request : http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/10960.html?thread=22245072#t22245072

Hetalia / Sailor Moon Crossover / Fusion

I would just love fanart/fancomics, but fic and such is fine too.

The Final Dream (Oneshot)

[(Anonymous)]

At the very last, he dreams.

He dreams of waking up to the sound of a cockoo clock, next to his brother, while the curtains wave in the breeze, and running down to eat breakfast while said brother grumbles.

He dreams of his allies - former allies, Germany sternly and stoically dealing with the mountains of paperwork as usual, while Japan takes turns arranging flowers and relaxing in the onsen and drawing stuff all night while somehow managing to make the paperwork go away in the interim anyway. They walk in the sun, all three of them, eating lunch on the way to whatever meeting that awaits, and it somehow turns into a bragging session about their various automobiles.

He dreams that Prussia is alive again - Well, why not? It was his dream - And glaring at them from behind the Wall. Behind him is Poland, looking much healthier then when he saw him last. Hungary is somewhere behind that Wall, too, sometimes looking over her part of the Wall in Austria's direction, who's somehow alive, too. And he's sure that Lithuania and the rest are all there too, somehow.

Russia is still scary and powerful and power-mad in his dream, except that his Boss is stupider in some ways, and Russia and America's breakup comes much sooner, with America doing the Hero thing with all his might to save West Berlin from being taken over. The others help, too, though America takes center stage as usual.

Not that anybody minds, as long as he's actually being helpful.

Germany smiles a lot, in his dream. His House is much smaller then it used to be, but then, it's his, since the former Allies aren't ruling it any more, and he doesn't have to share it with anybody else, either, with Austria back in his own House and Prussia behind the Wall. (Well, most of the Providences have some kind of room in his House in case of emergencies, but that's different - It's not like most of them live with him ordinarily, after all) He works hard and takes care of his dogs and sometimes comes out to drink with them, and that seems to make him happy.

He smiles as his body collapses into the ice, the shining crystal in his hands falling to his chest, the light growing and growing and growing...

And somewhere, someplace, North Italy wakes up next to his brother, while the cuckoo clock chimes.