hetalia_kink | Hetalia Kink meme part 15

There's a lack of respect for that crazy toy ]:

My big preference is for Germany to be getting the Anal beads, but if author is more into Prussia bottoming, that's cool too. Just give me some awesome smut with the two lovers going crazy with that toy!

Seconded.

thirding!

I’d love to see an AU with Spain as a romance-novels-author. One day he just happens to stumble across Romano, who can’t stop ranting about those awful novels by saying how the hero is just way too annoying and lovey-dovey to ever win anyone’s heart – not knowing that Spain wrote them. So Spain decides to make Romano a protagonist in his new novel and at the same time, prove the guy he was wrong, by acting out the same story in RL. Meaning, he tries to make Romano fall in love with him.

Well. We all know that Romano is simply too cute for Spain to not fall in love himself. But he doesn’t seem the type to wave it all aside, once he finds out that guy with the great ass gave him a false name, is actually the author of those books he hates so much, and his own lovestory was just supposed to be the plot for yet another one of those before-mentioned awful books.

Bonus: Romano runs a bookstore and that’s why he gets so annoyed (or gives a shit at all).

Bonus2: In order to not be recognized by the civilians while he’s on his date with Romano, Spain disguises himself with a fake moustache and makes up a very lame excuse why he has to wear one. We know how much Romano hates moustaches…

Bonus3: Spain thinks he’s waaaaaay more famous than he really is and always assumes people want an autograph if they get near him. While being with Romano, he tells everyone that they’re mistaken and he’s not “that guy”, even though nobody asked.

Sunset on the fifty-third floor, in the southwest corner office, was spectacular.

“As soon as you finish you may go.”

Gold burned into red faded into violet night, smeared across the sky. The bands of color sewed the jagged city skyline and the heavens together with imperceptibly fine stiches. The first three stars began to sparkle. Underneath, the city sparkled too.

“It will be difficult for you to leave after I lock my door behind me.”

It was never fully dark in the city. But now, at sunset, when the natural light balanced the glimmer and shine of the manmade signs… now the city came alive. Or. The city was always alive, really. It was always alive, its heart was always beating, but the city fell in love when the sun began to set. The light from the setting sun made for the best love story in the world.

“Claudine, dearest Claudine, if you’re still out there when I open this door I’ll be very disappointed in you.”

Or was anything truly alive if it wasn’t in love?

“Mr. Bonnefoy, please. I need to finish this report for Mr. Wang. There are only two weeks until your presentation!”

Face and hands suspended in the air a centimeter away from one of the office’s two walls of glass, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo looked down upon the world and smiled. It was a world full of light and sound, full of hurry and scurry and chance and happenstance. And love. And it would only be his world for a few minutes more.

“Toni… if you don’t hurry I’ll lock you in. And the only foods I have left in here are a packet of Gilbert’s crackers and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. The latter is an 1837. I’d hate to waste it.”

Antonio finally pulled his attention away from the sinking sun. “Huh? Francis…?” His friend and agent stood at the opposite end of the room, long dark coat already on. He even had a finger poised over the light switch. “What were you saying?”

Francis Bonnefoy, millionaire and miracle worker, leaned against one of his thick office doors and shaded his eyes. The view from his office was spectacular, certainly, but at times like these it was also blinding. The glare of the sun seemed to reflect every other bit of metal and glass in the city and pointed all their brightness onto a point a little to the left of Francis’s desk. Francis generally took the focused rays as a sign to stop working; Antonio took them as a sign to continue burning his retinas. “I was saying how tragic it is that Gilbert will never be able to finish his snacks. And if I remember correctly, he was very fond of them. Claudine!”

A smaller, dutiful silhouette appeared at the door. Antonio couldn’t see her face because he couldn’t see much after staring into the sun for so long, but he didn’t need to see to recognize Francis’s personal assistant. Claudine Grimaldi radiated competent worry in the same way Francis radiated confident whimsy. It was unmistakable.

“Mr. Bonnefoy?”

Francis placed one hand on his assistant’s blouse and let one side of his mouth quirk up just so. “Claudine, my dear, my light!”

Claudine didn’t flinch. Antonio assumed she had gotten used to it: in that, she was doing much better than any of Francis’s other assistants had done. “Mr. Bonnefoy, the report. Mr. Wang will not wait.”

Mr. Wang… the name sounded familiar to Antonio. “Francis, isn’t that the—”

Francis dismissed Antonio with a wave and continued to speak. “Claudine, special order three more boxes of Mr. Beilschmidt’s favorite crackers. I want them delivered by noon tomorrow, Gilbert will most likely come in by then. If Antonio is locked in here all night I don’t know how else he will possibly survive, other than to eat me out of office and home.” Claudine did not roll her eyes. Professionals did not roll their eyes, even when their bosses were being particularly ridiculous. “After that you may go, dear. In fact, I insist you let me drive you home.” He winked.

Professionals couldn’t help but roll their eyes when their bosses were being particularly flirtatious. “Yes sir.”

“Fantastic.”

All queries about the mysterious Mr. Wang forgotten, Antonio turned back to the window for one last look. The sunlight was fading swiftly and Antonio found it a true shame. Once the sunset was gone all the magic in the city was lost. Lost until dawn. Or, at least, that’s what his heart told him. Once the light was reduced to a dim warm glow, once the city of glints and gleams turned back into a city of grimy glass and chrome, Antonio turned his back on the view and blinked the spots in his vision away. Surprisingly, Francis was still waiting at the open door. “But Francis, I’m not going to be locked in here: I have to get home!”

Francis, interrupted from watching his personal assistant attempt to cram three more hours of work into ‘just one more minute Mr. Bonnefoy,’ tapped the side of his cheek in thought. “But I’m leaving now and you haven’t even picked up your things. Really, Antonio, I have no idea how you won’t be trapped here.”

Antonio blinked. Five seconds later he had a red and yellow striped scarf more-or-less thrown across his shoulders and a thick, new folder dangling from one hand. He jumped through the office doors before Francis even had time to flick off the lights. “What about now?”

“Just a minute, Mr. Bonnefoy!”

Francis shut his office door at the same time the sun abandoned the world. With as much ceremony as he felt the action deserved, Francis produced an intricately designed golden key and turned it twice in the door’s lock. Once his task was finished he threw up both of his hands in lighthearted surrender. “Now you don’t have to stay. That was a narrow escape Toni.”

Antonio nodded. “It was. I wouldn’t be very happy stuck at work all night long.”

Keys clicked and fingers flew at a desk several feet away. “Th-three more seconds, sir. That’s all I need to finish this report. Three more seconds. Minutes.”

With Antonio finally ready to leave, Francis stepped jauntily towards his assistant’s desk. A charming smile in place, he leaned over Claudine’s nameplate, settled his face near her right ear, and gleefully kicked her power strip’s cord out of the wall. Her computer screen went black. Her desk lamp went dark. Her face went still. Francis congratulated himself inwardly. “Come my dear, your coach awaits.”

From his vantage point several feet away, Antonio was torn between clapping and grabbing his notebook from his back pocket. He settled on the latter, because when Francis was good he was a genius and Antonio hated letting little bits and pieces like this slip from between his fingers. While Claudine spluttered and Francis winked, Antonio began to take haphazard notes.

He didn’t stop until a light touch on his shoulder interrupted him. “Toni.”

boss and secretary, wanton work romance, forbidden love, duty and freedom, class differences, who’s tapping my shoulde— Antonio’s pen slid across the surface of his small journal. “Are you already done?”

Francis gestured towards the elevator. Antonio didn’t remember when it had been called or when it had arrived, but Claudine was already in it so those both must have happened a few minutes earlier. Oh. “Antonio.” The two began to walk. Francis didn’t remove his hand. “You haven’t gotten a new notebook yet? I know I’ve seen that one before.”

“I haven’t found the right one. This is my backup.” Antonio looked back at the empty executive offices on the fifty-third floor. Funny, usually Francis was the first to leave, not the last. Antonio wondered where the publishing firm’s other important people were. Perhaps they were already off enjoying the night. “Once I find the right story then I’ll find the right notebook, and then I’ll have my next book!” It was a simple system: whenever Antonio felt he’d found the inspiration for his newest novel, he bought a fresh notebook. The type mattered. It had to be small enough to fit in his pocket; otherwise he’d never remember to keep it with him. It had to have enough pages to contain an entire romance. It had to suit the story.

It had to suit the person Antonio wanted to fall in love.

That’s what romance novels were all about, essentially. Not love. Not exactly. If romance novels were about love then they’d be awfully boring, and Antonio wasn’t very good with boring things. Earlier in life his superiors always had to hassle him to keep at the jobs he had no passion for. No, romance novels were about falling in love, a beautiful thing in its own right. Something, Antonio was of the opinion, that more people needed to do more often.

And once they read his books they would. He was certain of that.

The elevator chimed when it settled at the ground level. It chimed again when the doors opened. Francis spoke as he helped Claudine into the lobby. “I can barely wait.” Antonio waved to the security guards, and tucked his book back into his pocket. He had seen Francis accompany many women on walks before. There was nothing he could base a tale on here. “And, although I hate to say it,” Francis paused just short of the front entrance. Antonio didn’t, but his scarf got caught up in the revolving doors just long enough for Francis’s words to grab his attention. “I truly hate saying it, but others at this company will not wait at all.”

One, two tugs were all Antonio needed to free his scarf and stumble back. But something about Francis’s words didn’t make any sense. “Because they really like my novels?”

When Francis didn’t speak, Claudine reluctantly answered. “Mr. Fernandez, you have two months until your next draft is due. The folder Mr. Bonnefoy gave you earlier tonight outlines your deadlines and the sales of your last book. Please read every document carefully, and feel free to call me with any concerns,” she adjusted her wire-frame glasses, “or I can schedule you an appointment with Mr. Bonnefoy,” Francis perked up, “but only on the condition that Mr. Bonnefoy has no other matters to attend to.”

Antonio and Francis shared a look. And as much as she wished she didn’t, Claudine knew what that look meant.

“I don’t need to look at these,” Antonio tossed the folder into the air. Francis caught it elegantly. “I trust you, Francis.”

Francis bowed. “As you should.”

Claudine pushed her glasses up again. Mr. Wang wouldn’t be happy…

“And now…” Antonio bolted out of the spinning doors with only minor confusion. Claudine and Francis followed calmly after. By the time they were hit with the cool night breeze, Antonio was already a running dot on the edge of the block. “And now the knight escapes!”

Francis cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “He can never escape his cruel (but incredibly well-dressed) big brother’s mighty reach! The knight will return tomorrow for a delicious lunch prepared by his big brother’s sensitive hands!” Claudine had no idea why her boss encouraged Mr. Fernandez’s eccentricities, but he always had and probably always would so she accepted it as embarrassing fact.

Antonio’s voice echoed off the surrounding buildings and mingled with the sounds of the evening traffic. “You’ll never catch me, fiend! I’m riding away into the night on my shining steed! And is Gilbert coming? I haven’t seen him in a while; lunch sounds great!”

Something wasn’t quite right. “Antonio…” Francis’s forehead wrinkled then smoothed… of course! “Gallant knight! The train station is the other way!”

Two loose papers slipped out of the folder in Francis’s hand and fluttered to the ground. Just as Claudine bent to retrieve them, a quick shape began to barrel towards her. “If I was going to the train station…” the shape sped past, “that would have been really nice of you Francisssss,” the shape, or Antonio and his trusty bicycle, clattered off into the hazy, hectic, living night. With a last “Thanks!” he was finally gone.

“He never gets tired.”

Claudine stood, nothing in her posture betraying the fright Antonio’s ride past her had given her. “Of course he does. He slept through his last three meetings with you, Mr. Bonnefoy. And don’t you remember the evening security had to be called in, all because Mr. Hassan thought a transient was sleeping in the elevator?” Two steady fingers readjusted the bridge of her glasses on her nose.

She carefully offered her boss the two wayward forms. He calmly accepted them, set his hand in place on her shoulder and began to walk. “That was right before His Majesty’s Horses went to print, wasn’t it.” It was more of a light musing than a question.

“Yes.” Her hands went to her glasses again. They always did when she was tense. She hoped Mr. Bonnefoy hadn’t noticed. “Three days before.”

“His Majesty’s Horses is his best one yet, don’t you agree?” Of course he’d noticed. “The finest Antonio Fernandez Carriedo novel of passion, adventure and undying love to date.”

Claudine spoke before thinking, something she abhorred doing. Something she did all too often around Mr. Bonnefoy, much to her dismay. “Sunset on the Rhein was better.” She flushed. “I mean, ah… from a… literarystandpoint.”

Francis Bonnefoy raised a single, perfectly groomed eyebrow.

“Mr. Bonnefoy, I don’t see how this is relevant to your presentation.” If Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was the most optimistic man in the world, then Claudine Grimaldi was the world’s most worried woman. “If you don’t make a good impression on Mr. Wang… Mr. Fernandez is doing well, but… this company strives for excellence, and—”

“He’s an old friend.”

“Mr. Bonnefoy?” She made sure to say it as though she wasn’t curious.

“Did you know he used to write scripts?”

“…sir?”

“For soap operas.” Francis’s pace slowed to a casual walk. “Oh, his name was only ever in the fine print. His past employers never saw the potential of a young, handsome bachelor working on their team.” He stopped. “Really, Claudine, if I had been in charge I would have had him in front of those studio audiences faster than you can blink.” On reflex, Claudine closed her eyes. In the moment it took her to open them, Francis Bonnefoy’s hand had slipped from her shoulder to her waist.

“I believe that.” She stepped to the side, farther than Francis’s arm could extend. “Wholeheartedly.”

Francis cast his most imploring stare at his assistant: it fell short. “Oh fine…” but he was never one to dwell. “Gardens of Our Lives was the most famous project he worked on. He would have been perfectly cast as the naïve young Spanish ranch hand.” Francis resumed the walk to his car, his hand propelling his assistant forward.

