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(This is a model request. Please follow this format when requesting yourself: Pairing/character(s) and kink/prompt in subject line, BRIEF elaboration in message -- stay under 200 words and 3 bonuses. Historical background or definition of words, which can be removed without changing the prompt itself, won't count toward the limit.)
I'm requesting something humorous involving the above. Doesn't have to have smut, but smut would be nice.
I'm requesting something humorous involving the above. Doesn't have to have smut, but smut would be nice.
Hello new part!
Because Germany's that type of man to have a flower garden.
And Prussia's that type of brother to pin his brother down in his prize garden and fuck him into the dirt.
Because Germany's that type of man to have a flower garden.
And Prussia's that type of brother to pin his brother down in his prize garden and fuck him into the dirt.
Nation A is learning to deep-throat. I want it as realistic as possible, with gag reflex acting up, Nation B being unable to control his hips from bucking more than once, needing several sexual encounters to get it right, and each new millimetre Nation A manages to slid in makes Nation B even more turned on, which often makes things harder pun not intended as his cock gets bigger and harder, and it twitches, more precome floods, etc.
When Nation A finally gets to swallow the whole thing down, their partner is beyond turned on. They can come on his face, inside his throat, or even switch to penetration, I don’t care.
I’d prefer to see this with any pairing but Russia/Baltic, Spamano, or GerIta.
When Nation A finally gets to swallow the whole thing down, their partner is beyond turned on. They can come on his face, inside his throat, or even switch to penetration, I don’t care.
I’d prefer to see this with any pairing but Russia/Baltic, Spamano, or GerIta.
i was thinking about prussia/hungary for this, unless you wanted it to be male/male (in which i'd say england/america)?
I want Spain being raped by Nation A. Anyone but Netherlands, France and Prussia is except able.
bonus: Nation A is Germany
Bonus2: Spain begging for more so he won't think of the pain.
bonus3: humiliation (i.e. name calling, and humiliating acts)
bonus: Nation A is Germany
Bonus2: Spain begging for more so he won't think of the pain.
bonus3: humiliation (i.e. name calling, and humiliating acts)
Through the fog of half-sleep, Spain could hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway towards his bedroom. He rolled over and burrowed deeper under the quilt; he was warm, he was sleepy and he’d get round to getting his tomatoes later. He closed his eyes and settled to try and get back to sleep again.
The door opened and the footsteps moved across his bedroom floor, the door closing quietly behind. Antonio decided to ignore this as well; he didn’t even stir when another weight moved over the bed towards him. The quilt was pulled back and he blindly groped for it, wanting to bring the warmth back. A pair of calloused hands caressed his skin and he forced his eyes open, thinking that Romano had finally come home.
He turned to face the other person on his bed, a smile appearing on his face.
“Germany?” he said sleepily, his eyes still bleary from sleep.
Germany traced Antonio’s jaw line with one hand and leant in to claim his mouth in a kiss. Antonio’s eyes went wide as Ludwig sucked on the nation’s lower lip, forced his tongue in past the other man’s teeth.
“What are you doing?” he asked when Germany pulled away.
Germany’s reply was to pin Spain down onto the bed, straddling his hips. He gripped Antonio’s chin and pushed his head back, making him face the headboard, “Smile for the camera, Antonio.”
Antonio blinked a couple of times before focussing on the steady rhythm of the flashing light on a camera perched on top of the headboard. How long had that been there?
Ludwig took advantage of Antonio’s distraction, managing to undress him. Mostly. Unfortunately for him, Antonio wasn’t so oblivious that he wouldn’t notice someone removing his clothing.
“Germany, what’s going on?” he asked, a hint of fear seeping into his voice. He noticed another blinking light on the other side of the room. Why was he being filmed?
“Just stay quiet and you’ll be fine,” said Ludwig quietly, managing to remove the rest of Spain’s clothing.
Antonio tried to pull away from Ludwig, tried to hide himself. He actually really hated people seeing him naked, except if it was Lovino.
Germany discarded his own clothes quickly enough and repositioned the struggling Spain and ran his hands over the other nation’s chest. He thought of how many times his brother had bedded Spain and bragged about it.
Talk about following in his brother’s footsteps.
Antonio cried out in pain when Ludwig inserted two fingers and scissored them, stretching him the same way Gilbert always did. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away as Germany pushed in a third finger, quickly followed by another.
“Remember to smile for the cameras, Antonio. You look so much nicer when you smile,” said Ludwig.
Antonio shook his head, “There’s nothing to smile about. You’re hurting me!”
Germany kissed him again and spread his legs apart, positioning himself between them, “Then I’ll give you something to smile about.”
The door opened and the footsteps moved across his bedroom floor, the door closing quietly behind. Antonio decided to ignore this as well; he didn’t even stir when another weight moved over the bed towards him. The quilt was pulled back and he blindly groped for it, wanting to bring the warmth back. A pair of calloused hands caressed his skin and he forced his eyes open, thinking that Romano had finally come home.
He turned to face the other person on his bed, a smile appearing on his face.
“Germany?” he said sleepily, his eyes still bleary from sleep.
Germany traced Antonio’s jaw line with one hand and leant in to claim his mouth in a kiss. Antonio’s eyes went wide as Ludwig sucked on the nation’s lower lip, forced his tongue in past the other man’s teeth.
“What are you doing?” he asked when Germany pulled away.
Germany’s reply was to pin Spain down onto the bed, straddling his hips. He gripped Antonio’s chin and pushed his head back, making him face the headboard, “Smile for the camera, Antonio.”
Antonio blinked a couple of times before focussing on the steady rhythm of the flashing light on a camera perched on top of the headboard. How long had that been there?
Ludwig took advantage of Antonio’s distraction, managing to undress him. Mostly. Unfortunately for him, Antonio wasn’t so oblivious that he wouldn’t notice someone removing his clothing.
“Germany, what’s going on?” he asked, a hint of fear seeping into his voice. He noticed another blinking light on the other side of the room. Why was he being filmed?
“Just stay quiet and you’ll be fine,” said Ludwig quietly, managing to remove the rest of Spain’s clothing.
Antonio tried to pull away from Ludwig, tried to hide himself. He actually really hated people seeing him naked, except if it was Lovino.
Germany discarded his own clothes quickly enough and repositioned the struggling Spain and ran his hands over the other nation’s chest. He thought of how many times his brother had bedded Spain and bragged about it.
Talk about following in his brother’s footsteps.
Antonio cried out in pain when Ludwig inserted two fingers and scissored them, stretching him the same way Gilbert always did. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away as Germany pushed in a third finger, quickly followed by another.
“Remember to smile for the cameras, Antonio. You look so much nicer when you smile,” said Ludwig.
Antonio shook his head, “There’s nothing to smile about. You’re hurting me!”
Germany kissed him again and spread his legs apart, positioning himself between them, “Then I’ll give you something to smile about.”
Alfred and Arthur are married and have a five year old son. Alfred wants to take Arthur on their second honeymoon, so asks a few of his fellow nations to watch over his son while they’re away. Not a difficult task, right? However, since Arthur is a spell-castor, his son has been granted his own magical gifts and he starts to use them on the other countries.
And all hell breaks loose!
Bonus: Alfred and Arthur ring up once in a while to check up on how things are doing and the others fumble with excuses
Bonus 2: None of the others are willing to evoke the wrath of witch!Arthur by telling him his son is cursing everyone
Bonus 3: The son turns some of the nations into hamsters or rabbits (Something cute and fluffy)
And all hell breaks loose!
Bonus: Alfred and Arthur ring up once in a while to check up on how things are doing and the others fumble with excuses
Bonus 2: None of the others are willing to evoke the wrath of witch!Arthur by telling him his son is cursing everyone
Bonus 3: The son turns some of the nations into hamsters or rabbits (Something cute and fluffy)
(deleted comment)
Italy or Romano as a child is scared of a "monster" hiding under their bed. Austria or Spain doesn't see it and assure the child that there is nothing to be worried about.
Night comes, and the monster comes out to play. Filler is free to do what they wish but it has to involve penetration.
Night comes, and the monster comes out to play. Filler is free to do what they wish but it has to involve penetration.
OMG LOL! Seconded!
Yep.
