hetalia_kink | Past Part Fills Part 2 -- CLOSED

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

there'll be more in just a second!

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

"That looks disgusting," America says, quite cheerfully, and sets the dish down on the floor, along with a bowl of water. The kitten pads over, sniffs it, and then yowls in a way that sounds like agreement.

"I bet it tastes great," he encourages, and pulls out his phone as the kitten takes a tentative first bite.

He scrolls through his contacts list quickly, flicking his thumb across the screen until it hovers over 'Arthur -Home', and he hits the call button before he can change his mind. It starts ringing, and then it continues ringing, and then a minute has gone by and Oliver is staring at him again.

"He's not picking up. Huh... I'll call his cell."

The kitten huffs.

"Mobile, yeah, whatever," America chuckles, and for a second something like a frown flashes across his face, but then there's England's voice on the line and, "Hey, England--! oh. Voicemail."

He stares down at his phone, a crease between his brows and his lips tight, but then he shrugs it off and it transforms into a grin as the kitten is still watching him.

"The old man has probably lost it, or something, ha. Was that good?" The bowl is clean, but Oliver doesn't look particularly pleased. He stalks off with his tail in the air, heading towards the back door, and then America remembers something and calls after him, "Hey, I got you a litter tray as well!"

The kitten looks back at him in something akin to pure disgust, but America is too busy sorting through his shopping to notice.

Awwwww, this is too adorable! I hadn't seen this fill til now, I'm so glad I came across it. This is wonderful - F5ing with much love! :)

OH YES!!!! I've been waiting!! This is such a cute fic with a great progression happening too. I love how America is written especially... please keep it up author!anon!!

I was just wondering today when this was going to be updated!

America is so cute in this, I love it. And d'awww, is he worried about England at the end there?

F5ing and definitely not just for the smut. :P
US/UK usually doesn't do it for me, but this, this is awesome.

Aw, so cute~! Hehe, another great "chapter", anon! Don't worry about the lateness, after all, absence makes the heart grow fonder right? More than that, I understand that you have other things to be doing, so not having constant updates is reasonable.

Oh man, I feel kinda bad for "Oliver", having to eat cat food (good thing cats can't taste as well as us, right?) and having to use a litter box. I wonder what he must have been thinking when Alfred was trying to call him after saying that he missed conversation, haha.

Oh, I just love the way you portray the characters in this, it's just so spot on! Also, for some reason I've been wanting Al to call England "Oliver" since I first though this prompt up, mainly because of the British commedian John Oliver, haha. But that's besides the point I suppose. Either way, keep up the good work!

She was an idiot and forgot to specify, haha. Well now you know...

*joins the F5 party~*

*sobs* Why must it be the good fics? ;w;

F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5!!!

Today's update was brought to you by this photo: http://clyme.deviantart.com/art/Good-morning-144926604 ♥
Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments! I can't believe people are actually reading this, ha.
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"Oliver! I got you the coolest toy! Look!"

England inclines his head to watch the little ball roll towards him, jiggling as the bell inside tumbles. He's stretched out on his side, comfortable on the floor as the ball stops a few inches short of hitting him, and England flicks his eyes up to America without moving. Really?

"No? How about this one?" America sits with his back against the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him. The floor is littered with colourful scraps, fabric mice and feathers on strings and plastic things that rattle as America shakes them. Even a normal cat would think this is stupid, England decides, and tries to ignore America's disappointed eyes as he fails to show interest in any of it. America reaches over to flick the ball closer and it rings lightly as rolls past England's nose – he reaches out and bats it away with a paw, because it's silly and America is just, so--

"You're no fun," America says, a pout in his voice and England sighs as America crooks a finger to scratch the back of his neck lightly. "Why don't you want to play with me?"

England decides not to answer that, and then America sweeps everything to the side, a few things rolling and clattering under the coffee table, so there's a clear space on the floor and he gets down to lie on his stomach, his arms on the floor, his chin on his fingers and his face is just a few inches away from England's. England blinks at him.

"I like your eyes," America says, quiet and sudden, and England just stares back (me too, he thinks, but that's nothing new). "They're really pretty."

They watch each other in silence (so rare, England thinks, no noise or fighting or distractions), and then, "You remind me of someone."

America looks so unguarded, soft and a little sad, that every possible remark dies before England can think it. His eyes are wide and intense behind his lenses, the corners of his mouth turned down and there's no wide grin or stupid expression to hide behind - he's beautiful like this, England knows, but that's hardly a revelation; more of a reminder of something he hasn't examined in a while but oh, it's been there for a long time.

"He's kind of annoying," America continues, but then there's this light in his eyes, something like a smile in his expression and England doesn't know what to think. "But, I like annoying him. It seems like he only pays attention to me when he's got something to complain about so, you know." America turns his head so his cheek rests on the back of his hand, looking over the scattering of toys and giving England a view of the top of his head.

"And his cooking is lethal, especially his scones but the way he smiles when I actually finish one is just..." and then he winces and turns again so his face is buried in the carpet, and he groans unhappily. "So stupid," he mutters into the fibres.

England meows gently, and after a moment America lifts his head and looks at him with a quirk in his lips. There are red marks on his nose where his glasses have dug in. For a second they just look at each other, and then England rolls onto his feet and pads forward a couple of steps so he can nudge America's nose with his own – America laughs, surprised and happy, and pushes himself up onto his elbows so he can brush his fingers between the kitten's ears and down his back.

"Thanks for listening," he says, still smiling, and then arches up and back so he is crouched, perched on the balls of his feet and reaching back into the bag by the side of the sofa. "How about another toy? You'll love this one."

He pulls out something green and soft, and tugs on a cord at one end before setting it down in front of England. It's a frog, England realises, and it's vibrating. He's suddenly thrilled to have claws.

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http://www.madcats.co.uk/products.php?itemCategory=Cat+Toys+Miscellaneous Vibrating frogs actually exist XD

It's not that England doesn't like toys, America. It's that you bought him the wrong kind of toys.

I love this fill so much Author!Anon. I can't wait for the next part!

I love how you write these two, authoranon!

Aw, this addition was simply adorable! I love England's unwillingness to play until America brings out the amazing vibrating frog, haha. I wonder how England would react if America ever got him one of those mice filled with catnip...

Anyway, I love how this story is progressing and how America is starting to bring up England more and more. America seems to be getting happier too, even if his cat is unwilling to play with him, haha.

Another great installment!

I absolutely LOVE this story, Anon!!! LOL vibrating frog XD. Gosh the way you're writing America is so... well, it's no wonder England loves him. More please!

Oh, America, you're so adorable. This fic is just utterly adorable, as well, so I'm always happy to see an update. ♥

You kill that frog, England! Ha ha.

Past Part Fills Part 2 -- CLOSED

Meow Means 'You Idiot' cont.

Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9/?]

Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9 and a bit/?]

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9 and a bit/?]

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9 and a bit/?]

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9 and a bit/?]

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9 and a bit/?]

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9 and a bit/?]

Above was the OP

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9 and a bit/?]

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [9 and a bit/?]

Meow Means 'You Idiot' [10/?]

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [10/?]

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [10/?]

OP

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [10/?]

Re: Meow Means 'You Idiot' [10/?]