Claudine blinked. She had every single episode, every single promotional poster that had been sold for Gardens of Our Lives in her living room at home. Every DVD box cover had a garden on the front, twisting green vines and bright red fruit. In the middle stood the heroine and her current love, surrounded by their friends and enemies. The naïve young Spanish ranch hand (first appearance: episode thirteen, last appearance: episode one hundred and ninety-four, number of lines: twelve) stood bare-chested in the lower left-hand corner. “I’ve. Oh, I’ve. I’ve never heard of that series before. Is it good?”

The soap opera scripts had fared much better than any of Antonio’s novels ever had; Francis had discretely gotten Claudine to compare the numbers after Antonio’s last book had been distributed. The television shows had been over ten times as popular, but, Francis reflected, romance novels didn’t tend to make bestseller lists. And the imagination’s actors were often less immediately tantalizing than half-naked men showing up dutifully in one’s living room every day at noon on the dot.

What was important was that Antonio was now the happiest Francis had ever seen him. Antonio had looked to his friends during his career’s most dismal hour, and Francis had been there. Had been a shining light, not unlike a soft white candle in a room full of trashy… trash. Well. Francis was not the writer, no indeed, that had always been Antonio. Antonio the writer, Francis the charmer and Gilbert the musician: the three had been an unstoppable force in their teens. No nearby heart had been safe. Even now, years later, Antonio hadn’t quite grown out of treating love as a game, as a quest, as some magical journey for his inner hero to cycle.

And cycle he did: Antonio always seemed to end up back where he started. Because no matter how much he believed otherwise, romance novels were not the ultimate solution to the flat, contrived plots and terrible clichés of the soap opera industry. As a businessman, Francis recognized this. As a friend, Francis recognized Antonio’s newfound joy. Francis would do what he had to in order to protect that. Through thick and thin and falling sales and absolutely ridiculous metaphors for sexual release (Francis had offered his own suggestions to improve Antonio’s phrasing. Antonio had politely declined), Francis would protect Antonio’s joy.

“It wasn’t quite good enough.”

He only hoped it would last.

When the rain started, Antonio looked up at the sky. It was darker than it usually was, the thick rainclouds absorbing even the harsh downtown lights. Antonio tried not to let them bother him and pedaled on. After the rain began to beat down faster, the darkness in the sky loomed over him, sending him a sign. Antonio nodded. And almost ran his bike into a lamppost.

But he didn’t and that was the important part.

“Who put that there…?” Out of shock, Antonio had forgotten about his bicycle’s actual braking system and had slammed both of his feet to the ground. The jolt had sent him staggering off the seat of his bike and into a large puddle.

The lamppost didn’t answer.

Antonio didn’t begrudge it that, because talking would be hard to do without a mouth. But he was still disappointed. “My socks are all wet now.” And he was far from home. He wasn’t lost, because he rarely ever got lost. He’d pedaled through this neighborhood once or twice before, exploring. But Antonio had never stopped, because whenever he’d passed through there hadn’t been very many people on the streets or in the shop windows. Without people a place was without inspiration, and inspiration was what Antonio was always searching for.

The rain fell.

“Maybe I should get inside.”

And Antonio continued to talk to himself. It wasn’t the worst of habits; it definitely wasn’t the strangest. But people tended to double-take once they noticed that, more often than not, Antonio wasn’t speaking to another person. He didn’t find anything wrong with thinking out loud, however, and Gilbert even said it was perfectly normal!

“Oh! That place looks nice!” ‘That place’ was a cheery little set of windows with a light blue awning. The sign over the door read Little Falcon Café in hand-painted script. The realistic portrait of a bird looked sharply down at anyone who dared to cross the café’s threshold. Antonio liked it. But when he walked his bike closer to the shop, he realized the lights he saw through the glass didn’t actually belong to the café: they came from the bookstore next door. The two were “connected inside! I bet they’re owned by the same person since the other sign looks the same. Contrasts… I like it too.”

Without another moment’s hesitation, Antonio propped his bike against the bookstore’s front window, held his scarf close against the wind, and reached for the door.

As a warning, Spain might be a little OOC in this story. I’m trying to make him as weird as possible while still keeping him him, but you know how that goes sometimes.

Claudine = Monaco

Next time: Antonio meets the cranky subject of his next book and Lovino meets an idiot.

Second to last note: the title is both a reference (although not the most literal of translations) and a promise of things to come.

Last note: concrit is completely welcome. Whether it’s ‘your characterization of XXXX feels off because…’ or ‘I don’t think inconceivable means what you think it means.’

Well, Spain is pretty weird! (Even though he just wants you to buy Volume 3!) I think he's pretty in-character. I wouldn't put talking to himself or writing horrendous metaphors past him. Besides, it's an AU, and it's possible that their background would have changed the way they see things, even ever so slightly.

Your writing is lovely, and I'm really looking forward to the next parts <3 And I kind of want to see more of Monaco and France because they're adorable.

Author-anon... I love this so goddamn much, I actually need a few minutes to gather my thoughts, since momentarily they're all like "JESUS CHRIST, THIS IS SOOOOOOOO GOOD GOD I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS IS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER READ..." and so on.

First of all: You've probably just written my most favourite Antonio ever. Eccentric suits him ~~like a suit~~ just soooo well and he's downright adorable (which is to say, even loads more adorable than he usually is). If he was real, I'd probably fall in love with him on first sight.

Then there's Francis and Claudine (and mentions of Gilbert and Yao) - First of all, I've never read anything about Monaco and now I'm really curious. The way you write her, I already like her big times. She and Francis make a very good team. I also love the fact that you brought the BTT into the story. Gilbert as a musician is always incredibly awesome xD I now feel the need to go listen to his chara-songs again.
You have such a great way of characterizing all those different characters and let them interact with each other. It really brings your story to life (along with the breath-takingly awesome writing-style, that is!). I am so glad you chose to fill my request! Thank you so so much! This is already one of the best fills I've ever read and it's only the first chapter. Needless to say, I'll be eagerly awaiting the next chapter and I'll leave you lots and lots of love in hope you'll be fuelled by it xD

~and in-love OP

This is the cutest thing I've ever read I don't even

just

This is enchanting! *camps out to wait for more*

The bookstore’s glass door had a light pink rose painted on it, green stem and leaves spiraling outward. Antonio could tell from the careful brushstrokes that it was done by the same sure hand as the falcon over the café’s entrance. Impressed by the level of artistry, he put a hand on the door’s brass handle, paused to admire it’s craftsmanship, and pushed. A light tingle cascaded over his head and Antonio looked up. There were three silver bells over the door: brushwork roses, brass doorknobs and bells greeting him with a chime… Antonio decided he needed to visit this shop more often, even though he’d only spent all of two seconds inside it. That didn’t matter. It had a good atmosphere.

He bet whoever owned Contrasts was a romantic at heart. And he instantly approved.

“Shut the door if you’re coming in already.”

…a romantic who employed slightly rude cashiers, but it was a little late and it was more than a little dismal outside. Antonio swept his annoyance into the far corner of his mind to mellow down into the contentment he normally showed the rest of the world. Maybe the cashier had had a bad day. Maybe his wife had left him for his cousin. Yeah! If something like that happened to him, Antonio might snap at strangers too! “Alright!”

He shut the door behind him with a chime and a slam, winced apologetically, and stepped further into the store.

The cashier, one eye on the customer buying books in front of him, the other on the customer dripping all over everything, frowned. Antonio didn’t think he’d met anyone who frowned so actively before. Not even Ludwig. Deciding that some people really needed to relax more, he took another step forward. There were hand-painted signs at the end of all the bookshelves and at the openings of curious little alcoves. The signs had little pictures to match their captions: ‘Mysteries!’ had a magnifying glass and dark footprints, ‘Romance ♥’ had a man and a woman staring into each others’ eyes. Every new detail Antonio noticed about Contrasts was something he liked, from the signs to the random piles of thick books scattered around the cashier’s desk to the small coziness of it all.

Antonio could fall in love with a store like this. Fully ready to embrace that love, he took another step. And slipped, comically, one foot flying into the air the other twisting beneath him, until he was a mess of books and limbs on the floor. Antonio realized what the cashier had been frowning about when he felt the puddle he’d made, and slipped in, cooling his abused face on the bookstore’s hardwood floor. “…I’m okay!”

The other customer bit his lip. “Are you sure?”

Antonio couldn’t feel his spine. “Definitely.”

“Oh.” The other customer didn’t seem satisfied by the answer, but also didn’t seem too troubled by it. He pulled at his collar instead and resumed his conversation with the cashier. “Can’t you give me a discount?”

“No.”

The customer sighed. “…Lovino.”

Lovino rolled his eyes and pulled the customer’s three books closer, just out of reach. “I can’t and I won’t, Ari. So stop asking: either pay for them or go away. It’s almost closing time.” Lovino sounded disgusted to still be working when it was almost closing time. Antonio was intrigued; Francis often sounded the same way when Antonio went to visit him at his office.

Ari opened his mouth. And closed it again. Antonio stood up in the quick silence that passed, but neither Ari nor Lovino noticed him. He didn’t really mind. His mind was too busy to mind, because he recognized two of the three books on the counter: he’d written them.

“…I’ll take this one then.” Ari quickly grabbed the thickest book, a copy of The Iliad, and slid it towards his chest, protectively. Lovino coughed. With his other hand, Ari reluctantly released a few crumpled Euros and two stray silver coins. Lovino frowned again. Ari, with even more reluctance, reached into his pants pocket for the last few necessary coins. “I don’t really need to read those other two. They were… they were for…” he stepped away from the desk quickly, “they weren’t for me.”

Were they gifts then? Antonio was overjoyed to hear that everyday people thought his books were good gift-giving material. Did people normally give romance novels as presents? Oh, that wasn’t important. What mattered was that the other customer, this ‘Ari,’ hadn’t been buying… Antonio craned his neck to see the titles and cover illustrations better… he hadn’t been buying His Majesty’s Horses and Sunset on the Rhein for himself. So he might not know Antonio’s face by sight. Antonio wasn’t as worried about the cashier: even though he was extra grumpy, he was still a book person. And book people were really good at protecting the identities of other book people.

Lovino picked up a brown paper bag from under his desk and lobbed it at Ari, before frowning again. “Weren’t for you?” Antonio noticed that Lovino frowned a lot. He wondered if it was a condition. “More like ‘aren’t for anyone.’ You’re better off spending your money on something that isn’t trash.”

Antonio tapped his ears, just to make sure they were working properly. He didn’t understand. Did this cashier… but wasn’t he a book person?

“…they’re not that bad.” Antonio would have said something a little bit more like ‘they’re really really really good’ but Ari was defending him so who was Antonio to complain? “At least you always know what’s going to happen in the end.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ari edged towards the door, book safely under his arm. Lovino, caught in his rant, didn’t appear to notice. Antonio was beginning to suspect something was wrong. …maybe those books were written by somebody else and only conveniently had the same titles and covers? “You know that the idiotic hero is going to sweep the moronic heroine off her feet for no goddamn good reason. And then they’ll ride off into the sunset or some stupid shit like that.”

Ari didn’t answer: three silvery chimes noted his escape. Which left Antonio alone with, “are you just going to stand there or are you going to buy something?”

Antonio ignored him and picked up the copy of Sunset on the Rhein from the desk. He turned to the first page. ‘…written by Antonio Fernandez Carriedo,’ alright these were definitely his books. Then what could possibly be wrong with them?

“Hey, I’ll save you the trouble.” Lovino reached for the book. “It’s just another crappy romance novel. They’re all the same. Actually, no, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo’s are the worst.” Antonio froze. Did this… did this mean Lovino didn’t like his stories? “Take the one you’re holding, for example.”

Antonio pulled back. “I’ve read it.” Of course he’d read it. He’d written it. “I thought it was really good.”

Lovino raised an eyebrow, as though he couldn’t believe anyone would willingly read something Antonio had written. “I can’t believe anyone would willingly read something this guy’s written.”

“Why?”

“The plots, if you can even call them that, are disgustingly unrealistic, even for a romance novel.” Lovino picked up His Majesty’s Horses and absentmindedly lobbed it over towards the ‘Romance ♥’ section. Antonio felt like someone had just thrown one of his children against a wall. He suppressed a whimper. “Like the way the hero won over the duchess in that one?” He nodded towards Sunset on the Rhein. “All he did was have a swordfight with her brother. What the hell, that magically made her fall in love with him? She should have gotten out while she still could and the bastard was stuck in jail. Who sings love poems in the middle of a fuc– fuh– a fight anyway?”

…Ludwig had said that had been a nice gesture, before they had broken up. Sure, he’d also said that Antonio and Gilbert had no need to fight, and had looked really scary when he’d found out that Antonio and Gil had borrowed some of his antique broadswords to use for their match, but he’d liked the poetry. Being called an apple-love strudel was romantic. Wasn’t it? Suddenly, Antonio needed to check. “But don’t you think it was romantic? When Carlos called Luise his apple-love strudel?” Gilbert had been really impressed by that line at the time, even if it had been directed at his little brother.

Lovino Vargas wondered, not for the first time in his life, why all the good-looking ones were idiots. Himself excluded, of course. “Are you serious?” The good-looking idiot standing in front of him didn’t look serious so much as he looked slightly heartbroken. It was probably prolonged contact with the literary trash he was cradling in his arms.

“Yes.”

Dear God, Lovino hoped the man was joking. Maybe it was a sick form of flirting: ‘pretend to like the things the object of your affection hates with the deepest fiber of his being.’ …with a face like that, Lovino would play along. “So I bet you liked when the cowboy in that one,” Lovino pointed at the book he’d thrown, “made sweet passionate love to the Spanish princess, on a horse, in the middle of a field of flowers?”