I want Spain stalking Romano, and being mad at him for having a romantic relationship with nation A. I want Spain to rape Romano while he's alone, and helpless. Then, Nation A comforts Romano.
bonus: Nation A is France, Prussia, or England.
bonus2: Spain gets payback somehow.
I want Spain stalking Romano, and being mad at him for having a romantic relationship with nation A. I want Spain to rape Romano while he's alone, and helpless. Then, Nation A comforts Romano.
bonus: Nation A is France, Prussia, or England.
bonus2: Spain gets payback somehow.
SPAIN gets payback? Didn't you mean Romano, since he was the one stalked and raped? O.o
Anon is searching for some delicious crack pairings (and their children) and their daily lives. How they live together, interact, and be a family. How they do things like world meetings, dating, little league games, kids starting to date; ect.
For example: Parents Ireland and Sweden, kid Korea. Parents Belarus and Turkey, kids Spain and Hong Kong. Get creative with the match ups.
Bonus: Parents giving their child ‘The Talk.’
Bonus Two: People standing by and wondering WTF happened there.
For example: Parents Ireland and Sweden, kid Korea. Parents Belarus and Turkey, kids Spain and Hong Kong. Get creative with the match ups.
Bonus: Parents giving their child ‘The Talk.’
Bonus Two: People standing by and wondering WTF happened there.
It had all started with a party at Arthur's. A couple of beers, okay a dozen or so beers, a really cute brunette, awesome sex and then a drunken sleep.
That's how most of the party's Matthew used to attend went.
Of course being that it was one of Arthur's parties he should have known something fucked up would happen.
Four months later he gets a call from someone named Toris, whom he doesn't remember until the other reminds him about the party. Not really minding Matthew thought the call was to hook up again, he didn't usually date but the guy was cute. He didn't however expect to be told he was going to be a father. After all he distinctly remembered a penis and boys didn't get pregnant so wtf right?
Then again Arthur's parties always ended up weird, like the time Gilbert was turned into a frog. Everyone had just chalked that up to drunkeness though and pretended it never happened. They also pretended Tino's sudden growing of a rather impressive beard in seconds, Eli's growing of a penis and the subsequent sexing up of all most everyone attending, and of course THE incident where Arthur had suddenly grown wings and proclaimed himself an angel before turning everyone into the opposite sex. All these events, and more, were chalked up to drunken parties as there was never any lasting hint that they had happened.
When Toris showed up at his door a week later with a very obvious belly, Matthew wondered if maybe the occurrences at those parties was more than a dream.
The poor guy was hysterical of course, but Matthew being the gentleman that he was promised to do the responsible thing and take care of Toris.
Of course he never expected to fall in love with Toris on the way, nor did he expect to actually come to adore his children when they were born.
Ivan and Vash were the jewels of his life even though they had the oddest personalities as babies.
His friends of course were all very shocked and a few had even passed out when he announced happily that the babies were born.
Life was great, they were a happy family. Ivan was into ballet, and Vash excelled in wrestling and archery, with a passion for guns. No one really seemed to mind that the boys had two dads, as long as it wasn't mentioned how the boys were born.
Speaking of born though, everything had been peachy and perfect until this moment as Matthew stared down at his sons. Ivan looked back up at him with big curious purple eyes and Vash with narrowed green eyes. They were ten and had just asked him about sex.
"Well boys when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much. . .they do things and babies come from those things."
"What things?" Vash asked briskly his eyes not leaving Matthews.
Ivan was a little shyer with his response. "You mean things like sex right?"
Matthew nodded and rubbed his neck. "Yes, sex."
But of course that wasn't good enough for Vash. "How does that work?"
"Well a mommy has a uh bust and a daddy a hose. . .when daddy's hose water's the bush babies, like flowers, sometimes grow."
"But babies are in the belly. . ."
"Yes Ivan, that's were the seed is planted."
Vash's frown told Matthew he was thinking deeply. "But Mommy has a hose too, so how were we grown?"
Trust Vash to come up with the hard questions. "Well you know uncle Arthur?" Both boys nodded. "Well some times crazy things happen at uncle Arthur's house and we don't talk about them or how they defy logic."
That seemed to puzzle both boys as they stared at him and then each other. "But-" Ivan began, but was interrupted by Toris coming in.
"I made cookies~" That had the twins rushing toward Toris the question of the birds and the bees forgotten, at least for the moment. Matthew couldn't help but bless his husband's timing as he began to think of a way to explain exactly how the boys had come to be born. He wasn't dumb enough to think that they would just forget the question.
Briefly he wondered if a simple 'crazy things happen at your uncle Arthur's parties' would be enough, or maybe he should send them to Arthur's house for an explanation. Then again. . .he didn't want them traumatized.
Oh well for now cookies.
-
This was probably some kind of huge fail but I hoped that OP enjoyed, at least until a better fill comes around.
That's how most of the party's Matthew used to attend went.
Of course being that it was one of Arthur's parties he should have known something fucked up would happen.
Four months later he gets a call from someone named Toris, whom he doesn't remember until the other reminds him about the party. Not really minding Matthew thought the call was to hook up again, he didn't usually date but the guy was cute. He didn't however expect to be told he was going to be a father. After all he distinctly remembered a penis and boys didn't get pregnant so wtf right?
Then again Arthur's parties always ended up weird, like the time Gilbert was turned into a frog. Everyone had just chalked that up to drunkeness though and pretended it never happened. They also pretended Tino's sudden growing of a rather impressive beard in seconds, Eli's growing of a penis and the subsequent sexing up of all most everyone attending, and of course THE incident where Arthur had suddenly grown wings and proclaimed himself an angel before turning everyone into the opposite sex. All these events, and more, were chalked up to drunken parties as there was never any lasting hint that they had happened.
When Toris showed up at his door a week later with a very obvious belly, Matthew wondered if maybe the occurrences at those parties was more than a dream.
The poor guy was hysterical of course, but Matthew being the gentleman that he was promised to do the responsible thing and take care of Toris.
Of course he never expected to fall in love with Toris on the way, nor did he expect to actually come to adore his children when they were born.
Ivan and Vash were the jewels of his life even though they had the oddest personalities as babies.
His friends of course were all very shocked and a few had even passed out when he announced happily that the babies were born.
Life was great, they were a happy family. Ivan was into ballet, and Vash excelled in wrestling and archery, with a passion for guns. No one really seemed to mind that the boys had two dads, as long as it wasn't mentioned how the boys were born.
Speaking of born though, everything had been peachy and perfect until this moment as Matthew stared down at his sons. Ivan looked back up at him with big curious purple eyes and Vash with narrowed green eyes. They were ten and had just asked him about sex.
"Well boys when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much. . .they do things and babies come from those things."
"What things?" Vash asked briskly his eyes not leaving Matthews.
Ivan was a little shyer with his response. "You mean things like sex right?"
Matthew nodded and rubbed his neck. "Yes, sex."
But of course that wasn't good enough for Vash. "How does that work?"
"Well a mommy has a uh bust and a daddy a hose. . .when daddy's hose water's the bush babies, like flowers, sometimes grow."
"But babies are in the belly. . ."
"Yes Ivan, that's were the seed is planted."
Vash's frown told Matthew he was thinking deeply. "But Mommy has a hose too, so how were we grown?"
Trust Vash to come up with the hard questions. "Well you know uncle Arthur?" Both boys nodded. "Well some times crazy things happen at uncle Arthur's house and we don't talk about them or how they defy logic."
That seemed to puzzle both boys as they stared at him and then each other. "But-" Ivan began, but was interrupted by Toris coming in.
"I made cookies~" That had the twins rushing toward Toris the question of the birds and the bees forgotten, at least for the moment. Matthew couldn't help but bless his husband's timing as he began to think of a way to explain exactly how the boys had come to be born. He wasn't dumb enough to think that they would just forget the question.
Briefly he wondered if a simple 'crazy things happen at your uncle Arthur's parties' would be enough, or maybe he should send them to Arthur's house for an explanation. Then again. . .he didn't want them traumatized.
Oh well for now cookies.
-
This was probably some kind of huge fail but I hoped that OP enjoyed, at least until a better fill comes around.
Fem!America seduces Japan but when they actually go to have sex, Japan finds out that Fem!USA is a virgin.
Bonus 1-They have slow, gentle sex anyways.
Bonus 2- Fem!America wears inappropriate underwear (crotchless panties, garter belt, whatever…)
Bonus 1-They have slow, gentle sex anyways.