The potential (not if he didn’t fucking buy anything in the next five minutes) customer scratched the back of his head. “That’s actually really hard to do, did you know?”

Lovino didn’t. And he didn’t want to. “Look, it’s a quarter past six already. If you’re going to buy something then buy something. Otherwise,” 'I’m going to have to ask you and your perfect smile to come upstairs and fuck me against my personal collection' no he couldn’t say that, fuck what was he thinking, this guy liked the Fernandez stuff. And Lovino had standards. “Otherwise I’m going to have to ask you to come back tomorrow. I open at nine.”

He’d meant to say ‘we open at nine.’ Maybe.

“You?”

If Lovino’s chest puffed up a little at his answer, then it deserved to. He was proud of his store, even if he hadn’t started it, despite all the little touches that made it look as though Feli ran the place. “I own this place with my brother. But he only takes care of the café side.”

Antonio couldn’t believe it. “You do?” But if that was true, then Lovino was more than just a cranky bookselling cashier: he was a cranky bookselling bookstore owner, and Antonio was swiftly coming to the conclusion that Lovino might not even believe in the power of love. And Antonio couldn’t let that happen. Even if Lovino was grumpy, and even if he frowned too much, he was kind of cute in his own way. Antonio would do him a favor, from one book person to another: he would write Lovino the best romance that had yet to ever happen to him. And he would make it last. “What I meant was, I think I’ll come back tomorrow. Will you be here?”

Lovino fidgeted. This guy didn’t know how to ask somebody out properly; first he was roundabout and then he was forward? But Lovino found himself blushing anyway. He felt like one of the girls in a Fernandez book. It made him uncomfortable. “It’s not like there’s anybody else…”

“I’ll come back tomorrow then!” Antonio carefully set the copy of Sunset on the Rhein back onto Lovino’s desk and prepared to leave. He wasn’t looking forward to riding home in the rain, but hopefully the start of a new story would warm him as he went. He wondered where he would find the right person for Lovino. Maybe Lovino already had another customer who came by often, too shy to speak up? And they always looked at each other but never spoke? Maybe this time, with Antonio there to lend his expertise, they would connect; there was already a café right next door where the mystery woman could spill her coffee all over Lovino’s shirt or where the mystery man could catch Lovino when he accidentally fell. It was perfect!

The customer started laughing to himself. Lovino would have been concerned if he hadn’t spent all his energy working up his courage to ask “What’s your name?”

Antonio spun around, confused. How did Lovino not know? And then it clicked: Lovino didn’t like his books. Lovino didn’t like love stories. It followed that Lovino didn’t know who Antonio was, the heavens must have ordered it, so Antonio could help Lovino find his own happy ending. Otherwise Lovino would be too busy grumpily protesting to properly fall in love! “I’m…A—ah, oh. You can,” Antonio realized it wouldn’t be very nice to the heavens to undo all of their difficult work. He couldn’t go and tell Lovino who he was. “You can call me Gilbert.”

He winked. Lovino forgot to breathe (‘I’m not this easy, it’s just been a really long time, I’m not this easy, I’m not…’).

“Oh, and by the way, do you sell journals?”

Lovino nodded wordlessly, and pointed at a small display sitting in front of the ‘Historical Fiction’ section. Hand-bound journals of all sizes and types were fanned out in an appealing swath of color. Some looked like they were bound in leather; others in decorative paper. Each was unique. “Feli, my brother, makes them in his spare time.” Because Feli was a bastard like that, and even though he woke up at six every day to start cooking, he still managed to find the time to make journals and re-bind Grandpa’s collection of old books and paint fucking masterpieces and have a social life and fuck his wife… and still be a lazy dumbshit whenever Lovino needed him to do something important.

Antonio could barely breathe in delight. The journals fit the store like a tailor-made suit; they would be just right for Antonio’s newest novel, starring a bitter bookstore owner who didn’t believe in love. The details would come later, as long as Antonio already had the mood. “They’re beautiful… See you tomorrow Lovino!” Without waiting for a reply he ran out into the rain. He’d need a lot of sleep in order to be fresh and ready and outside the bookstore’s glass door at eight thirty the next morning.

And they meet! Lovino already thinks Antonio has a thing for him; Antonio already thinks Lovino needs a visit from the Loooooove Doctor. But what does Feliciano think of all this???

Ari = Iceland

1non: ~~I’d buy every copy if he’d hand-deliver them~~. You do have a point, people and characters are shaped by their experiences and in an AU those experiences are obviously different. I just want to make sure I don’t get too crazy in making him… crazy. Thank you very much! Monaco and France will return, although the focus there will be more on France.

OP: I’m really happy you liked this!!! Especially happy that you like him good and eccentric, because I think it fits him a lot. ~~mmmmmm suits~~. And I’m glad you liked Monaco in there; I wasn’t sure about her at first, but in the end it was pretty fun playing her off France. In a way, they’re another version of ‘boss and his henchman.’ But France-ier. Yes. And there can never be too much BFT. Failtastic bros come best in threes. Lots and lots and zounds and a zillion pounds of love back to you OP! Thank you!

3non:

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ADSFJ;AS;DLKFJASDFKJASDAGFJHFHHGHHHHHHHGGGGGGG I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SO MUCH YOU DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND

THE INCOHERENCE OF THIS COMMENT DOES NOTHING TO DEMONSTRATE MY SHEER LOVE FOR THIS HGGAGGAFDJGADFJAD;FSADADASDF

SO

MUCH

LOVE

~~Not OP by the way. But sooooo glad this story exists.~~

Authournon, this... this reader is looking forward to see where you go with this fic. It seems very interesting so far. :) This anon is as enthusiastic as all the other commenters, really, but it is the first time anon has delurked to comment on a fic as well as the first time anon has read a fic that has references to past pairings that are not the main pairing and anon never thought anon would read a fic with those but anon likes authournon's writing so much and loves the use of less popular countries/characters it's all really awesome and anon will shut up now. But anon loves your writing, really. And anon also really likes the fact that Spain isn't completely lovestruck by Romano the first time they meet and authournon's characterization of Spain in general, actually, and the humour in the narration and-

...Anon will leave it as anon likes a lot about authournon's writing. (and will shut up now, anon promises. Unless authournon doesn't mind? Because-)

I'm looking forward to more!

And I'm another fan of Monaco and France.

Nothing too original to say, since someone already did a keysmashPTGHMJSRFPHIJSKB (anything else I have at the back of the mind can be said at a more appropriate time).

I have to admit I steer clear of most romance novels. And yet I read "romantic" fanfiction on the internet. Thank you for being anonymous, kink meme.

Brilliant. Sreiously, this fic is fantastic. I'm falling for Antonio too! The apple-love strudel bit...XD

Brilliant! I love Antonio's eccentricities! It's actually a new headcanon for me. XD

And, like the OP, if I met someone like your Antonio (or Spain in general) I'd fall in love at first sight too. Even if he swept me off my feet with terrible purple prose! So, Lovi, TAP DAT ASS!

*giggles uncontrollably* Looking forward for the next update~

wow author!anon. I have to say when I first started reading this I was unsure if I was going to like it, but I love the way you characterize Spain and Romano in this update. So I'm totally looking forward to more.

Also I had never realize how much I needed someone to call Germany their apple-love strudel until I read this. Thank you author!anon for fulfilling this previously unknown desire of mine.

You updated! My day is complete ♥

Oh dear God, your Antonio continues to make me giggle, aaaaaaaw and fan myself. I look like a crazy person while reading this story!!!

He's just... oh God... his thoughts are so hilarious and cute and he's just so oblivious... xD And those books xDD I would probably hate them too, since I'm not so big on cheesy romance novels, but then again, they sound so unbelievably ridiculous, I would probably even end up enjoying them. I mean.. apple-love strudel??? That's so AWESOME!! What's also AWESOME, by the way, is that you included a past Toni/Ludwig relationship. I now find myself in dire need of reading something with those two. It makes sense, too! If Mallorca was Spain's vital regions, Germany would so own them!

I also laughed at Iceland being broke xD Love those little hints in AU's! Also, Ari is my favourite human name for Iceland <3

Lovino and his thoughts are fucking hot and I need more more more >.< Nice seeing him oblivious of something too, for once xD This whole misunderstanding is bound to deliver some really hilarious situations and I can't wait to read them xD Once more, you swept me off my feet with your awesome new chapter. I'll just reread and reread this every day for my daily portion of best-Spain-ever, until you update again. So much love!

♥

this non has suspicious about author's identity. /again/.
/feels creeper. //again//.

I love all the details about the store and Antonio's identification of other 'book people'. though lovino can't be a /true/ book person, because you don't /throw/ books, even if they're not ones /you/ like! *A*

ANON YOU ARE MY APPLE LOVE STRUDEL. (augh why isn't there a numberpad on my laptop so I could make that heart :( ) Lovino <3 and Antonio's eccentricness is fantastic and amazing and I love you and I love this fill ♥

other!anon was also going to fill this, but now I'm glad I didn't get much done!

“The air today has an unexpected chill.”

She had tried, unsuccessfully, to serve him eight times.

“Really? I didn’t even notice!”

He had been sitting on the edge of the concrete curb outside when she’d left the kitchen in order to tidy up the front of the store. She had let him in three full minutes early; the damp sidewalk hadn’t looked very comfortable. While he’d chosen a seat for himself, she had busied herself rewriting the menu board. Feliciano had said the day felt more savory than sweet, although she couldn’t tell the difference. To her, the day felt like warm blankets and perhaps a good book. But she trusted Feliciano.

Once she had finished carefully replacing Feliciano’s flourished descriptions of cakes and pastries from the day before, she had carefully angled the board a few degrees more in the direction of the café’s lone customer. He’d looked like he could use something warm. Feliciano had been in the kitchen at the time, whistling while stirring a pot of porridge. It had been perfect.

“Ah…”

He had ignored the porridge. Undaunted, she had recommended coffee twice.

“Whoever made the sign outside is really talented. Just like whoever decorated in here. Everything’s so comfortable! I used to work in a coffee shop but it was nothing like this, and I had to stop really quickly after…”

Over an hour later, other customers had begun to trickle into the Little Falcon Café. But the first one of the day had yet to buy anything. Kiku, calm smile frozen in place, wondered how someone could be so horrible at communicating. Then she remembered her husband, who was currently across the room chatting about flour prices with the espresso machine, and resolved to not give up. A Honda never gave up. A Honda might politely decline, ignore or imply for far longer than anyone else would, but she would never outright give up. “The house blend is suited to the air today.”

Honda Kiku never gave up. Marriage had changed neither her name nor her patience.

The customer angled his head to the side. “…and that’s when they fired me from the grocery store. And… wait, oh, right! Do you have a blend for every type of air?” He considered it. “How do you tell?”

In her mind, Kiku was a stream of clear water flowing down the mountainside. She was clear and cool and refreshing. She was tranquil. She was a stream. “It is a complicated process.” A process Kiku had yet to understand, but she was trying and Feliciano was trying too, and sometimes Lovino even wandered over and gave his advice. While nowhere near as adept in the kitchen as his brother, Lovino could still give Kiku pointers when she needed them. She rarely even had to ask.

The customer stared at her for a moment, unblinking, before he pulled a little notebook from his pocket and began to scribble something. Kiku took the opportunity to regroup behind the register. Perhaps Feliciano would have better luck with someone of the same personality type. “Feliciano?”

Her husband took an empty mug back from a customer with a smile. “Ve?” He stepped to the side to put it in the sink, but not before dragging his free hand in a caress along the side of her hip, out of view of the customers. It was something she would never entirely get used to. To her credit, she didn’t make a sound.

“That customer, he…” suddenly, Kiku couldn’t remember why she had been frustrated. The man hadn’t been that bad. She had served worse. He’d only been a little absentminded, and Kiku knew all about dealing with absentminded people. Feliciano’s hand returned to her side. What had she intended to say? “…would like an espresso.”

Back at his table, chosen for its placement near the open wall that separated the café from the bookstore and for the shelter of the large plant next to it, Antonio finished making his last note about the waitress who liked standing next to him and making observations about the weather. Maybe she and Lovino were already in a secret relationship, torn apart by social status or… or family issues, or legal issues, or financial issues, or sociopolitical issues, or literary issues, or even different tastes in music.

Or maybe Lovino loved her but never said anything about it, and she was a little bit interested in Lovino but too shy to explore her options by finding excuses to deliver coffee to the bookstore. And Lovino was too shy to make excuses to deliver books to the café! Or maybe Lovino’s brother was really a tyrant of the kitchen! Tall and angry, he ruled the café with an iron fist and an impressively curled mustache. And he hated love too. He had to.

Or maybe it was the music thing.

Antonio had had an hour to gather information on the waitress, but he was no magician. He needed more time to figure out if she was The One for Lovino or if she was The Previous One Who Would Make the Actual One Irrationally Jealous by Her Kindness and Tragic Backstory. Antonio hadn’t decided yet. She might even just be an accessory character, he couldn’t forget about that. The last time Antonio had forgotten that not everyone was a previous or present love interest, Roderich Edelstein had slapped him in the face in the middle of a seminar on bees.

It had stung.

Antonio made a note to his note (maybe friends, supporting cast, or maybe it’s her SISTER!). When he looked up again, the clock on the wall showed a quarter past nine. The bookstore should have opened at nine.

What Antonio needed most of all was time to watch Lovino Vargas. But the lights in the bookstore were off and the chair behind the register was empty. Antonio wondered if Lovino was already caught in an affair somewhere on route to work. It would be sad if Antonio had missed it, the love light bulb turning on, but Lovino having a chance at romance was the most important thing, essentially. “And I could always ask about it later, too. Don’t you think? Do you think he’d mind if I asked about it?”

The centerpiece didn’t answer. But someone else did. “This is yours!”