Bonus 2- Fem!America wears inappropriate underwear (crotchless panties, garter belt, whatever…)
Seconded! Sounds pretty cute.
An inanimate object rapes Spain. Can be any object.
Spain was walking through his house one sunny day when he thought he heard a noise. Turning towards the source, all he saw was a banana laying on a table next to a lamp. He just shrugged and kept walking.
In the living room, he heard another noise. But there was only a fodable chair with an inanimate carbon rod laying on top of it. While he did wonder how the rod got there, he brushed it off and continued walking to the kitchen.
Another noise. Spain turned, expecting to find a rolling pin or something. Instead, he saw the banana, lamp, carbon rod, and the foldable chair. Right when it clicked that something was going on, all four things pounced.
"AHHH!" He screamed. "TOMATOES! TOMATOES. HELP ME!!" But the red fruits did nothing in the wake of this odd (and traumatizing) happening.
MEANWHILE
England looked carefully at his spell book, making sure he had gotten the chant right. He had, but the broom on the floor still did not move. Sighing, he gave up, shutting the book closed and leaving the room. Maybe his magic was down for the count at the moment, or maybe the spell went somewhere else. But nothing bad could have happened, right?
In the living room, he heard another noise. But there was only a fodable chair with an inanimate carbon rod laying on top of it. While he did wonder how the rod got there, he brushed it off and continued walking to the kitchen.
Another noise. Spain turned, expecting to find a rolling pin or something. Instead, he saw the banana, lamp, carbon rod, and the foldable chair. Right when it clicked that something was going on, all four things pounced.
"AHHH!" He screamed. "TOMATOES! TOMATOES. HELP ME!!" But the red fruits did nothing in the wake of this odd (and traumatizing) happening.
MEANWHILE
England looked carefully at his spell book, making sure he had gotten the chant right. He had, but the broom on the floor still did not move. Sighing, he gave up, shutting the book closed and leaving the room. Maybe his magic was down for the count at the moment, or maybe the spell went somewhere else. But nothing bad could have happened, right?
US/UK or UK + US - Ghost pirate takes England most valuable treasure in revenge
(Anonymous) 2011-03-17 02:02 am (UTC)(link)England was once a pirate that sailed the seven seas, terrorized villages, and robbed whatever treasure he could get his hands on. One day he hears of a treasure sealed away by a long-dead pirate, said to equal that of a thousand kings. England knows he has to get his paws on this! However, when he finds this treasure, it comes with a price. The ghost of the dead pirate warns England that should he rob him of his treasure, in 100 years time, he will take away England's most valuable treasure in return. England isn't impressed and takes off with the treasure anyway. How was he supposed to know in 100 years time, his most valuable treasure would be America? (Note: America can be any age the author wishes, from his little baby self to all grown up.)
Hope it's okay that the time limit was changed from 100 years to 500 to make it work better with being set in present day. :)
A vision. Vision of dark eyes, sparkling in amusement. Shadowed by shaggy brows, rimmed with creased laugh lines. Those eyes looked so familiar, but he just couldn't place them. Who did they belong to? Why was he so amused? What...
England jerked upright, snapping out of sleep in an instant. He sucked in a deep breath as the familiar surroundings of his darkened bedroom came into focus, wondering why he was so shaken. It was only somebody's face. Somebody's eyes. That's no nightmare... He scooted over, closer to the comforting warmth of the softly snoring body beside him. Being alarmed by a dream—especially a thoroughly unscary dream—was more of an America thing.
England glanced over at the bedside clock, groaning at the hour. His sleep-addled brain tried to remember if he had anything to do in the morning. What was the date?
Oh, right. A tingle shivered up England's spine as he remembered what day it was. Something about the date... But he didn't have any plans, did he...?
He was too tired, that was the problem. Shoving all concerns aside, England flopped back down, pressing close to America's back and throwing an arm over him. In no time at all, he was asleep again...
****
“Do not be a coward,” England growled, turning to the other man with narrowed eyes. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.
“Ah... I do not mean to question you, Captain,” the man said in that tone of voice that suggested he intended to do just that. “The curse is quite well-known.” The other sailors nodded their agreement.
“Then return to the ship,” England said with a dismissive wave of his hand and look of disgust on his face. “I'll deal with you later...”
Whatever he was threatening apparently seemed like a better fate than entering the cave, for the group of sailors did not even hesitate before returning to the ship in a rush. England spat, wondering what he had done to deserve such a cowardly crew. “Bloody fools, afraid of an old story. I'll have to replace them. You won't see me consorting with idiots who are afraid of ghosts...” Pushing them to the back of his mind, England turned and walked into the cave where the legendary treasure was said to be hidden, excitement bubbling up.
It quickly grew too dark to see. That was no problem for England, who muttered a few words that sizzled the air, and a ball of light popped into existence over his head. The fairies frowned upon his casual use of magic for such mundane purposes, but he usually ignored their protests. And they didn't seem to be around, anyway.
The temperature plummeted as England delved deeper into the cave. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, frowning. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
He came to a dead end soon enough. He had been expecting nothing, and stood frozen in surprise at the disgusting display of wealth that lay piled along the wall. “It was true...”
England hesitated, though. There had to be some reason so much gold and jewels and the like were left unclaimed. He glanced around, scowling. Surely the rumors of a long-dead pirate's curse could not be true...
“Of course they are.”
England whipped around to face the speaker, yanking his sword out. “Who goes there?” He frowned, turning. Where was the man?
“Here.” A form gradually came into focus. A man stood there, watching England with an expression that could only be called amused. His clothing was very outdated, hair shaggy and dark, eyes sparkling with merriment.
So the rumors were true. England wasn't entirely surprised. “You must be Captain James Blackwell.”
The ghost bowed. “You are correct.”
England was hardly going to return the bow. He sheathed his sword. “I'm Captain Ar-”
“I know who you are, England.”
He shrugged, unconcerned by the ghost's perception. “I am not afraid of ghosts. I think I rather want that pile of treasure you've got.”
A vision. Vision of dark eyes, sparkling in amusement. Shadowed by shaggy brows, rimmed with creased laugh lines. Those eyes looked so familiar, but he just couldn't place them. Who did they belong to? Why was he so amused? What...
England jerked upright, snapping out of sleep in an instant. He sucked in a deep breath as the familiar surroundings of his darkened bedroom came into focus, wondering why he was so shaken. It was only somebody's face. Somebody's eyes. That's no nightmare... He scooted over, closer to the comforting warmth of the softly snoring body beside him. Being alarmed by a dream—especially a thoroughly unscary dream—was more of an America thing.
England glanced over at the bedside clock, groaning at the hour. His sleep-addled brain tried to remember if he had anything to do in the morning. What was the date?
Oh, right. A tingle shivered up England's spine as he remembered what day it was. Something about the date... But he didn't have any plans, did he...?
He was too tired, that was the problem. Shoving all concerns aside, England flopped back down, pressing close to America's back and throwing an arm over him. In no time at all, he was asleep again...
****
“Do not be a coward,” England growled, turning to the other man with narrowed eyes. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.
“Ah... I do not mean to question you, Captain,” the man said in that tone of voice that suggested he intended to do just that. “The curse is quite well-known.” The other sailors nodded their agreement.
“Then return to the ship,” England said with a dismissive wave of his hand and look of disgust on his face. “I'll deal with you later...”
Whatever he was threatening apparently seemed like a better fate than entering the cave, for the group of sailors did not even hesitate before returning to the ship in a rush. England spat, wondering what he had done to deserve such a cowardly crew. “Bloody fools, afraid of an old story. I'll have to replace them. You won't see me consorting with idiots who are afraid of ghosts...” Pushing them to the back of his mind, England turned and walked into the cave where the legendary treasure was said to be hidden, excitement bubbling up.
It quickly grew too dark to see. That was no problem for England, who muttered a few words that sizzled the air, and a ball of light popped into existence over his head. The fairies frowned upon his casual use of magic for such mundane purposes, but he usually ignored their protests. And they didn't seem to be around, anyway.
The temperature plummeted as England delved deeper into the cave. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, frowning. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
He came to a dead end soon enough. He had been expecting nothing, and stood frozen in surprise at the disgusting display of wealth that lay piled along the wall. “It was true...”
England hesitated, though. There had to be some reason so much gold and jewels and the like were left unclaimed. He glanced around, scowling. Surely the rumors of a long-dead pirate's curse could not be true...
“Of course they are.”
England whipped around to face the speaker, yanking his sword out. “Who goes there?” He frowned, turning. Where was the man?
“Here.” A form gradually came into focus. A man stood there, watching England with an expression that could only be called amused. His clothing was very outdated, hair shaggy and dark, eyes sparkling with merriment.
So the rumors were true. England wasn't entirely surprised. “You must be Captain James Blackwell.”
The ghost bowed. “You are correct.”
England was hardly going to return the bow. He sheathed his sword. “I'm Captain Ar-”
“I know who you are, England.”
He shrugged, unconcerned by the ghost's perception. “I am not afraid of ghosts. I think I rather want that pile of treasure you've got.”
When the other nations find out that England is really a woman dressing as a man, they start setting her up on dates, so extreme measures are called for. To keep everyone from obsessing about her love life, England announces that she's seeing someone. Someone wonderful. Someone handsome. Someone completely made up.
Who is this Mr. Right based on? And what will happen when said Mr. Right finds out?
Well~ It’s all up to potential-filler-anon <3 Have fun with this.
Thank goodness I remember to save this...
Who is this Mr. Right based on? And what will happen when said Mr. Right finds out?
Well~ It’s all up to potential-filler-anon <3 Have fun with this.
Thank goodness I remember to save this...
Different anone, but still Pr/UK~ Hope this is okay...
---
England, as she was to referring to herself even in the privacy of her own head for simplicities sake, was very annoyed.
“Why do people think I need a boyfriend?” she complained, distracted even as she did so by the sound of her own voice. Now that she’d stopped paying attention to it and forcing to sound more masculine the true, lighter tone of her voice was coming through and she was finding it difficult to get used to. Just another thing she was slowly getting over being able to do- like comment on good-looking boys when they walked by without getting very strange looks.
Elizabeta shrugged. The two had been talking to each other more and more frequently now that the others had discovered that England was a girl and had complete panic attacks, then promptly become utter annoyances to talk too. Elizabeta, in contrast, had become excellent company, thrilled that one there was another powerful female nation, in a world where other powers were largely represented by men.
“Because they’re mad,” she said conversationally, swinging her legs so that she gracefully slid from the wall they were sitting on in England’s garden to the grass below. “When I was younger people tried to do it to me all the time. I showed them the error of their ways.”
England smiled, pushing herself of her perch and to the ground with considerably less grace.
“At least you’ve come out as a girl in a time where we’re more equal to the boy’s,” Elizabeta pointed out as they began to walk up to England’s house. The Hungarian women had taken England shopping, insisting that she should buy some female clothing now that she’d been found out as a woman. Elizaveta had told her that wearing different clothes would make her feel more comfortable and confident- to England’s great surprise she’d been right. Feliks had come with them, to both women’s amusement, but had already disappeared back to Poland.
“Mm,” England agreed. The inequality between men and women in her past had had a big part to play in her decision to act like a man for her entire life up until this point.
“Anyway,” Elizabeta said as England let them into her house. “Have you decided what you’re going to call yourself yet? It’s a bit formal calling you England all the time.”
“I’m not sure. I like Abigail… But it’s not really appropriate, if you know what I mean?”
Elizaveta nodded. Generally a nations name had something to do with an aspect of their country’s history, or just something to do with their nation.
“If I go down that route I have Victoria and Elizabeth, for obvious reasons, and Alice, after Lewis’.”
Elizabeta looked thoughtful. “I think I like Abigail,” she said eventually. “Not exactly conventional, but my name isn’t either.”
England smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Laughing, Elizaveta replied, “So, Abigail?”
"Yes. Abigail."
---
England, as she was to referring to herself even in the privacy of her own head for simplicities sake, was very annoyed.
“Why do people think I need a boyfriend?” she complained, distracted even as she did so by the sound of her own voice. Now that she’d stopped paying attention to it and forcing to sound more masculine the true, lighter tone of her voice was coming through and she was finding it difficult to get used to. Just another thing she was slowly getting over being able to do- like comment on good-looking boys when they walked by without getting very strange looks.
Elizabeta shrugged. The two had been talking to each other more and more frequently now that the others had discovered that England was a girl and had complete panic attacks, then promptly become utter annoyances to talk too. Elizabeta, in contrast, had become excellent company, thrilled that one there was another powerful female nation, in a world where other powers were largely represented by men.
“Because they’re mad,” she said conversationally, swinging her legs so that she gracefully slid from the wall they were sitting on in England’s garden to the grass below. “When I was younger people tried to do it to me all the time. I showed them the error of their ways.”
England smiled, pushing herself of her perch and to the ground with considerably less grace.
“At least you’ve come out as a girl in a time where we’re more equal to the boy’s,” Elizabeta pointed out as they began to walk up to England’s house. The Hungarian women had taken England shopping, insisting that she should buy some female clothing now that she’d been found out as a woman. Elizaveta had told her that wearing different clothes would make her feel more comfortable and confident- to England’s great surprise she’d been right. Feliks had come with them, to both women’s amusement, but had already disappeared back to Poland.
“Mm,” England agreed. The inequality between men and women in her past had had a big part to play in her decision to act like a man for her entire life up until this point.
“Anyway,” Elizabeta said as England let them into her house. “Have you decided what you’re going to call yourself yet? It’s a bit formal calling you England all the time.”
“I’m not sure. I like Abigail… But it’s not really appropriate, if you know what I mean?”
Elizaveta nodded. Generally a nations name had something to do with an aspect of their country’s history, or just something to do with their nation.
“If I go down that route I have Victoria and Elizabeth, for obvious reasons, and Alice, after Lewis’.”
Elizabeta looked thoughtful. “I think I like Abigail,” she said eventually. “Not exactly conventional, but my name isn’t either.”
England smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Laughing, Elizaveta replied, “So, Abigail?”
"Yes. Abigail."
I'd like a serious fic where England is seriously dependant on alcohol, and how it effects his life. He knows he has a problem but does nothing about it, until one day a nation (any) recognises the problem and convinces him to get help.
I don't mind if you want to add a pairing. (And if you do, I'm a sucker for USUK, not gonna lie)
I don't mind if you want to add a pairing. (And if you do, I'm a sucker for USUK, not gonna lie)
Might try to fill this myself, but I have a bad habit of starting to write something and never finishing it. *really hopes someone else will fill this*
consensual FrUK smut with spanking, please?
bonus if it's France getting spanked, but feel free to have him spank England too~
another bonus if they're not drunk
bonus if it's France getting spanked, but feel free to have him spank England too~
another bonus if they're not drunk
(screened comment)
Hell, here I come…
Russia is somehow turned into a child, and Belarus takes care of him and…takes advantage.
Bonus. Ukraine participates as well.
Bonus II. So does another male. Better if it’s not one of the Baltics.
Sweet, vulnerable Russia. Do let your perversions run wild.
Russia is somehow turned into a child, and Belarus takes care of him and…takes advantage.
Bonus. Ukraine participates as well.
Bonus II. So does another male. Better if it’s not one of the Baltics.
Sweet, vulnerable Russia. Do let your perversions run wild.
Seconding because little!Russia is too precious not to destroy his hopes and dreams.
This anon would love to see Japan realizing that he is in love with America and not being able to except it!
Bonuses!
America is completely oblivious
Japan secretly loves fast food
Smut…? X3
Bonuses!
America is completely oblivious
Japan secretly loves fast food
Smut…? X3
Either Netherlands or Russia choking Canada with their scarf during sex. It's consensual and Canada enjoys it.
This is my first time writing erotic asphyxiation, and it's not something I've ever tried before in real life, so hopefully this works okay. (Then again, I've written tentacle porn, which is also something I've never tried before, so...)
----------------
Breathing.
It wasn't something you really thought about, until all of a sudden you couldn't.
Canada arched on the hotel bed, mouth slightly open as his lungs fought to draw in air. His chest was burning, head spinning, heart pounding in time with the throbbing in his throat and cock and ass. (Some small corner of his mind wondered dizzily how Netherlands had managed to time his thrusts exactly to the pounding of Canada's heart, and he had to fight down the hysterical urge to giggle.)