The voice was on the lighter side of familiar. The face that belonged to it was too, because it wasn’t twisted into a scowl. Antonio began having second thoughts. Maybe Lovino was a morning person and the evening before had been a fluke. “It is?”

Feliciano set down the cup and saucer and turned the handle towards his newest patron. “You ordered it, ve, didn’t you?”

“I did?” If he’d ordered it then he couldn’t refuse. And it smelled nice. Antonio took a sip. It tasted even better. “It’s good.”

Feliciano put his hands on his hips, proud. “That’s because the air today is perfect for my grandfather’s fourth super secret special blend!” His grandfather had been a renaissance man in every sense of the word. Especially if those senses involved tasting coffee and seeing words on the page and hearing the doors to his own business open for the first time and smelling fresh-baked rolls sitting next to the oven. Or touching everything that got close.

Antonio’s left hand picked his cup up for another heavenly drink while his right hand began to write in his backup journal (definitely morning person, food, smile kind of cute).

It wasn’t until Lovino had wandered off again, after Antonio had assured him that his grandfather’s coffee was the best in the world (although not as good as blend number seventy-three which was much more suited to sunrises in June), that Antonio bothered to reread his newest notes. He had doodled a small cat next to the comment about Lovino’s smile. And the more he thought about it, the more he thought it was true. Lovino did have a cute smile. In fact, everything about him seemed cute now that it was morning.

Cute like the waitress who slid back into Antonio’s view from somewhere in the kitchen. She had two bunches of napkins in her hands, and a platter balanced on one arm. Antonio watched as she blushed her way around Lovino in the tight walking space near the coffee machines and… and… blushed! This was going to be easier than Antonio had thought.

Lovino ghosted a kiss on the side of the waitress’s cheek.

M-much easier? (workplace romance! Can’t act, evil brother only around at night???)

Kiku lightly pressed her husband away with a hand full of cloth. Feliciano was forward, and she loved him for it at times, but the customer behind the fern was staring. She needed to change the subject. Clearing her throat loudly enough to startle a customer leaning against the bar, she did so. “Lovino is a little late today.”

Antonio, eavesdropping as well as staring, nodded along. Late to notice how much the waitress yearned for him! If Lovino needed help defeating his dastardly brother (who was probably also power-mad and a baron and not very nice), if that was the only thing standing in the way, Antonio would do everything he could. He’d taken a night class in amateur fencing with Gil once; he could show Lovino how to defend his lady’s honor.

“You think so?” Feliciano spared a look for the customer at the bar before rummaging around in the pastry display case. He’d forgotten to eat his own breakfast, despite being surrounded by food in the kitchen. And the tarts he’d made had smelled extra delicious. But which one should he pick…? “It’s only been a few minutes.” In his opinion Lovino was still early. Feliciano didn’t like getting out of bed either and the bookstore didn’t get many customers in the morning. It was small, and enough competition in other parts of the neighborhood meant that Contrasts didn’t get many customers at all. Only enough so that Lovino could buy new books from time to time and not have to store them everywhere in his apartment because the store hadn’t sold off any of the old ones.

Kiku did not frown, but thought about it very determinedly at Feliciano’s bent back. “It’s been twenty-three.”

Finally deciding that coffee would be enough for him, Feliciano stood, closed the display case and kissed his wife on the cheek. Again. He didn’t even bother to hide it from the customers. “Then he’s barely even late at all, ve, and you shouldn’t worry!”

“Fe-feliciano!”

Antonio nodded again, excitedly, until his brain caught up with the content of the conversation. Lovino wasn’t Lovino? He was Feliciano? Feli…ciano? …Oh. Antonio stabbed a short line through his rough sketch of ‘Lovino’s love story. Feliciano wasn’t evil after all. And he was clean-shaven. And very nice, so it was probably a good thing Antonio had learned his real personality before challenging him to any duels. Except if Antonio had thought that Feliciano was Lovino then would he accidentally have challenged Lovino to a duel on Feliciano-Lovino’s behalf or would he have tried to fight a complete stranger?

The story was becoming too complicated. And Antonio had run out of coffee. Even worse, while he’d been thinking (and confirming his thoughts with his coffee cup), Lovino-who-wasn’t-really-Lovino and Was-She-Really-a-Waitress-Then had moved to the other end of the shop and continued their conversation. Antonio’s seat had him close enough to pick out a smattering of individual words and a few snipped phrases. But nothing else. “Books” was easy to pick out. “A long time” and “Heracles” drifted to his ears in the waitress’s voice. Antonio wondered what they meant.

Before he could get up and ask, or even better yet start making his own guesses, a nearby door slammed shut. Antonio didn’t jump, because he’d been Gilbert’s friend for too long to be surprised by noises that sounded a little like random explosions. None of the other customers even so much as twitched. He didn’t know the skill was so common.

A few seconds later, another person who looked a lot like Lovino strode into view. He looked disgruntled, which made Antonio want to guess that it actually was Lovino. But after Feliciano, he couldn’t be sure. It was entirely possible that Lovino had a surplus of twins; some evil, some nice, some avid fans of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo romance novels. At the thought, Antonio pulled up his coat collar and reminded himself to be inconspicuous. The waitress hadn’t said anything, but she worked really close to a bookstore. Either she was a book person or she was polite enough to know not to make a scene while other people were trying to eat breakfast. Antonio appreciated her consideration.

It was nine-thirty in the morning and Lovino Vargas hated the world. After his brother handed him a cup of their grandfather’s not favorite coffee but screw it, that didn’t matter because Lovino thought it was fine, perfectly fine, it was fucking capable enough to manage the store on his own dammit, Lovino Vargas hated the world a little bit less. Mostly. After a few sips of coffee, the smell of which brought back enough twisting emotional memories that made Lovino unsure why he kept drinking it, Lovino Vargas only hated the world as much as a normal person should. “Good morning.”

He only said it to Kiku, but Feli took the chance to give his brother a good morning hug. “Good morning!”

Kiku nodded her head. “Good morning to you as well, Lovino.”

Lovino had no idea how his twit of a brother had had the good fortune to land a woman like Kiku. She was pretty, intelligent, and most importantly, wasn’t an idiot: she and Feli weren’t compatible at all. Sometimes Lovino had an easier time accepting her as a sister than he did failing to pretend that he and Feliciano weren’t related. But other times, like later when Feliciano started poking him mercilessly on the shoulder, Lovino made a good effort for the latter.

Feliciano had only been talking to his brother for ten minutes and he was already irritating the fuck out of him. “What?”

“Shhh!” He didn’t stop poking.

Lovino wished he’d stop poking. “Feli, dammit, stop that.”

Kiku watched her husband and brother-in-law start and end a short tussle before they settled on staring at each other with teary eyes. “It is wonderful that we have so many customers today.”

Oh. Lovino and Feliciano wiped their eyes and hid their embarrassed blushes as one. Customers.

Never one to be mollified long, Feliciano pointed at one particular customer and stage whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “Lovi, ve, he’s staring at you. Did you notice?”

Lovino hadn’t. “O-of course I did!” Surreptitiously, because he already know who Feliciano was talking about because he had noticed, Lovino leaned around his brother’s shoulder to see who the hell Feli was talking about.

“Gilbert?”

Startled out of a daydream involving fencing on horseback, Antonio waved. To be friendly, Feliciano waved back. To be polite, so did Kiku. Lovino did nothing because he was too busy being confused to pretend to be friendly or polite. Gilbert… hadn’t been kidding. Here he was, in the café, smiling, still waving, early as fuck in the morning, waving some more, and “stop that already.”

Lovino half-stomped over to Gilbert’s seat, noticed it had a perfect view of his seat back in the store and frowned. All the waving was getting obnoxious. Almost as obnoxious as Feli and Kiku’s furiously whispered conversation behind him, Lovino could hear it (“ve, but Kiku, Lovi hasn’t gotten any in so long, he should take every chance he gets!”), he bet Gilbert could hear it too and why did Lovino’s relatives only exist to embarrass him?

By some miracle, Antonio had remembered the alias he had given the extra bad-tempered bookstore owner from the night before. And even though he didn’t stop waving like an idiot, he wasn’t an idiot by any stretch. Idiots were people who didn’t have passion; Antonio had passion in spades. In hearts even. “Good morning Lovino! You know,” he paused for a split second before he thought up the perfect cover story. “Everybody calls me Toni!” ‘Toni’ would be much easier for Antonio to remember. And it wasn’t even a lie: plenty of people called Antonio that.

“…why?”

Damn, Lovino was a tricky one. It didn’t matter, or, it mattered but in a good way. Antonio liked his heroes to be clever. But he was clever too. “It’s a nickname! You know… Gilber…ttttt. Tttttoni. They sound alike.” He smiled, lopsidedly, for good measure.

Lovino wondered again why all the good-looking ones were idiots. He wasn’t sure whether to hope that Antonio would be as forward as he’d been the night before, or to hope he would go away so Feli didn’t have so much to work with.

“Lovi sit closer to him!”

Feli was a bastard. “I… apologize on my brother’s behalf. His stupidity is too much for us to contain for long.”

Antonio didn’t think Feliciano seemed stupid. Then again, he wasn’t Feliciano’s brother or Lovino’s brother by extension, or Lovino’s evil twin’s brother by extension either. “What do you mean?”

“He’s trying to… you know,” Lovino waved a hand vaguely in a circle. Gilbert stared at him, still, but the look was blank now when it had been excited before. And the fucker’s hand was absently doodling in a sketchbook and Lovino wanted to escape into the nonfiction stack for a good few hours. “He’s… nothing. It’s nothing.” Gilbert didn’t say anything. “Nothing!”

A flash hit Antonio’s brain like so much light reflected off a city of steel and glass. Or maybe it was a slow seeping, like a raindrop that sneaked down his hair only to land in his eyes. Antonio wasn’t sure. What mattered was the way Lovino wasn’t quite meeting Antonio’s eyes. What mattered was the way Lovino’s hair fell, the way the wrinkles in his shirtsleeves looked as though he’d tried and failed to press them out multiple times. What mattered was that Lovino was cute and interesting and needed Antonio’s help and those were good enough reasons in Antonio’s eyes. “Are you single?” He probably didn’t need to ask, considering Lovino’s spite for love stories, but it was always better to check.

Before Lovino could die of heart failure or answer properly, light cheering and clapping and ve-ing burst from the kitchen. Feli had better goddamn know how lucky he was that Lovino liked Kiku enough not to want to make her a widow. Not at such an early age.

Gilbert twirled his pen around two fingers and continued. “Because I am and if you are too we should go out.”

Lovino opened his mouth. But nothing came out, not even panicked book recommendations. Not even panicked, but scathing, reviews on the slop of the book world, which was strange because Lovino could insult the things he didn’t like in his sleep. It had scared Feli when they had been younger. “...S-so are you still buying a journal then?” Smooth, Vargas. Smooth.

Antonio closed his pen with a click. Grumpy bookstore owner whose heart changes after meeting a lighthearted customer would be perfect. “Yeah! I’ll have whichever one you like the best.” Grumpy bookstore owner with a secret soft side whose heart changes after meeting a beautiful, open, passionate author-in-disguise sounded even better.

When Lovino scrambled towards his bookstore, glad for the excuse, Antonio watched him go.

Antonio couldn’t wait to tell Francis he had a new book in the works already. He couldn’t wait to start helping Lovino feel the best feeling in the world. He couldn’t wait for the story to begin.

My middle-of-January’s resolution is to try and get some sort of update on this every weekend. I have no idea if that’s going to work. Anyway, Kiku is fem!Japan. Feliciano is handsy. Sorry for any name confusion, but there’s going to be quite a bit more before the end of this. To stop all of us from going crazy, let’s hope Antonio is successful with his tttttoni justification, yeah? On the subject of Antonio, I’m happy so many of you like him eccentric! But you’ve got to remember that he’s fully capable of being a jerk too… you’ll see.

Next time: lunch. I should never outline while hungry.

1non: I LOVE YOU TOO 1NON! And I’m very ♥ that you’re glad the story exists. Thanks!

2non: <3 Thank you. I’m happy you liked this enough to delurk for it, despite the past pairings thing! I promise to try my best and keep the story interesting, in return. And never feel the need to shut up! Rambling is something I completely understand.

3non: Thank you! I do the same thing; I don’t read romance novels but I read plenty of romance fic. It’s easier to get into the silly situations when you already like the characters. Or when the characters are mostly silly to begin with. Or something.

4non: Now who wouldn’t fall for a guy who could make up an endearment like ‘apple-love strudel?’ And have the guts to use it. ;) Thanks anon!

5non: DAT ASS. Will definitely be tapped. And do some tapping of its own. I don’t think any of the actual tapping will be written out here, but it will at least be implied. I’m still on the fence. Thanks!

6non: glad to hear reading it changed your mind! I hope Spain's sneakiness hasn't changed your mind back, but ah, the eccentricity is still there? And any time, anon. Any time. :D

My Apple-Love Stru—I mean OP: <3! Glad Spain is still hitting the spot. “I would probably even end up enjoying them:” it’s a very good thing you said this, OP. It killed a few of my worries for later parts. And poor Iceland. Literally and figuratively, since he’s never going to get away from the jokes. You’re going to see more of him. Because I like him too much to not put him in really awkward situations. ...Speaking of awkward situations, what are your thoughts on threesomes? It might not even come to play in this fill, or involve Iceland at all. Just wanted to check first.

8non: Perhaps Antonio needs to teach Lovino how to be a book person, needs to guide him in the proper ways of handling the sacred tomes with a very hands-on lesson. Followed up by a practical exam.