He shuddered, tilting his head back and feeling the soft scarf tighten around his neck. He would have mewled, if he'd had the breath, one leg shifting to wrap more firmly around Netherlands' hips.
Above him, Netherlands licked his lips, admiring the view but careful not to let himself get carried away. They'd been at this for a few years now, off and on, and he knew just exactly how much give the knit scarf had. (He was still a little amazed that Canada had returned to him at all, after that first disastrous time when Netherlands had overestimated his own strength and underestimated how much the scarf would stretch before turning as immobile as rope.)
Netherlands' eyes sharpened and immediately darted upward when Canada tapped his knuckles against the wall where they were bound at the headboard with the other end of the long scarf. Once, twice, three times.
Netherlands stilled his hips, loosening the scarf and pulling it away from Canada's throat, trying not to be too concerned as Canada gasped in a couple deep breaths. Netherlands watched carefully as the color returned to Canada's cheeks and lips, and after a minute the younger Nation opened his eyes and offered Netherlands a wane smile.
"More," Canada rasped, voice not quite normal after being choked. Netherlands' eyebrows rose, and Canada gave a soft laugh, rocking his hips up and wringing a groan out of his partner. "C'mon, more. I won't break like some pretty Lolita."
Netherlands groaned again, and leaned down enough to give him a light kiss. "You and America are pretty alike sometimes, y'know?"
Canada nipped at his lower lip in reprimand, though his voice lacked any real malice. "Bite your tongue."
"I'd rather bite yours," Netherlands murmured, and then wrapped the tail end of the scarf around his hand to get a better grip as he pulled it tight again. Canada managed a soft moan before his air was cut off, and squirmed rather deliciously. Netherlands gave a rather breathless chuckle of his own and rolled his hips in another thrust, making Canada arch off the bed.
It was good, Canada thought hazily. So good. He knew Netherlands would be careful, Canada trusted him enough that he could let go, give in to the dizziness and the way his vision would fragment and fuzz and then sparkle blue and white, just like the stripes on Netherlands' scarf. He tried to moan again, trembling with need, and it sent a shock of lust straight through him when he found he couldn't. He tried to gasp Netherlands' name, found he couldn't do that either, would have cried out in relief when he felt the scarf tighten just a fraction more.
Netherlands shifted his hips on the next thrust, just enough, and Canada's world exploded into stars and sparkles and a delicious burn all through his body, lack of oxygen making him feel dizzy and high and as though he was just going to float away somewhere. He only dimly registered that Netherlands was still rocking into him, when he tensed with his own release.
I want Russia and Germany. Being sexy together~
I want Russia to coax Germany into sex. How so is up to author!anon.
Bonus: Germany ends up liking it.
I want Russia to coax Germany into sex. How so is up to author!anon.
Bonus: Germany ends up liking it.
WTF HOW HAVE I NOT SECONDED THIS YET.
Anonsssss, this meme is suffering from a severe lack of sexy Russo-German relations.
(RECAPCTHA SAYS: ENTIONSU RELATIONS.
SERIOUSLY GUISE.
GUISE.
SERIOUSLY.)
Anonsssss, this meme is suffering from a severe lack of sexy Russo-German relations.
(RECAPCTHA SAYS: ENTIONSU RELATIONS.
SERIOUSLY GUISE.
GUISE.
SERIOUSLY.)
Repost
These two are usually already in some sort of D/s - S&M powerplay relationship when fics start, or so OP has seen.
Anyway, I crave development. How would those two proud, powerful men with a bad history end up in such a relationship? How would it develope? (everything smooth, some shacky instances, reactions from those around, etc)
Im really open to anything as long as it's consensual. Smut is required.
These two are usually already in some sort of D/s - S&M powerplay relationship when fics start, or so OP has seen.
Anyway, I crave development. How would those two proud, powerful men with a bad history end up in such a relationship? How would it develope? (everything smooth, some shacky instances, reactions from those around, etc)
Im really open to anything as long as it's consensual. Smut is required.
Trusting desire, starting to learn
Walking through fire without a burn
Clinging a shoulder, a leap begins
Stinging and older, asleep on pins
So here we go
Who knows where? Who goes there?
- I Should Tell You; RENT
“May I remind you, Mr. Jones, that you are under oath?”
The urge to glare in return was overwhelming, but he managed to resist. He managed to keep his eyes locked with the soulless ones he had been proud of up until this point. They were hardly friends and the chances that they were allies would be diminished by the time the hearing was over. Though he hated to admit it, one word summed up their relationship perfectly. Comrades. His stomach twisted at the thought and he could taste bile at the back of his throat when he snapped back, oh so perfectly, oh so detached and yet perfectly vicious, arrogant. Perfect. He was the United States of America after all, and thus, he was nothing less. He had weapons to dissolve flesh to ash, flesh to atoms and nothing at all and verbally, let unleashed them without missing a beat after that question cut off his defense. “And may I remind you, Mr. McCarthy, to whom you are speaking to?”
Spat out, dropped down, the human in question made a little sound. “Continue,” McCarthy murmured. Ready to rip apart any defense his very country had to justify the past three hundred or so years of a powerful, close and ‘immensely loyal, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Jones?’ relation with ‘one Mister Ivan Braginski. Now were the days where the fear kept him up at night, where it forced him to throw glances over his shoulder, where the only reprieve that his house and the documents and well beings of anything inside it came from the happy yips of an immensely loyal German Sheppard or two (or five) as it came to welcome him home each not. But now was also the time that the fantasies would began.
It was sick, it was disgusting because they all focused not around Ivan – no, Ivan was his best friend. Ivan was who rode behind him during tours across expanding countries. Ivan passed over shiny flasks and a mischievous glint in his eyes as he insisted it was just Russian water, from the Motherland, and it was Ivan who roared with laughed when a certain fair haired cowboy choked and gagged from the burn. When he threw himself into fire pits, knowing full well that they were ablaze, because a world divided by gray and blue was too maddening, it was Ivan who yanked him out. Ivan who held him through the shakes as he trembled from the growing addicted the pain killers for the time and Ivan who held him down to the bed when he screamed at the doctors that he didn’t want any more – no more medicines, no more pain, no more death, no more fire, no more starving – so the doctors could force the pills into his mouth or the shots in arm. It was Ivan whom he had foolishly murmured that, “Arthur will come back for me,” to and it was Ivan who saw him through the nightmares over the centuries during their scarce visits.
But Braginski?
He didn’t know how. He didn’t know when. He didn’t know why. But Braginski had done something – killed, taken over, replaced – to Ivan. So it was sick. It was disgusting when he tipped his head back and let his hand wander over himself on nights he snuck to admire the very weapon that could wipe Braginski off of the map and all of his Communist, cock sucking, traitorous bastards – fuck you Toris. He didn’t miss you either – and of course, Alfred knew.
This was what the world had done to two best friends, this was how Revolution and the hypocrisy of their own beliefs had pitted each other against one another. By the time shifted again, it was cruel beyond belief. They once knew how to speak without speaking, how to comfort with snuggles often started by the younger of the two but decades after the Berlin Wall collapsed, years after a certain once colony’s historic election, the two were at worst odds than ever before.
Walking through fire without a burn
Clinging a shoulder, a leap begins
Stinging and older, asleep on pins
So here we go
Who knows where? Who goes there?
- I Should Tell You; RENT
“May I remind you, Mr. Jones, that you are under oath?”
The urge to glare in return was overwhelming, but he managed to resist. He managed to keep his eyes locked with the soulless ones he had been proud of up until this point. They were hardly friends and the chances that they were allies would be diminished by the time the hearing was over. Though he hated to admit it, one word summed up their relationship perfectly. Comrades. His stomach twisted at the thought and he could taste bile at the back of his throat when he snapped back, oh so perfectly, oh so detached and yet perfectly vicious, arrogant. Perfect. He was the United States of America after all, and thus, he was nothing less. He had weapons to dissolve flesh to ash, flesh to atoms and nothing at all and verbally, let unleashed them without missing a beat after that question cut off his defense. “And may I remind you, Mr. McCarthy, to whom you are speaking to?”