9non: I’LL BE YOUR APPLE-LOVE STRUDEL IF YOU’LL BE MY CINNAMON LOVE PRETZEL. Spain makes eccentricity more adorable than fluffy bunnies, doesn’t he? I like it too. And you should still fill if you’ve got the time! I bet we’d go in different directions. Unless you’re the anon who’s going to work on something else? Either way. More fills = <3

New chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaapteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer ~~~

I don't like capslocking, but I'm actually screaming this comment in total fangirl-mode. Glad it sounds more sane when written out...

First of all: Feliciano! Feliciano!!!
Second of all: is married to Fem!Kiku!!!!

I. love. you. so. much!!!
Personality clash is pretty much my favourite kink ever for pairings and the way you wrote them had me fangirling all over the place. Oh God I hope we're going to read more about that most awesome married couple ever.

Oh yeah, I'd drink my morning coffee in that exact coffee shop every single day if it really existed. And I don't even like coffee.

Iceland is an awesome character and I'm so happy that you're going to use him more ♥

Threesomes are always awesome. Especially awkward ones xD

I just... I know I'm going to love every single word you write. With fireworks in the background and epic music blasting through loudspeakers everywhere. And I'll just sit there after every single chapter and wonder how many more times it will be possible for my mind to be blown. You're just that awesome. So stop worrying if I'll like something or not, because if you write it, I can't not love it.

Heart-parade!

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

I think you get a special award author!anon for writing a genderbent character and not having me hate it. I almost didn't read this update because I tend to dislike fem!nations who aren't canonically women so much but I really didn't mind it here.

This is sweet and hilarious and awesome.

Fem!Kiku what? Not only that, but a Fem!Kiku I actually like? *showers you with love and hearts and cupcakes*

Oh Antonio, you lovable, oblivious oaf you. Why do I get the feeling he's going to accidentally end up breaking poor Lovino's heart?

past 4non here. That was just amazing. Seriously. Poor Kiku trying to imply something and not getting anywhere, the theory of the evil twin and the cheering and ve-ing from the kitchen... Let me have your babies, author-anon! I love your Antonio to bits. And your Kiku. And your Feliciano. And your Lovino, even if he insults me in his sleep!♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

New reader here.

Gosh. GOSH. WHY IS THIS FILL SO CUUUUTEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!11one!!??

Lovi's and Toni's characterisations. I CAN'T TYPE A COHERENT RESPONSE ATM. *hyperventilates at the cute*

*ahem*

Author!non.

Be my Apple-Love-Strudel and we'll right to the sunset, (y/y)? :'D

*ride. As new!non said, incoherency is a major side effect of reading this fill. *bricked for lame excuse*

I'm laughing so much my sides are hurting. Oh god.

Antonio didn’t jump, because he’d been Gilbert’s friend for too long to be surprised by noises that sounded a little like random explosions.

I love how even your off-side comments turn into spots of characterization.

And I just love this fill incoherently. Yes that adjective fits shut up.

Also, did I spot a reference to past Romano/Greece? 110% MOAR LUV

Authournon, why are you so... so... damn good at this?! This chapter was just as funny, interesting, awesome and cute as the last one. And the one before that. And... and yes. This Anon former 2non, actually, who can't not comment anymore, sorry about that? is definitely looking forward to seeing more of Spain and Romano, especially after this chapter, but it was definitely Japan who made this chapter. She is perfect. She is adorable. She makes a surprisingly good couple with N. Italy. Although maybe that's because you're such an amazing writer? Anon thinks you could probably do nothing wrong.

Also, Anon agrees with the anon above about your narration being one of the best parts. Combined with well-written and interesting characters and all of it funny... this fic is still very enjoyable to read. Anon is looking forward to the next chapter now that Spain is setting his plans into action~ And more of Spain thinking he's more famous than he is. Anon loves how you have written that, Authournon. It's even better than Anon thought, reading the prompt - and speaking of which, great idea, OP. :) Can Anon say that in a comment to the authour?

At this rate, Anon will be completely speechless by the next chapter and will have to use smileys. Every weekend, really?! No, no, Anon has already resolved not to question Authournon's awesomeness. But that's very awesome indeed.

Anon is also thrilled Authournon understands (and condones?) rambling.

Anon forgot to mention that she kind of hopes Lovino has an evil twin now. With one of those deviously evil goatees.

You mean. Like this?: http://oi56.tinypic.com/11ipm3n.jpg

:D I have a minor in MS Paint, if you didn't know. The real image is from here, and has nothing to do with evil twins: http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=3695585

Exactly. Exactly like that. He looks so devious. You are one very talented authour, Authournon! Your MS Paint skills are impeccable ~~and no, Anon was not aware you had a minor in such an unusual yet popular subject. Is Authournon's major writing Spamano fanfic then? :P~~

The original image is very cute too, though, and thank you for posting it! Right-click save. On both.

Just in case Anon ever needs to know what Romano's evil twin looks like.

The last time Antonio had forgotten that not everyone was a previous or present love interest, Roderich Edelstein had slapped him in the face in the middle of a seminar on bees.

It had stung.

GENIUS. Anyway, oooh, jerk!Antonio? That'd be awesome~

http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=69576532#t69576532

I wasn't going to post the second fill originally, but for some reason I did anyways...strange how the mind works...lol xD

I finished this part a few weeks ago, just read the other update today and I was surprised to find that we both used Japan! Though in very different ways...

BTW, Feliciano was inspired by this 'Italian stereotype' in case you were wondering if he was on drugs: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fv3fkcCrn6k

---

Word count: 210,305.

Antonio glared into the light of his screen as he felt like dragging the document icon into the recycle bin and destroying it for good.

There was a time, a ‘prime’ as most would call it, that he was the best author in the romance genre. At only eighteen, Antonio Carriedo Fernandez was a writing prodigy, and his novel topped the bestseller’s chart for weeks after the release of his first novel. Celebration and praise immediately followed, and he was interviewed repeatedly, women swooned in his presence, and his editor informed him that he was to be rewarded with a big fat award. He spent weeks partying with his high school buddies, Francis and Gilbert, without a care in the world, downing Tequila shots like water in Mexico; sleeping around with beautiful women; smoking weed like breathing air.

He was young and, frankly, very restless. Antonio was attractive, smart, fit, and an eligible bachelor. He thought he was on top of the world; while in reality, it was simply sitting on him.

An entire period of twelve months passed without writing a single sentence. The years following his ascent to stardom in the world of romance novels were riddled with failures. When the fame was gone, as it always did eventually, Antonio was filled with a void. The need to succeed engulfed him and drove him to spend hours in front of his laptop; typing his days away. His fitness decreased, his appearance grew wild, and his social life was fizzled out completely. But never again did any of his novels succeed.

The media threw scandal after scandal over his breakdown, and there Antonio sat, typing away, trying to reclaim his lost glory.

An article on his desk drew in Antonio’s attention as he contemplated deleting his current piece. It was a piece of shit. Love was a piece of shit. Life was a piece of shit.

“It sucks to be reaching the peak of your fame at such a young age. It must be tough, knowing that you just started becoming famous and you’ve already reached the end of it.” The article quoted in bold red letters the words of his editor, and he felt betrayed. Anger ripped through him. He grabbed the bunch of glossed paper and scrunched it into a ball, throwing the offending object into a nearly full trash can, where it laid in peace with all of Antonio’s shredded notes of ideas and inspiration.

He got up from his desk for the first time in hours and pulled on a sweater and a pair of jeans as he decided to head outside. Sunshine beamed down on him as he sulked down the street, looking for a quick fix. Seeing a bookstore on the way to his best friends’ shared apartment, he decided to check it out. It was the first time he had been inside a bookstore, and he felt slightly claustrophobic.

Writers were not supposed to read other’s works, in fear they would steal ideas unconscientiously and lose their own creativity. Well, that was Antonio told himself, but the truth was perhaps more so that he was simply afraid to see another person’s novel receiving more glory than his own.

A cigarette stuck between his teeth, he opened the door to the bookstore, which seemed family run, unlike the many chain stores that sold novels across the nation. Chimes notified the owner of his presence and a slap in the face woke him from the imaginary life he had lived in during the months he spent working in isolation.

“Ve~! Timmy, please don’t smoke inside! Do you see the no smoking sign? Though if you’re Italian too, I can let you, okay Jimmy? You can smoke allllllllll you want! Just don’t tell the nice police man that, Sandy, or he’ll call me racist. You want some coffee Sammy, my boy? I know you like coffee! Everyone likes coffee! Unless you’re a non-believer, than you must be shunned. Shun! Shun! Shun!” A smiling, cheerful looking man in his twenties exclaimed joyfully as he cornered Antonio by the door.

Antonio shook his head several times as he starred at the other man. He didn’t feel like he was drunk. Or high. He definitely did not recall blazing in the last twenty-four hours...was he dreaming or was this man insane?

“Ahhhhhh!” A quick yank of hair was all that was needed to make the strange Italian man slink away in horror as he was replaced by a slightly taller man that looked quite similar in appearance.

“Ignore my stupid little brother. He is weird and scares away the customers. Please come inside and I will give you free coffee for every book you buy, you like coffee, yeah?”

Antonio shook his head again, somehow it felt like déjà vu, even though the voice speaking this time was very deep, much deeper than he had expected from the lithe looking young man. The older brother sighed as Antonio stared at him dumbstruck.

“Please, if you find me attractive, leave me your phone number after you pay for your bill, yeah? Now go buy some books so papa won’t be angry about our poor sales today,” the darker hair brother said as he waved Antonio into the depths of his store, giving him a vile looking smile as though he was a predator that wouldn’t let him out until he bought something. The younger brother’s cheerful demeanour returned as he returned to his post by the door, guarding it in case Antonio decided to leave without spending a penny.

Antonio heaved out a great sigh of frustration as his journey to Gilbert and Francis’ place was greatly delayed and he searched around the aisles to quickly buy something and leave. Piles of books were shoved aside as he tried to find a decent novel in the romance section to buy for his friends, perhaps one with lots of detailed sex scenes to appease their promiscuous minds. Flashes of crimson caught the corner of his eyes and he reached for the thick volume apprehensively, blowing away the dust from the top.

The Crimson Lottery, his first book.

Hollow steps approached him from behind, and he turned to face his onlooker.

“That book may have won awards, but it was awful. A real pain to read. The author must have been a German, he knows nothing about romance!” the older brother remarked bitterly, glaring at the novel in his hand. Before he knew it, the copy was removed from his hand and it was being waved in the air in the direction of the door.

“Brother, stupid brother, over here! You agree don’t you? This book is awful, yeah?”

“Ve~! That book has sex scenes written out of a science textbook! The author must simply be not as experienced as us! Terrible writer, but I heard the author is very handsome!” Younger Italian replied, grinning from ear to ear.

“Ugh! Tell me about it! The ladies are all over this guy! I heard Uncle Alberto’s second cousin’s niece’s half sister slept with him,” Older Italian dramatically put the back of his hand on his forehead as faked a swoon, “’oh he’s so handsome! He has such nice abs!’ stupid girls.”

The other giggled, cupping his mouth with both of his hands, “oh! Poor, poor Lovino! So unlucky with love! How many times have you been rejected this year, brother? Eleven? Twelve?”

“Don’t talk about it, bastard! Don’t announce my love life to the public!”

“But you already did it yourself, ve~!”

Antonio watched the whole scene with quiet fascination. In a time span of several minutes, he learned that these two bookstore owners hated his work, older brother was rather unlucky with love, and they were experienced in bed. Antonio never did guys before, but he had to admit that the two brothers were rather cute, though absurdly strange.

A knock in the door behind the younger brother halted their argument, and the door was let open to allow a meek looking Asian man into the store.

“Good morning Lovino-kun, Feliciano-chan. How is business today?” the Asian man asked as he manoeuvred a large cardboard box into the bookstore.

“Hello, Kenny! I see you got new books for us today?”

“Yes, though my name is Kiku, not Kenny.”

“Kevin, please put them by the counter, ve~!”

“My name is Kiku Honda, not...never mind,” the Asian man sighed, putting the box where he was told. He looked over to Antonio, who was forgotten amidst the childish banter between the two brothers.

“Ah, are you a customer?” the man named Kiku asked the author. Antonio nodded and Kiku looked slightly worried as he refused to meet his eyes.

“Then...you may want to buy something, or these brothers won’t let you leave tonight...”

“He was just about to, Kiku! But I was stopping him from buying this disaster of a novel!” the older brother, who was supposedly named Lovino, responded, shoving the book in the shorter Asian man’s face.

“How horrible! A man who wrote this must be such a terrible lover! Give him to me and I’ll teach him!”

That phrase shook Antonio from his absentminded thoughts. Okay, so maybe the guy didn’t like his writing, but that did not mean that he was a bad lover! He was very good, thank you very much!

“Isn’t that too much to say?! He’s probably a magnificent tiger of manly sexiness!” Antonio suddenly shouted, setting three sets of blank looking eyes staring at him. It took him a moment to realize that he sounded just as ridiculous as the two brothers.

Kiku turned scarlet from cheeks to ears as he felt greatly disturbed to be talking about sex so casually in public and hurried to excuse himself as he left the little shop. Antonio turned back to Lovino,

“But...but specifically, why don’t you like The Crimson Lottery? I’ve read it before and I think it’s very good.” Antonio said eyeing the novel he worked so hard on.

“Why don’t I like it? Because it’s unrealistic! Romance doesn’t work like that! It’s like that Oscar guy said, ‘when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what world calls a romance.’”

Antonio frowned and shook his head in disagreement, “Romance isn't about deceit! Romance is about love, and the human need to be wanted, to find someone who is ‘special’ only to you!”

“You live in the eighteenth century. Anyways, I highly suggest you buy something else. I suggest this one, if you like romance novels,” Lovino said as he picked up a novel from the front shelf, “it’s called, A Day of Danger, by Arthur Kirkland. It’s very popular. The prostitute woman betrays the hero and stabs him to death in bed.”

Antonio glared at the book’s cover. So this was the man who took away his fame, money, and glory, this Arthur Kirkland fellow!

“Don’t gawk, buy already!” he sighed as took his position by the cash register. Feliciano continued to block the exit.

Deciding to at least try to find out about the enemy, Antonio went to the front counter and bought the book, pocket feeling lighter after spending over thirty dollars on the hardcover version, which Lovino insisted he needed.

“Please sign the bill,” Lovino remarked, sharing a sideway glance with Antonio as he passed him the receipt.

“Huh? I don’t have to sign when I pay with cash, do I?” Antonio asked suspiciously. The Italian man coughed into his fist, looking away as a blush covered his cheeks.

“Your number. You said you would give it to me earlier?”

Antonio wasn’t sure he promised any such thing, but he had feeling he wouldn’t be able to leave the store without doing so, and scribbled a chain of numbers onto the slip of paper.

“Errrr...I’ll be going now...” he said as started moving towards the doorway.

“Don’t you want coffee?! It’s-it’s not spiked! I give free coffee to everyone who buys a book, remember?!” a voice called after him, but it was too late. Antonio had already forced his way out of the store and promised himself never to return. No matter how many times the gay Italian phoned him, it wouldn’t work, because he had long since memorized the number for the rejection hotline.

He turned a corner towards his destination when he saw a garbage bin sitting by the sidewalk. Seeing no one else around, he chucked the book. It was then that he had an epiphany. He didn’t care if the bookselling brothers were weirdoes and that he older one liked his ass; he would prove him wrong about romance! And he would prove to the world that Antonio Carriedo Fernandez was still the best romance author on the market!

Oh, this is different! Great complement to the other piece. How exciting.

Interesting role reversal too, without being too far OOC. After all, canon is stereotypes ;)

Ah, glad you decided to post it! This is off to an interesting start! ^^

And Spain. What a waste of a perfectly good book! D:

Ahahaha, so England was the one who stole Spain's fame? Love it already.

Reading this, the only thing I could gawk out was "....T-they're Italian...."

The Italies were so Italian. I wish more people wrote them like this, they were still IC, BUT THEY WERE THE ITALIAN WOMANIZING, LOUD, ROMANTIC, USING-MANY-HAND-GESTURES, CHAOTIC ITALIAN MEN THAT NO ONE EVER MAKES THEM.

Which on the contrary they are.

Marry me? Please? Love this fic more than I should, oh, and Antonio was written nicely as well! As someone above me said before "this compliments the other fill" well, they're not lying.

I'm Italian, so seeing the brothers act the way that they really are meant to act brings tears to my overly dramatic Italian eyes.

lol, you really are Italian, aren't you? xDD

Why yes I am! I read my comment back to myself after I posted it and I thought the same thing too...ffff

I actually find this very inaccurate and I hate when people assume Italians = Italian American, but YMMV.

Also if you find no fics in which they're characterized like that you haven't read a lot.

Uh, aren't they Italian-American in this story, though? I somehow assumed it was taking place in America, too...

I haven't met any Italian-Americans, and I don't know how they act. Apparently they are more stereotypically 'Italian' than Italians, which I find kind of ironically hilarious. I just used the 'don't know what your name is' from the youtube video actually.

My headcanon says this story happens in Canada, because I know too little about America to use that setting, since I've never been there before. (yes, I'm Canadian and never been to America, yet has been to Europe and Asia, wtf?) I actually based the brothers on two of my Canadian-Italian friends, who are pretty normal except they are very energetic, friendly and slightly eccentric at times. Please don't be offended by their characterizations. ^^;

I'm the anon who assumed the setting was America; if I can't tell the difference between Canada and America and Canadian-Italians and Italian-Americans, this is yet more proof that we're more alike than either of us entirely want to admit. We love our bros, but we're still worried about your spelling, guys. XD

But seriously? My impressions of my travels in Canada was a child were always, "Wait, isn't this just like America, only with better weather and more French? ~~And with nicer, slightly quieter people?~~"

Aaah I'm so glad you chose to upload it after all <3

The Italies made me laugh xD I don't even care if it's a stereotype or not, I just like the way they act in this. They're really cute.

I especially liked Lovi's "casual" asking for Antonio's number xD Aaaaand the fact that Arthur stole Antonio's fame with a novel like this xD The summary made me laugh so hard!

I'm already looking forward to the next upload ♥

btw, I'm a bit confused over the word count. 210'205 words... wouldn't that be like, novel-lenght? O.O

Oh, the word count was how much Antonio wrote, he wrote up a whole novel and hated it. Sorry if it wasn't clear. ^^

Sorry, my bad! How could I not see that??? I can't remember, but I probably read this late in the night xD Sorry!

I tried to make Spain more IC and somehow...this chapter didn't turn out as serious as I originally intended it.

Sorry this update came so late, I hope OP is still there. =)

---

Antonio was convinced that it was a stupid idea. Stupid ideas, as per his editor’s advice, were to be avoided at all costs, because they made stupid stories. And after a stupid story goes through the printing press, it becomes a stupid book. Just like his last three manuscripts.

But if Antonio was going to write the ‘Lovino’ man as the main character of his next novel, he was going to need research. Thus, with a notepad and pen in his fanny pack (they were very cool, thank you very much) he went back to the store bravely. He was like Dante, descending the steps into hell. Only there were no circles. Good, because Antonio couldn’t draw circles that were actually circular.

The chime sounded off, and Antonio found himself in the dim lighting of the little bookstore. With whirlwind speed, his exit was immediately blocked off by the smiling Italian brother, happily munching on a slice of pizza and swallowing, no, slurping it down like pasta. It was disturbing, and Antonio was convinced that he was going to choke and die. Then he would get blamed for killing Feliciano and he would go to jail. After he got out, he would probably write a stupid book titled ‘Crime and Penalties’ or something.

Antonio spun around and smiled nervously. “Ah, hello Feliciano! You look good today!” So far. Probably will end up ugly after he becomes a corpse.

To his relief, Feliciano swallowed the last of his pizza without choking and smiled back.

“Ve, ve, ve~! Hello Tommy! I’m so glad you came in today. Look! Guess what? We got more books in this morning that we will probably never sell! Isn’t that great? Because since you’re our first customer of the day, that means you get first dibs and can buy them all!”

Antonio furrowed his brows. Wasn’t it five in the evening? Was business really that bad? However, before he could ask, Feliciano grabbed his arm and began to drag him deeper into the store.

“F-feliciano?!” Antonio gaped as he was forced into the vicinity of a large, cluttered, and disorganized pile of books. The pile was full of different classic titles, “The Great Gatsby,” “Pride and Prejudice,” Antonio even spotted a copy of “Crime and Punishment,” the novel that he would have to rip off when Feliciano died from choking on pizza.

“Ve, you know my name!” Feliciano pointed a finger at the pile. “Isn’t this great? Don’t you love classic novels?”

“Um. No,” Antonio answered, thinking that honesty was probably the best course for the moment. It might save his wallet from holes. Financial holes.

“Ve, I don’t like them either. I prefer romantic erotica myself!”

“Aren’t those written for women?”

“Ve?”

“Nevermind,” Antonio didn’t really have any say in objections. He was a guy who wrote romance novels for a living after all.

“Well,” Feliciano continued to smile at Antonio. “You seem like a sophisticated guy with your ponytail! I’m sure you’ll like these classics anyways!”

Antonio rubbed the back of his head, hands trailing down to touch the rough ponytail that gave his mingled mess of hair shape. In his despair over his ruined reputation, he had neglected his hair and let it grow obscenely long.

“Here!” Feliciano chirped and threw a book at Antonio. It was followed by another. And another. And yet another one. He was pelted by a barrage of novels and a particularly heavy version of Les Misérables aimed at his head almost knocked him unconscious.

Antonio cried out in agony. However, the assault was only stopped by a booming voice behind him.

“Damn it! What the fuck are you doing Feliciano?! Don’t hit the customers! What did Papa say about throwing things?! Remember what happened to little Pete down the road when he threw a mousetrap at his brother? Remember big Pete's face, Feliciano? Remember his face?!” The other brother, Lovino, stormed into the little shop with a can of coffee beans and a pen tucked behind his ear. Upon seeing the face of the customer, his eyes widened and he seemed to grow even more furious. The can dropped on the floor with a loud clunk, a corner was dented by the impact.

“You! Stupid flirt with a bad taste in books, what are you doing in my shop?!” Taking the nearby broom, he held it high in the air, charged, and started to viciously beat Antonio with the straw end. A cloud of dust filled the air and Antonio coughed and screamed at the same time.

“Ah! S-stop!”

“Go away bastard! How dare you show your stupid face after rejecting me, huh?!”

“I-I’m sorry!”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying! I was just-”

Lovino raised his free hand in the air, and shook his fist violently at Antonio. “I don’t want to hear it! You don’t know what you’re missing out on, bastard!”

“Please stop beating me!”

“Not until you die a horrible, miserable death for attempting to reject me in such a stupid way! Just you wait bastard, because I’m gonna call all my buds here to see ya, and then we’ll see who’s laughing when we finish with you!”

Antonio covered his head with his arms as Lovino continued his attack. Straw contacted his flesh and his body recoiled with each hit.

“AH! Don’t kill him Lovino! He was going to buy all the classics! Papa won’t be as mad if he does!”

The broomstick stopped in midair. “You are?” Lovino’s eyes glanced back at the haggard and very dusty man. Antonio looked back and groaned as his stomach was poked by the wooden end of the broom.

“Ve~! Bobby has looottttssss of money! Isn’t that right, Timmy?”

“He does?!”

“I do?!” Antonio protested weakly, his face scratched by the itchy straw.

“And you don’t have to kill him for being an ungracious flirt, because claims he is in love with you, brother!”

“He is?!”

“I am?!” This was so not looking good for Antonio. How did these two crazy brothers get him caught up in so much trouble?

Lovino’s mouth gaped open as he stared at Antonio. Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes and he quickly turned away to wipe them off, sniffing softly. “Y-you…like me?”

Antonio was sincerely surprised that his insane attacker had emotions other than anger. It was even kind of cute, tearing up at such a small thing. Even though he was a grown man.

Antonio prayed to god he didn’t still live at home.

Blushing, Lovino refused to meet his eyes and stumbled to pick up the can of coffee beans. He moved around his brother and Antonio to the cash register, keeping as far as the constraints of the room let him. He almost tripped over a novel on his way.

With tense shoulders, he opened the can and dumped it into the espresso machine on the counter, quietly making himself coffee. Strange, Antonio thought, how shy Lovino suddenly became. He really was the perfect complex, round, and dynamic character!

Looking closer at the floor, Antonio suddenly realized that the forgotten novel on the ground was actually his own, The Crimson Lottery. The story he had written about love and chance. Was this foreshadowing of his own chance to regain his fame? Did God finally answer his prayers and give him the chance to redeem himself? Would Lovino’s love life be the next bestseller? Was this his only chance? Was he asking too many questions with no definite answers and overanalysing his life because he spend too many hours with the local English prof?

“Lovino,” Antonio approached the counter. He gently picked up Romano’s fingers and entwined them, like the roots of a great maple tree. That had maple sap. Maple sap that represented liquid love when boiled in flames of passion and condensed into sweetness.

“My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Thank goodness that along with the number of the rejection hotline, Antonio also memorized the most famous quotes of the romance genre.

Lovino’s cheek glowed even more and he looked away, hands sweaty. “You are so-”

“Romantic? Sweet? Dashing?” Antonio smiled, brilliant white teeth shining. He knew that it was hopeless for another to resist his charms! Even the creepy Italian bookstore cashier kind, the kind that attacked customers with broomsticks and had matchmaking younger brothers.

“Cheesy!” Lovino threw both arms in the air. Espresso poured into his cup from the machine.

“Oh.”

“Now are you going to buy, or not?!” Lovino’s frown returned and he gestured towards the looming stack.

“Uh…”

“Ve~! Of course Tommy wants to buy them! It’s like his dowry to marry you, brother!”

“It is?”

“It is?!” Antonio wasn’t sure how his fake love confession turned into a marriage proposal so soon, and he hoped he would still have enough money after buying the pile of books to hire a divorce lawyer.

Lovino’s blush turned cherry red, reaching up to the tips of his ears as he began to punch in the total costs of the fifty or so volumes of books. Antonio’s back was aching just looking at the fabric bag that Feliciano retrieved to fill with novels.

“It comes to $760. I will be nice to you today and round down. You should be grateful, you just saved 95 cents.”

“$760?!” Antonio groaned as he took out his wallet from his fanny pack. His next novel better be worth the cost.

“Hey! At least they’re mostly paperback, yeah?”

His debit card was charged with an enthusiastic cheer from Feliciano about meeting the sales quota for the first time in five years. Antonio’s heart sank at the thought of losing so much money for the sake of research. Fate deemed that he would have to beg Francis to feed him for the next while. Thank goodness Francis was overly willing to treat Antonio to freebies.

The receipt was slipped across the counter, and a shaking finger pointed at the dotted line. “S-sign this.”

“A-okay.”

Again, he scribbled a number on the receipt. This time it was his real cell phone number.

“C-come again.”

“I will.” Unfortunately. Antonio gripped the stuffed bag with his hands and turn to leave, slightly off balance from carrying the heavy load.

“Wait!” Lovino called after him. “My name is Lovino Vargas! W-what’s your name? I don’t think you have told me before…?”

“Err…” It would do no good to reveal himself as the author of The Crimson Lottery. “What do you think my name is?”

“What?”

“Guess!”

“That’s stupid! How would I ever guess your stupid name?! Do you know how many names there are out there?”

“Come on! Guess!” Antonio smiled as Lovino held out both palms open in defeat. “I’m Spanish if that’s a hint, what do you think my name is?”