Spat out, dropped down, the human in question made a little sound. “Continue,” McCarthy murmured. Ready to rip apart any defense his very country had to justify the past three hundred or so years of a powerful, close and ‘immensely loyal, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Jones?’ relation with ‘one Mister Ivan Braginski. Now were the days where the fear kept him up at night, where it forced him to throw glances over his shoulder, where the only reprieve that his house and the documents and well beings of anything inside it came from the happy yips of an immensely loyal German Sheppard or two (or five) as it came to welcome him home each not. But now was also the time that the fantasies would began.
It was sick, it was disgusting because they all focused not around Ivan – no, Ivan was his best friend. Ivan was who rode behind him during tours across expanding countries. Ivan passed over shiny flasks and a mischievous glint in his eyes as he insisted it was just Russian water, from the Motherland, and it was Ivan who roared with laughed when a certain fair haired cowboy choked and gagged from the burn. When he threw himself into fire pits, knowing full well that they were ablaze, because a world divided by gray and blue was too maddening, it was Ivan who yanked him out. Ivan who held him through the shakes as he trembled from the growing addicted the pain killers for the time and Ivan who held him down to the bed when he screamed at the doctors that he didn’t want any more – no more medicines, no more pain, no more death, no more fire, no more starving – so the doctors could force the pills into his mouth or the shots in arm. It was Ivan whom he had foolishly murmured that, “Arthur will come back for me,” to and it was Ivan who saw him through the nightmares over the centuries during their scarce visits.
But Braginski?
He didn’t know how. He didn’t know when. He didn’t know why. But Braginski had done something – killed, taken over, replaced – to Ivan. So it was sick. It was disgusting when he tipped his head back and let his hand wander over himself on nights he snuck to admire the very weapon that could wipe Braginski off of the map and all of his Communist, cock sucking, traitorous bastards – fuck you Toris. He didn’t miss you either – and of course, Alfred knew.
This was what the world had done to two best friends, this was how Revolution and the hypocrisy of their own beliefs had pitted each other against one another. By the time shifted again, it was cruel beyond belief. They once knew how to speak without speaking, how to comfort with snuggles often started by the younger of the two but decades after the Berlin Wall collapsed, years after a certain once colony’s historic election, the two were at worst odds than ever before.
I want as the title says.
I want Chibitalia getting curious about some books he found in Mr. Spain's room while he's visiting his big brother. When him and Romano sleep together in the bed that night, he shows Romano the book. And, smut ensues between the two.
bonus: Big Brother Spain catches and watches
Bonus 2: frontage
I want Chibitalia getting curious about some books he found in Mr. Spain's room while he's visiting his big brother. When him and Romano sleep together in the bed that night, he shows Romano the book. And, smut ensues between the two.
bonus: Big Brother Spain catches and watches
Bonus 2: frontage
Seconded ;-;
Spain/Fem!England - AU Gentlewoman secretly married to a pirate
(Anonymous) 2011-03-17 02:07 am (UTC)(link)England Kirkland was as prim and proper as they came. Her sole moment of indiscretion was four years ago, when she fell for the sinful smile of a roguish pirate called Spain. But he had died, and their secret marriage went to the grave with him. At least, that's what she assumed -- until the night he showed up in her bedroom, eager to pick up where they had left off.
Bonus: France is Spain's rival who challenges him for England,
Bonus 2: However, France ends up fighting England instead, who kicks his ass
Bonus 3: England's fellow hell raiser was Fem!Prussia
Yes, I'd prefer nation names, please.
Bonus: France is Spain's rival who challenges him for England,
Bonus 2: However, France ends up fighting England instead, who kicks his ass
Bonus 3: England's fellow hell raiser was Fem!Prussia
Yes, I'd prefer nation names, please.
I didn't know completely what time period OP wanted, but I decided to go for suffragettes- this is apparently fem!Prussia wants to be the violent type and smash windows in the name of votes for women. I can also totally envisage the two stabbing parasols into people. This starts from the beginning of Spain and England's relationship. I'm also putting this up as I'm going to be away for three weeks, so I'll have more time to plan this
If there is any one person who, England Kirkland muses as she waits impatiently outside the gates, one foot tapping an erratic rhythm against the cobbles, would have the temerity to even start this rather mysterious affair regarding some of London’s main high streets, then it would of course be her acquaintance, Prussia Beilschmidt. One hand clutches at the iron wrought barrier as she stares up at the house in which her elder companion lives and the other at a blunt wooden pole that lies concealed in her cloak. It is made of sturdy oak and weighs heavily against the folds of the fine material, as if a reminder of the atrocity about to committed amidst the watchful night life of London. A blonde strand has escaped from her loosely arranged bun and green eyes scan her surroundings furtively.
A clanking sound causes her to leap back in surprise.
In the gas lit, smoky gloom, one soled foot balances on the bars with practiced ease, when the owner themselves leaps down with a soft thump and an undignified stream of German flowing from their mouth. As soon as she steps into the butter yellow lit, is soon is apparent as to the gender of the speaker. Armed with a grin that leans towards one employed by the slightly less sane members of society, white hair dishevelled and clothes (apparel only normally seen on a stable hand) turned into a believable costume, the woman appears to resemble a scrawny, rather unnatural boy that would not have looked out of place picking pockets.
A scrawny boy that happens to be wielding a poker with casual abandon.
“Well,” Prussia extends her arms, giving a little twirl that she manages to pull off without any insult to her reputation as a hardened tomboy. “What do you think?”
“I think.” England responds, pretending to process the sight.
“Yes?”
“I think,” her lips twitch upwards in a half smile. “That you are two minutes and three seconds late for our designated time.” The arrival scowls for a second, and opens her mouth as if to make a derogatory comment before she closes it again, resuming her previous expression.
“We can’t always be time obsessed freaks,” the retort is formulated eventually. “You don’t have a brother who loves being uptight.” Bluntness is one of the things which distinguish Prussia from the rest of the unmarried young ladies who frequent the city of London apart from her unnaturally coloured hair and inane smile that seems to be find everything in the world privately funny. Rather unfortunately, they are also qualities which do not endear her to the male population, or to her female peers. In comparison, England is reserved and genteel in her everyday actions, and almost repressed in views towards anybody who is not in her immediate circle. They met at one of the large gatherings that seemed to take place every month and were given two options: either to loathe each other, or to fall in as the most dysfunctional pair that ever existed.
In some ways, the blonde often finds herself wondering what the outcome of the former would have been had they decided to take it.
“Are you ready?” she says instead, tucking her pole a little tighter to her chest and appreciating the way that the fabrics that make up her dress dip to the ground to cover the (perceived) unladylike footwear. Prussia greets her question with a flourish of her poker.
“When will I never be?”
If there is any one person who, England Kirkland muses as she waits impatiently outside the gates, one foot tapping an erratic rhythm against the cobbles, would have the temerity to even start this rather mysterious affair regarding some of London’s main high streets, then it would of course be her acquaintance, Prussia Beilschmidt. One hand clutches at the iron wrought barrier as she stares up at the house in which her elder companion lives and the other at a blunt wooden pole that lies concealed in her cloak. It is made of sturdy oak and weighs heavily against the folds of the fine material, as if a reminder of the atrocity about to committed amidst the watchful night life of London. A blonde strand has escaped from her loosely arranged bun and green eyes scan her surroundings furtively.
A clanking sound causes her to leap back in surprise.
In the gas lit, smoky gloom, one soled foot balances on the bars with practiced ease, when the owner themselves leaps down with a soft thump and an undignified stream of German flowing from their mouth. As soon as she steps into the butter yellow lit, is soon is apparent as to the gender of the speaker. Armed with a grin that leans towards one employed by the slightly less sane members of society, white hair dishevelled and clothes (apparel only normally seen on a stable hand) turned into a believable costume, the woman appears to resemble a scrawny, rather unnatural boy that would not have looked out of place picking pockets.
A scrawny boy that happens to be wielding a poker with casual abandon.
“Well,” Prussia extends her arms, giving a little twirl that she manages to pull off without any insult to her reputation as a hardened tomboy. “What do you think?”
“I think.” England responds, pretending to process the sight.
“Yes?”
“I think,” her lips twitch upwards in a half smile. “That you are two minutes and three seconds late for our designated time.” The arrival scowls for a second, and opens her mouth as if to make a derogatory comment before she closes it again, resuming her previous expression.