Lovino stared at him with narrowed eyes, raising one eyebrow as he cocked his head. “…Enrique…Iglesias?”

Well, he was kind of close. At least he got the Spanish part right.

“Then call me Enrique!” Hopefully, Lovino won’t think too much about it. Antonio turned to leave once more.

The cup of steaming espresso was pushed toward and a desperate voice called out, “W-want some coffee before you leave?”

“Maybe next time!” The coffee was suspiciously off-color, and Antonio didn’t want to risk diarrhea. He turned away from his potential protagonist a final time, heaved the heavy stack of books over his shoulder and made his way to the front door.

Feliciano bounced in front of him to hold out the door, face plastered with a cheerful smile accompanied by a waving hand.

“Ve~! Sorry for lying, Enrique! I was just trying to save your life!…and helping my desperate brother get laid! Even though he’s a pretty shizzy guy, his milkshake don’t really bring the boys to the yard, ya know what I mean? He makes really bad milkshakes. And pasta. And he uses too much salt. And he gets really annoying because-”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Antonio interrupted. “See you later, Feliciano.”

Chimes rang and the door opened. Just before it slammed close, Antonio could hear vaguely hear the last sounds of the brothers’ conversation.

“Do you think he’s related to the singer, ve?”

“Forget about it! I just wish he took my spiked coffee! When do I get to fuck that bastard?!”

---

Author's Note

Sorry Spain, I abuse you so much. Somehow my headcanon for this fic says that Spain is a lit nerd who sees too much meaning in everything, uses really bad metaphors, has overly scientific sexual thoughts and makes unnecessary literature references.

Thanks to the anons who liked the nice chapter, and sorry to the anon who was offended. =(

References in this chapter include

Crime and Punishment - Dostoevsky, Dostoevsky got ideas for this story during his time in jail apparently.

Pride and Prejudice - Austen, quote is by Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth Bennet.

But of course I'm still here! I'll never stop stalking those beautiful fills my prompt has inspired ♥

Pfff, the Italy brothers are still so funny xD Sure, Feli just "saved" Toni's life. Lol, it's so Antonio to fall for that xD

Enrique Iglesias xDD Oh dear! Now I can't unsee Toni singing dramatically in the rain...

It's no wonder nobody ever comes to that bookstore if the customers are beat up with brooms, forced into buying 50 books and are being served spiked coffee. Their "papa" must've been an awful teacher.

And I totally like your head!canon about Spain ;D

♥ ♥ ♥

Yay! I'm so glad you updated this! :)
I love the Italy brothers in this sooo much! And poor Tonio he really has no clue! xD

Inspired by the recent episode showing that France's long time dream is to "invade" England.

France gets his wicked way with Young!England (I prefer them to be in their teens not their Chibi versions) and promises himself this won't be a one-time only thing. Even if he has to way 66 years to "invade" England again.

Anon wants dirty, explicit smut, please

Bonus: They play it cool when Japan mentioned it but they totally re-visit their agreement on 2000. But that time England topped.

As the subject says, I'd like to see Spain and Romano achieving orgasm through dry humping. Either both at the same time or one on the other, I don't mind as long as frottage is involved. Please, anons?

Seconded like you don't even know >_

thirded!

I hope you're still there, OP! And heeeere you are!!!

http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/21753.html?thread=91057913#t91057913

I want to see the quiet nations, like Canada, Liechtenstein, Hong Kong, and Latvia, go extremely yandere. ...FOR EACH OTHER. Who gets paired up with who, and if their feelings are returned, is up to writer!anon.

Bonus 1 - Eventually, it gets to the point where some nations run screaming from these guys. Others are left in dark, wondering what the hell is going on.

Miss Saigon is a musical about the doomed romance between a Vietnamese girl, Kim, and an American GI, Chris, during the Vietnam War.

I would like a crossover with America as Chris, Vietnam as Kim, and England as Ellen.

Bonus – China as the Engineer
Bonus2 – Japan as Thuy
Bonus3 – France as John

... How has this not been requested before? Very cool request, dude.

Somehow England's magic gives Belarus a penis. It won't go away until all it's sexual energy is used up, meaning a lot of fucking. Belarus enlists her big sister to use up all the sexual energy. Ukraine is unsure but it ends up feeling very good for her.

The dirtier the better.

Bonus: The main reason Belarus is upset by the penis is because she thinks Russia won't love her if she has a penis.
Bonus 2: Belarus talks very dirty as she fucks Ukraine, calling her a slut and whatnot, and Ukraine secretly likes that.

Why does this anon for some REALLY weird reason want to see this?!

SECOND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

Filling now:

http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/20706.html?thread=83929314#t83929314

Not quite a Fatanari, but she does have a penis, OP.

Hope you like a majority of kinks.

That is all. Authoress!Anon out.

Russia and Canada have a nice relationship, and Canada wonders where all the scary Russia stories come from. Then, the first time he eats at Russia's house, Russia decides Canada simply hasn't consumed enough of his good food. Force feeding ensues.

bonus- it's borchst.
bonus2- Russia tries to give him vodka via a straw up the nose.

This anon just saw the absolutely awesome musical Wicked for the first time and now, for some reason, she can’t stop imagining England as Elphaba and France as Galinda.

That’s why she’d like to request a story based on the two songs “What is this feeling” and “Popular”. Meaning, France and England go to the same school, where everybody hates England (not necessarily because he’s green xD What about good old Punk!England?) and because of some misunderstanding, the two have to share a room. When they finally grow closer, France tries to make England “popular” by giving him a (much unwanted) make-over.

As you can see, this is not supposed to be a real crossover – just inspired by the first half of the musical. So you don’t have to include a Nessa, if you don’t want to. (Or even a Fyiero, because I’d really like this to end FrUK..).

This Wicked fan seconds big time.
"What is this feeling" is now totally my headcanon theme song for these two. XD

From this Cracked article:http://www.cracked.com/article_18886_5-ways-television-went-crazy-since-i-quit-watching-in-2003.html

In this article, the writer notes the large number of snide British people in American reality shows. He then says this:

"Seriously, what the fuck? Why are they all British (or pseudobritish)? It's not because we hate foreigners and like to paint them all as dicks -- the cursing Brits are the ones we're rooting for. It's like the United States entered into some bizarre S&M relationship with England. All because we saw one snide British man and said, "Yes, we want more of that, all of the time."

So, anons. Why does America annoy England all the time? Because having England yell at him, in that sex accent really turns him on.

England finds out about this American kink. And decides to be a gentleman about it and fulfill it. :)

Bonus 1: British cursing that is more varied than just the word "bloody". See: http://jezebel.com/5584818/the-periodic-table-of-swearing
Bonus 2 (very optional): America's people are also turned on by England swearing.

I'm not any of the anons above.

Fill: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=70058068#t70058068

By the way, OP...this was the greatest request ever. I hope it is everything you dreamed it would be.

Femmark and Netherlands having a very brotastic relationship, but with one of them thinking that maybe they'd like to step it up a little and not really knowing how to bring it up without being super awkward. Preferably a happy ending!

Bonus: incorporation of the line "You're my best friend, you know that?"

I reeeeeeallyyyyy want to write this...it's just that I'm underground with five papers to write DX

but for the sake of me being optimistic (and further sabotaging my GPA), did you want this to be them as nations or AU?

Rainstorms in Denmark are rarely a good thing.

A cold breeze leads to wind, which leads to rain, which leads to thunder and lightning, which never fails to drop a torrential whirlwind right on Netherlands’ doorstep. Denmark never announces that she is coming over when it rains, but he knows to expect it, and when the door slams and is followed by the sound of boots stomping down the hall to the kitchen, he knows that it’s time to turn off the television and prepare to spend the rest of the night indoors. He tosses the remote on the coffee table and follows the smears of dirt that she’s tracked in with her, and leans against the doorframe while he watches her dig through the fridge.

“Beer’s where it always is,” he drawls. “Second drawer.”

“I know where it is.” A bag of cabbage flops onto the floor and she ignores it. “Ya don’t have enough.”

“There’s at least six in there, Den.”

“Not enough.”

He sighs and pushes off of the frame, opting instead to fold his arms over the refrigerator door. “What happened?”

She huffs and straightens up, nearly bashing him in the nose with her head as she does. “Nothing happened!”

“It’s raining.”

“I know it’s raining.”

“You’re always upset when it rains.”

She screws her face up. “Not all the time.”

He shrugs. “Most of the time.”

Denmark growls and shoves an armful of beer over for him to carry. “I want to smoke.” She breezes past him while he manages to maneuver the cabbage back onto the shelf with his foot. “Can we smoke? I want the good stuff.”

“I always save the good stuff for you.”

She looks over her shoulder and grins at him. “’Course y’do!”

She disappears into the hall again and he rolls his eyes, nudging the refrigerator door shut with his knee and hauling the beer out into the living room. While he drops everything down onto the table, she makes herself at home on the couch, unlacing her boots and kicking them off into the corner of the room alongside the bulky overcoat she always wears. He watches her carefully as he pries the caps off of the bottles. She’s smiling from somewhere behind the mane of tangled, blonde hair that keeps slipping over her shoulder, but she doesn’t look very relaxed. Netherlands knows she has a tendency to blow things out of proportion, but she’s hardly a high strung person, and the stiff angle of her shoulders is enough to make him raise an eyebrow.

“So,” he says, pressing a beer into her outstretched hand. “What happened?”

“I told ya. Nothin’.”

He sits down beside her. “Liar.”

She purses her lips and leans back against the arm of the couch. “I thought we were rolling up.”

Netherlands nods. “Yeah, yeah.” He sets his drink down on the table and bends to reach for the box on the little shelf beneath the glass. “Paper or plastic?”

“Paper.”

While he pinches off precise measurements, he watches Denmark drown herself in her first beer, chugging the whole thing down in one go without pausing for air. “Slow down, you’re gonna choke.”

She scowls and shoves the now empty bottle onto the floor. “Prussia said I’m funny.”

He slips the joint into his mouth and lights it. “So?” He blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “S’a compliment; yer hilarious.”

She groans and slides down the back of the sofa, turtling up into her sweater. “Not you too.”

“What’s wrong with bein’ funny?”

She heaves a sigh and it blows the loose strands of hair away from her broad forehead. “There’s nothin' wrong with being funny.”

“So what’s the problem?”

She glares at him from over the neck of her second beer and he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry,” he offers her the smoke. “Just thought y’might want to talk about it.”

Denmark makes a low, frustrated sound and pauses in drawing the joint to her lips, letting it hang between two fingers, staring into the couch cushions. “I don’t like being told I’m funny.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Her frown deepens. “That’s all anybody ever says about me."

Netherlands raises an eyebrow and leans back on his elbows, eying her curiously. “That’s hardly a bad thing t’be called. Could be worse.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” she growls in exasperation. “It’d be nice to be something else now and then!”

“Like what?”

She scowls and says nothing.

Netherlands sighs. “Like?”

“I don’t know!” She snaps. “I just want to not be everyone’s hilarious friend sometimes.” She waves her hand in front of her face, wrinkling her nose like she’s trying to blow away a sour smell. “Whenever anyone’s talkin’ about the other girls it’s always something like ‘oooh, that Ukraine is such a sweetheart’ or ‘have you met my gorgeous friend Taiwan?’” She rakes her fingers through her hair, yanking them out when they catch on the knots. “Even Hungary gets stuff like that and she can bench just as much as I can!”

Netherlands stares at her, fighting the urge to burst out laughing because he knows it will earn him a fist to the face if he does. “Denmark,” he coughs, half a suppressed chuckle, half serious. “Do you want someone to say yer pretty?”

Her face goes red and she clamps the joint between her lips, inhaling and holding it.

“You do, don’t ya?”

She rolls her eyes and blows smoke into the potted plant on the side table. “No, I’m just sayin’ it’d be nice to have my finer features appreciated.” She swaps the weed with him in exchange for another beer.

“Such as?”

She squints at him. “Whadya mean ‘such as’?”

“I mean,” he takes a long drag. “Like what?”

“I don’t know!” She growls and throws her hands up. “Like my natural feminine grace or beautiful, flaxen tresses or my excellent rack! Y’know,” she gestures angrily. “Girl stuff!”

Netherlands can’t stop the grin that breaks out on his face. “But you have none of those.”

The briefest flash of something akin to hurt darts across her face before it disappears into a glare and she folds her arms in front of herself. “Fine then, my cankles, the gap in my teeth, and my ability to do a keg stand.” She huffs. “I don’t care.”

He shakes his head and nudges her legs with his foot. “What do you need anyone’s approval for? Yer just fine like you are.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “So, y’don’t think I’m good lookin’?”

“Didn’t say that.” He leans back against the couch. “S’this really botherin’ you that much?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Which is why you’re here rainin’ on my house.”

“No, I’m just sayin’ that-”

“Den.”

“What?”

“You’re getting’ ashes on my couch.”

She jumps to her feet and swats out the smolder on the cushions, leaving behind a black streak. “Eugh, sorry. Wasn’t payin’ attention.”

“Y’never do.”

“Gimme a break, I’m high.”

He sighs and grabs her arm, pulling her down to sit in his lap. “Chill out,” he grumbles when she stiffens. “Let’s just watch a movie or somethin’ ‘til you sober up, then I’ll drive you to the ferry terminal.”

She slouches a bit and leans back against his chest, staring at the TV when he turns it on. “Can I just stay here tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” She finally relaxes and sprawls out. “And I ain’t sleepin’ in the guest room. Your bed is more comfortable.”

“When have you ever slept in my guest room?”

She pauses, turning her head up, eyelashes brushing against the bottom of Netherlands’ chin. “Y’know, I don’t think I even know what it looks like.”

“That’s ‘cause it doesn’t exist. I don’t have a guest room.” He reaches out and swats her knee, bumping her legs together. “Quit sittin’ like a dude, I can’t see through your thighs.”