“We can’t always be time obsessed freaks,” the retort is formulated eventually. “You don’t have a brother who loves being uptight.” Bluntness is one of the things which distinguish Prussia from the rest of the unmarried young ladies who frequent the city of London apart from her unnaturally coloured hair and inane smile that seems to be find everything in the world privately funny. Rather unfortunately, they are also qualities which do not endear her to the male population, or to her female peers. In comparison, England is reserved and genteel in her everyday actions, and almost repressed in views towards anybody who is not in her immediate circle. They met at one of the large gatherings that seemed to take place every month and were given two options: either to loathe each other, or to fall in as the most dysfunctional pair that ever existed.
In some ways, the blonde often finds herself wondering what the outcome of the former would have been had they decided to take it.
“Are you ready?” she says instead, tucking her pole a little tighter to her chest and appreciating the way that the fabrics that make up her dress dip to the ground to cover the (perceived) unladylike footwear. Prussia greets her question with a flourish of her poker.
“When will I never be?”
Yes~ There's not enough of these two together.
I want Germany finally snapping from years of war, and violence. And then taking it out on Romano, who was (accidentally)the last straw for poor Germany. He takes Romano, rapes him, and beats him.
bonus- Germany forces Romano to beg for more sexual acts.
bonus2- rough toy use
bonus3- finger fucking
I want Germany finally snapping from years of war, and violence. And then taking it out on Romano, who was (accidentally)the last straw for poor Germany. He takes Romano, rapes him, and beats him.
bonus- Germany forces Romano to beg for more sexual acts.
bonus2- rough toy use
bonus3- finger fucking
France is involved in a secret operation in WWII while staying in touch with England long distance.
Smut would be loved, and if it's included, any kinks are fine, but no non-con please!
Smut would be loved, and if it's included, any kinks are fine, but no non-con please!
Oh, and by the last bit I mean it's fine if England shows up where France is later on?
This repost is ok, right? /worried anon.
As a big fearsome seme, Germany never gets mpreg.
Let’s change that. But he’s still the same workaholic stressed out man who tries to bring order into the international chaos. Highly efficient. High-strung. Easily embarrassed.Terribly concerned about his out-of-shape new body.
Bonus if the other daddy is France or Italy. Another bonus for smut while mpreg, bottom!Germany. Extra bonus for the other daddy getting extremely possessive at some point.
DON'TS:
-Please, don't make Prussia the other daddy.
-Please, don’t turn Germany into a woman. I’ve seen that done to mpreg!England too many times not to put a warning about this.
As a big fearsome seme, Germany never gets mpreg.
Let’s change that. But he’s still the same workaholic stressed out man who tries to bring order into the international chaos. Highly efficient. High-strung. Easily embarrassed.
Bonus if the other daddy is France or Italy. Another bonus for smut while mpreg, bottom!Germany. Extra bonus for the other daddy getting extremely possessive at some point.
DON'TS:
-Please, don't make Prussia the other daddy.
-Please, don’t turn Germany into a woman. I’ve seen that done to mpreg!England too many times not to put a warning about this.
Why must you request my worst kink. Oh god.
Something was wrong.
He’d tried to ignore it, but for weeks now Germany hadn’t been feeling quite up to par. It first came to his attention when he started to feel nauseous almost every day right around mid-morning, but nowadays his chest was often sore and extremely sensitive, he was always hungry, he found certain smells overpowering(however Italy had somehow become all the more appealing), and felt the need to use the restroom more often than he wanted to admit. Not to mention the fact that the things he thought he had gotten used to, all the little annoying things Italy usually did and then some, brought him past the point of mere exasperation, and nearly to tears. The last time it had happened Italy began to bawl, apologizing over and over for making Germany cry, causing Germany to actually cry even though he knew his tears were ridiculous, making Italy blubber even more so, making the German’s emotions escalate… It only came to an end when Japan finally deemed it necessary to intervene before they both ended in a train wreck of hysterics, sending Italy home, unfortunately for him that action had turned the large blond, German’s unexplained and sudden anger on him. Japan quickly returned to his place after that, and it took some serious apologizing before they were on proper speaking terms again.
But today, today he had to face the fact he’d been trying to ignore the most; he’d fought it long and hard, working his body even harder than usual, even though he was always fatigued (although he was starting to wonder if it was becoming a vicious circle), but his efforts were of no avail. Germany stared into the large mirror mounted in his bathroom at his stomach, that against all he could think of or comprehend, had started to lose its tone and gain the slightest bit of pudge, and god it grated at him. Frowning at his stomach, willing it away, Germany ran one hand over it, pondering what he’d done to have such misfortune as belly fat on his body that he put every effort into keeping perfect. As he continued to examine himself in the mirror he heard Italy stir in the bedroom, and quickly pulled his shirt back on. Even though they’d slept together nearly every night for a long time now, and Italy worshiped his body, he wouldn’t have him seeing it in this shape.
Walking out of the bathroom he cleared his throat, successfully gaining the Italian’s attention. He watched him start to scramble out of the bed, babbling apologies and that he was getting ready right now for the mornings training before interrupting, “Nein, no need, Italy. There will not be any training this morning. I’ve already informed Japan.”
Italy froze, one leg still wrapped in covers, the other halfway into his pants, “Ve? B-but, why? Are you alright? Do you not feel well?” True concern colored his voice.
Clearing his throat again and feeling his cheeks grow a little hot, Germany rocked on his heels slightly as he responded, “To be honest, Nein. I haven’t been feeling well lately, and while I tried to just let it work itself out, it hasn’t so I’ve deemed it time to see the doctor.”
He felt Italy’s gaze on him for a moment longer than he was comfortable, but he wasn’t expecting the response he got, “Then I’ll go with you.”
“Eh?” Jerking his head up, Germany watched Italy continue with the task on getting dressed, now with some real enthusiasm. “ I…I wasn’t expecting you join me, Italy.”
“Well,” He was actually trying, but still failing, to tie his shoes, “You have been a little off lately, and I’m worried about you, so I want to come. Please let me come Germany, I want to go. Please, please, Pretty pleeeeease? ”
Something was wrong.
He’d tried to ignore it, but for weeks now Germany hadn’t been feeling quite up to par. It first came to his attention when he started to feel nauseous almost every day right around mid-morning, but nowadays his chest was often sore and extremely sensitive, he was always hungry, he found certain smells overpowering(however Italy had somehow become all the more appealing), and felt the need to use the restroom more often than he wanted to admit. Not to mention the fact that the things he thought he had gotten used to, all the little annoying things Italy usually did and then some, brought him past the point of mere exasperation, and nearly to tears. The last time it had happened Italy began to bawl, apologizing over and over for making Germany cry, causing Germany to actually cry even though he knew his tears were ridiculous, making Italy blubber even more so, making the German’s emotions escalate… It only came to an end when Japan finally deemed it necessary to intervene before they both ended in a train wreck of hysterics, sending Italy home, unfortunately for him that action had turned the large blond, German’s unexplained and sudden anger on him. Japan quickly returned to his place after that, and it took some serious apologizing before they were on proper speaking terms again.
But today, today he had to face the fact he’d been trying to ignore the most; he’d fought it long and hard, working his body even harder than usual, even though he was always fatigued (although he was starting to wonder if it was becoming a vicious circle), but his efforts were of no avail. Germany stared into the large mirror mounted in his bathroom at his stomach, that against all he could think of or comprehend, had started to lose its tone and gain the slightest bit of pudge, and god it grated at him. Frowning at his stomach, willing it away, Germany ran one hand over it, pondering what he’d done to have such misfortune as belly fat on his body that he put every effort into keeping perfect. As he continued to examine himself in the mirror he heard Italy stir in the bedroom, and quickly pulled his shirt back on. Even though they’d slept together nearly every night for a long time now, and Italy worshiped his body, he wouldn’t have him seeing it in this shape.
Walking out of the bathroom he cleared his throat, successfully gaining the Italian’s attention. He watched him start to scramble out of the bed, babbling apologies and that he was getting ready right now for the mornings training before interrupting, “Nein, no need, Italy. There will not be any training this morning. I’ve already informed Japan.”
Italy froze, one leg still wrapped in covers, the other halfway into his pants, “Ve? B-but, why? Are you alright? Do you not feel well?” True concern colored his voice.
Clearing his throat again and feeling his cheeks grow a little hot, Germany rocked on his heels slightly as he responded, “To be honest, Nein. I haven’t been feeling well lately, and while I tried to just let it work itself out, it hasn’t so I’ve deemed it time to see the doctor.”
He felt Italy’s gaze on him for a moment longer than he was comfortable, but he wasn’t expecting the response he got, “Then I’ll go with you.”
“Eh?” Jerking his head up, Germany watched Italy continue with the task on getting dressed, now with some real enthusiasm. “ I…I wasn’t expecting you join me, Italy.”
“Well,” He was actually trying, but still failing, to tie his shoes, “You have been a little off lately, and I’m worried about you, so I want to come. Please let me come Germany, I want to go. Please, please, Pretty pleeeeease? ”
Re: Well it's not what he was expecting Part (2b/?) fix'd
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-21 14:40 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Well it's not what he was expecting Part (2b/?) fix'd
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-22 18:45 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Well it's not what he was expecting Part (2b/?) fix'd
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-24 11:04 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Well it's not what he was expecting Part (2b/?) fix'd
(Anonymous) - 2011-04-26 07:47 (UTC) - ExpandHeadcanon says Gilbert had acquired a taste for Vodka while he was over with Russia and his brother, Ludwig, cannot for the life of him hold it down well. So Gilbert intentionally gets his brother drunk so that he can sex him. Drunk!Ludwig is all the willing & sex ensues.
(But it's noncon/dubcon since he's drunk and can't give 'consent' technically.. Whichever Anon prefers to think drunk sex as).
Note/Bonus: Although this can lead to angst, I would prefer a happy ending, if you can work it in.
(But it's noncon/dubcon since he's drunk and can't give 'consent' technically.. Whichever Anon prefers to think drunk sex as).
Note/Bonus: Although this can lead to angst, I would prefer a happy ending, if you can work it in.
I really liked this so I wanted to try my hand at it, op! I hope you like it. I couldn't think of a cool title though.
Ludwig knew what he was getting into when he told him that all he had to drink was vodka. Ever since their reunion the clear drink was brought into the house, a memento Gilbert likes to think of the decades before. In the beginning he absolutely hated the drink, but soon gained a liking to it.
Ludwig, although he accepted the alcohol, couldn’t for the life of him hold it down. It hit him even in the mixed drinks Gilbert sometimes makes for a party. While the man has won many beer-drinking contests, he loses almost instantly after three shots of the liquor. And still he was willing to drink it with Gilbert.
Gilbert only used this for to his advantage.
“Drink up, West! Only one glass you’re already looking ready to pass out. If you do, I’m gonna tell everyone at your next meeting about.” Gilbert poured more into the shot glass in front of Ludwig. Ludwig, face red, bit his lip in concentration as he took the glass. Gilbert had to look away so he didn’t see his own cheeks redden at the delicious site.
“I’m just fine.” Ludwig argued. He brought the glass to his lips and downed the drink in a second, giving a shudder. Setting the glass back down, his face was contorted from the burning sensation in his throat. Gilbert took his own shot, and only got goose bumps.
Gilbert pushed his brother into a third glass, then a fourth, and before Ludwig knew it, he had six shots down and was still up. By then, though, he had lost all coherent thought to himself.
“How’s that vodka treatin’ you?” Gilbert asked the man.
“F-fine.” Ludwig slurred. He was visibly sweating, finding the room unbearable. Gilbert stared as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and revealing Ludwig’s naked chest. Gilbert got pretty far on his own amount of liquor, and openly ogled the man as he spent almost two minutes trying to work the button out of the hole. Gilbert was only slightly buzzed, but Ludwig was well smashed. That was when Gilbert abruptly stood up from the table they were sitting in the kitchen. Ludwig looked up from the puzzle of his shirt to watch the man shuffle towards him. He only gave a confused grunt when Gilbert grabbed his shoulders before he was silence by the man’s lips. They stayed in the awkward position where Gilbert was hunched over him as they clumsily kissed. Gilbert pulled back when he noticed Ludwig was losing breath (he was too drunk to breathe through his nose) and stared at the man below him. His lips were red from the contact, and Gilbert couldn’t help but let out a guttural moan at the sight. Now, they were his to feel.
“G-G-Gil…bert.” Ludwig gave a shaky breath.
“Ah, shit West. You look so fucking hot I couldn’t help it.” Gilbert dragged his hand down Ludwig’s chest, and helped undo the last of the buttons on the shirt.
“C-Cheesy… ah!” Gilbert couldn’t help at smirk at the gasp when he pinched a nipple. The look on his brother’s face sent shocks in Gilbert’s body, all the way to his groin. “Shit, that hurt!” He glared at his brother, but it was hardly scalding with his dull eyes trying to focus on him.
“Sorry.” Gilbert apologized, catching his lips again. This time his tongue prodded, asking Ludwig to open his mouth. He automatically complied and was taken aback when the tongue swiftly invaded, covering ever inch. Ludwig gave another moan and started kissing back. Gilbert purred into the kiss as his hand found Ludwig’s nipple again and gave another squeeze before roaming over the rest of his chest. Ludwig’s skin was just as soft as he could ever dream of, and it made Gilbert feel getting harder each minute.
Ludwig knew what he was getting into when he told him that all he had to drink was vodka. Ever since their reunion the clear drink was brought into the house, a memento Gilbert likes to think of the decades before. In the beginning he absolutely hated the drink, but soon gained a liking to it.
Ludwig, although he accepted the alcohol, couldn’t for the life of him hold it down. It hit him even in the mixed drinks Gilbert sometimes makes for a party. While the man has won many beer-drinking contests, he loses almost instantly after three shots of the liquor. And still he was willing to drink it with Gilbert.
Gilbert only used this for to his advantage.
“Drink up, West! Only one glass you’re already looking ready to pass out. If you do, I’m gonna tell everyone at your next meeting about.” Gilbert poured more into the shot glass in front of Ludwig. Ludwig, face red, bit his lip in concentration as he took the glass. Gilbert had to look away so he didn’t see his own cheeks redden at the delicious site.
“I’m just fine.” Ludwig argued. He brought the glass to his lips and downed the drink in a second, giving a shudder. Setting the glass back down, his face was contorted from the burning sensation in his throat. Gilbert took his own shot, and only got goose bumps.
Gilbert pushed his brother into a third glass, then a fourth, and before Ludwig knew it, he had six shots down and was still up. By then, though, he had lost all coherent thought to himself.
“How’s that vodka treatin’ you?” Gilbert asked the man.
“F-fine.” Ludwig slurred. He was visibly sweating, finding the room unbearable. Gilbert stared as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and revealing Ludwig’s naked chest. Gilbert got pretty far on his own amount of liquor, and openly ogled the man as he spent almost two minutes trying to work the button out of the hole. Gilbert was only slightly buzzed, but Ludwig was well smashed. That was when Gilbert abruptly stood up from the table they were sitting in the kitchen. Ludwig looked up from the puzzle of his shirt to watch the man shuffle towards him. He only gave a confused grunt when Gilbert grabbed his shoulders before he was silence by the man’s lips. They stayed in the awkward position where Gilbert was hunched over him as they clumsily kissed. Gilbert pulled back when he noticed Ludwig was losing breath (he was too drunk to breathe through his nose) and stared at the man below him. His lips were red from the contact, and Gilbert couldn’t help but let out a guttural moan at the sight. Now, they were his to feel.
“G-G-Gil…bert.” Ludwig gave a shaky breath.
“Ah, shit West. You look so fucking hot I couldn’t help it.” Gilbert dragged his hand down Ludwig’s chest, and helped undo the last of the buttons on the shirt.
“C-Cheesy… ah!” Gilbert couldn’t help at smirk at the gasp when he pinched a nipple. The look on his brother’s face sent shocks in Gilbert’s body, all the way to his groin. “Shit, that hurt!” He glared at his brother, but it was hardly scalding with his dull eyes trying to focus on him.
“Sorry.” Gilbert apologized, catching his lips again. This time his tongue prodded, asking Ludwig to open his mouth. He automatically complied and was taken aback when the tongue swiftly invaded, covering ever inch. Ludwig gave another moan and started kissing back. Gilbert purred into the kiss as his hand found Ludwig’s nipple again and gave another squeeze before roaming over the rest of his chest. Ludwig’s skin was just as soft as he could ever dream of, and it made Gilbert feel getting harder each minute.
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