She tenses again, but says nothing and closes her legs.

--

Three days after Netherlands pries Denmark out of his bed, she calls him at one in the morning and demands an audience.

“Hey, we’re going out for dinner on Friday,” she says, not waiting long enough for him to wake up and greet her. “It’s a nice place, so look nice.”

“Today is Friday.”

“No, tomorrow is Friday.”

He rolls over onto his back and kicks the blankets down. “D’ya know what time it is?”

“No.” A pause. A rustle of fabric. “Oh.”

Nonetheless, he agrees to meet her at seven o’clock.

--

At seven-thirty, standing alone in the lobby of Noma in a freshly pressed blazer, Netherlands begins to wonder if he has been stood up. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the staff growing impatient with his attempts to stall in order to keep their reservation (the one under her name) and his insistence that his friend must just be stuck in traffic. He does his best to stay out of their hair, but being a single man standing alone by the doors, glaring out the glass, is not his finest technique and as he checks his watch for what must be the hundredth time, the concierge approaches him with a waning smile.

“Sir,” she says, nodding toward the door. “Have you heard from your partner at all?”

He sighs loudly and shakes his head. “No, she’s not pickin’ up her phone.”

“Ah, well, I’m afraid we can’t hold the reservation any longer.” She looks nervous under his frown. “There is a wait list, you see…”

He doesn’t hear her finish the end of her sentence. He’s too distracted by the crash that comes from hall behind her and the mess of pink tulle that stumbles into the lobby in its wake. Clinging to the wall above a shattered vase, face turned down, a tall blonde wobbles into the waiting space, reminding Netherlands very much of a baby horse learning to walk by the way she shuffles along, legs far too long for the dress she’s wearing and obviously uncomfortable in heels. She curses and scoots down the wall, stooped against it as she tries to gather up the pieces of broken pottery, and Netherlands gets to her before the awkward waitress can.

“Here,” he kneels down next to her and shoos her hands away. “Let me get that for… you…”

The words curl up and die in his mouth as the blonde finally turns to face him, eyes bugging out like an owl caught in a tornado. Eyes that are wearing way too much shadow. Eyes that have false lashes half attached.

Eyes that he knows very, very well.

“Den?”

“Ooooh, shit, um…” her gaze flits to the waitress then back to him. “What’s up, ‘land?”

He blinks at her. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, about that.” She coughs and when she tries to straighten up, her knees quake dangerously. “Sorry. Lost track of the time.”

Netherlands rises as well and takes a step back. “You look… different.”

Understatement of the millennium. Denmark, of all people, is wearing a dress. A bright pink, fluffy, satin dress that was obviously made for someone much shorter than her, with just as pink high-heels that look like they would be much better suited to fooling around in the bedroom than dining in one of the most acclaimed restaurants in the world. She has it matched with jewelry—big jewelry. The earrings look like they weigh as much as her purse (purse!?) does and he is pretty sure he could chain up his bike with the necklace she has tangled up in her hair.

Oh.

Her hair.

“What did you do to your hair?”

She looks sheepish. “Brushed it?”

To say the least. It looks like she tried to curl it in some places but the ringlets never took, leaving her with lumpy, uneven waves in the ends and stiff looking comb-tracks in her bangs where she has attempted to clip her unruly locks down with plastic barrettes.

He stares at her.

She stares at him.

She looks…

“Um, sir? Ma’am?” The waitress snaps him back to, what he hopes, is real life, and gestures to the dining room. “If you want to keep your reservation, we’ll have to seat you now.”

“Oh! Right!” Denmark takes a careful step forward, holding both arms out at her sides like she is walking across a balance beam and not a polished floor. “Sorry ‘bout that!”

She teeters gracelessly and Netherlands sighs, placing one hand on the small of her back and grabbing her wrist with the other, steering her to follow the waitress. As soon as they are within sight, every other patron in the restaurant gawks at her and her flamboyant gown. She must notice their staring, for a moment later she turns her chin up, setting her jaw and gliding between the tables, putting on a show of poise and elegance.

For all of about one second.

Her ankle rolls and Netherlands can’t catch her before her elbow slams against the table next to them and makes the dinnerware (and the diners) jump. “Ah, fuck!” She yanks her arm in and cradles it against her chest as Netherlands pulls her up. She bites her lip, not really looking at the now silent dining room, and waves sheepishly. “I mean, uh, sorry. Sorry, everybody!”

The waitress stands, embarrassed, while Netherlands pulls out Denmark’s chair. Once they are both seated, she places the course menus down for them. “I’ll just go get that bottle of wine you reserved, ma’am,” she says, a bit too collected to be genuine. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

As soon as she’s gone, Netherlands nearly falls across the table laughing. “Holy shit, Denmark, what are you doin’?” He leans back and gestures to her. “What is all this?”

She scowls and snatches up her menu. “It’s a nice place! Y’gotta look nice!”

“Den, every time we’ve gone out for a nice meal, you’ve worn exactly what I’m wearin’.” He points to his blazer. “I’ve never seen you wear a dress before. And I knew you in the godddamn renaissance.”

She doesn’t look up and shifts, tugging her bodice up. “What am I, on trial? It’s not a big deal or anything.” She slaps her menu down and grabs the hem of dress and yanks on it with both hands.

“Problem?”

“It won’t stay up.”

He stares at her. “It’s a strapless dress.”

“I know that.”

“So, why’d you wear it then? You’ve got about as much chance of holdin’ up a strapless dress as I do.”

She clenches her jaw and glares at him. “If you must know, it used to have straps on it, but they wouldn’t go on right because my shoulders were too wide, so I cut them off because I thought it would look better. But then it wouldn’t stay on so I called Ukraine, because she always wears strapless dresses, and she said I should use double-sided tape to help keep it up, but now I just have tape everywhere and it’s makin’ my nipples itch.”

Netherlands blinks placidly. “Your nipples.”

“Are you deaf or something?”

“Aren’t ya wearin’ a bra?”

“A what?”

He has to bite his tongue. It’s just all too much.

Denmark grabs a hunk of bread and bites into it. “Nothin’ wrong with dressin’ up…” she grumbles, unknowingly spitting crumbs onto the white tablecloth. “It’s, y’know. Fun, or whatever.”

“Right.” Netherlands coughs into his fist. “Well, you, uh…” He clears his throat. “Ya look good, Den. Real pretty.”

She turns her eyes up and faces him. “Really?”

She has butter on her face.

“Yeah…”

A break of silence.

“This is really awkward, huh?”

“Extremely.”

“People are starin’, aren’t they?”

“There’s not a single person here who isn’t lookin’ at ya.”

“Probably not ‘cause they like the dress.”

“Probably not.”

She sighs and drops the remaining bread back into the basket. “Can we go?”

“Yeah.” He bends under the table and picks up the shoes she discarded as soon as they were seated. “I’ve got a change of clothes in my car.”

--

After a quick change in the backseat of Netherlands’ car, they drive to the waterfront where Denmark pads across the grass in her bare feet to wash her face in the drinking fountain by the bike path. She scrubs at the makeup with her hands, but without the aid of soap, she just manages to smear it around and gives up after her cheeks start to get raw. She ties her hair up with a rubber band found in Netherlands’ jeans, and by the time they sit down on the bench in the park, she’s starting to look like her old self again.

She’s being too quiet, though.

“You okay?”

She sighs and puts down the piece of bread she’s been nibbling on since pilfering it from the restaurant in her purse. “Yeah.” She tears off the crust and tosses it in the water for the ducks to chase. “I just feel really stupid about this.”

He hums in understanding and leans back, one arm casually rested on the back of the bench. “I think ya took the dress code a little too literally.”

Denmark huffs and stuffs the last of the bread into her mouth, chewing angrily. “I just wanted to try lookin’ good for once.” She scrubs her fingers through her hair. “I even went and got highlights. Whatever that means.”

“Is this because of what Prussia said the other day?” He asks, cautious, aware that it’s a sore issue.

“No,” she snaps.

He stares at her.

“Okay, yes, fine.” She slumps down, pulling Netherlands’ jacket tighter around her shoulders. “After I left your place, I went and I bought a bunch of stupid girly magazines that had stupid tutorials on how to do stupid things like make-up. But then nothing looked right and I ruined the dress. And don’t even get me started on those stupid shoes.” She sighs miserably. “I spent an hour in the bathroom just trying to work up the balls to be seen in public looking so ridiculous.”

He nods. “Is that why you were late?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t get it.” He sits up and turns, just a bit, so that he can face her. “Does it really bug you this much? You’ve never cared what people think of you before, so why the change?”

She pauses for a moment, looking down at her feet. “I don’t care what other people think.”

“So then what’s the problem?”

She shoots him an unamused frown. “I already made an ass of myself once tonight. I ain’t doin’ it again.”

“Den…” he warns.

She growls and flops over against him, knocking her head into his shoulder. “C’mon, ‘land. Gimme a break. You’re my best friend, y’know? I don’t want to fuck anything up.”

That catches his attention. “Well, fuck, Den, you’re my best friend too. That’s why I want to know why this is bugging ya so much.” He loops an arm around her shoulders and gives her a firm squeeze. “If something’s upsetting you, I wanna know what it is.”

She turns her face up and looks at him, mascara smudged around her eyes and lines of lipstick stuck into the dry cracks of her lips, studying him for a few seconds. “I don’t care if everybody else thinks I’m pretty,” she says. “I just wanted you to think so.”

Oh.

Ohh.

“Wait, so you put that dress on for me?”

She groans and buries her face in her hands. “I know, I know. It’s lame.”

He can’t help himself. He feels awful about it, but he just can’t handle it and bursts out laughing. The kind of laughter that he can’t even begin to hide; the kind that makes his stomach hurt and his eyes water. Denmark looks mortified for a split second before she shoves away from him and punches him square in the jaw, knocking him off of the bench still in complete hysterics. She starts to stalk back in the direction of the car, but Netherlands manages to haul himself upright fast enough to catch her arm and drag her back.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he snorts. He tries to compose himself—fails. “Siddown, hold on.”

“You’re an asshole, ‘land.” She sits down with a huff. “Never shoulda gotten dressed up for you.” She kicks his knees. “I even shaved my armpits, you dick.”

He clamps his teeth around his tongue and swallows the next wave of cackles before they can escape, dropping an arm on her shoulder, prompting her to stay seated. “You’ve got it all wrong, idiot.” He inhales to get his breath back and straightens up. “I’m laughin’ because you really thought I’d be into somethin’ like that.”

Denmark’s eyes narrow and she squints at him. “Whadya mean?”

“I mean,” he sits down next to her. “You’re stupid for thinkin’ I’d like ya any more than I already do by bein’ somethin’ you’re not.” He gestures to all of her. “You’re fine the way ya are, Den. If ya wanted my attention, you coulda just asked.”

She gapes at him. “Are you serious?”

“’Course I’m serious. Besides,” he leans back and fishes a pack of cigarettes out of his coat. “You’re taller than me when ya wear heels. S’weird.” He offers her a smoke and waits for her to take one before continuing. “Next time ya want a date, just be up front about it. We can go sailing or somethin’.”

Denmark blinks at him. Netherlands reaches out and peels the false eyelashes off.

“Wait, so…” she recoils slightly. “You’re not mad? About me likin’ ya?”

He reaches over and lights her cigarette. “Denmark, we’ve been havin’ sex with each other for over a hundred years. I was under the impression we were already somethin’ like together.”

Her newly waxed eyebrows come together and she stares at him. He uses the tip of one finger to close her jaw enough to keep the cigarette from falling out. For a moment, she does nothing but look at him and he begins to wonder if maybe he handled this whole situation wrong, but her face breaks out in a wide grin and she socks him in the shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways, and blows smoke into the night air.

“You’re such a bastard!” She laughs. “Why didn’t ya ever say anything? This has been killing me for years!”

He shrugs and rights himself. “Never had a reason too. Like I said, I already thought we were together.” He crosses his index and middle fingers, wiggling them in her face. “Pretty sure everyone else thinks so too.”

“I am so going to kick your ass when we get back to my house.”

He grins and slips an arm around her waist. “So, I’m stayin’ over tonight?”

“Yep.” She leans forward and snuffs out her cigarette on the edge of the bench. “But don’t get too excited. I’m just gonna break your face. Nothin’ else.”

“Haha.” He drawls. "Hilarious."

"What can I say?" She smirks and pulls him to his feet.

"I'm a funny girl."

-END-

Hi, my name is anon, and I suck at estimating my comment numbers!

I hope you liked it, OP!

Wow. Just wow. This is the very first time I've read a fanfic with fem!Denmark and I've got to say that I'm impressed.
I could really imagine her being that way, especially since there's really no way I could see Denmark as being a girly girl xD Ah..and the end was really cute. I think I might even be starting to like those two as a couple :P Great job!

FUCKING LOL'D.

God I love that Fem!mark is such a bro. Such. A. Bro. Because...well...yeah.

But no I was laughing so hard I had to get up and walk around for a sec. Dennnn you are fail, girl.

Also I was cringing through the entire dinner escapade between gulps of laughter.

~~You'd think Ukraine would've helped with the makeup.~~

The mental image of Femmark and Hungary working out together and seeing who can bench more is glorious, but hnnngh I loved this fic. Fucking awesome. You have me shipping Netherlands/(fem!)Denmark!

This was great! I like how you handled fem!Denmark's characterization, and the fic itself was pretty cute and amusing. I found myself grinning through a lot of it. You definitely got me shipping this.

Ahh, so cute! I've not read any fics with Femmark in them before, but I think yours is perfect. Fem!Den being an awesome bro is totally my headcanon now.

I think Denmark is a funny girl, too <3

<3

OHMYGOD.

You definitely had me shipping them together, anon. <3333

Uh… this is going to be the most random request ever made..

I’d like writer!anon to create a MLIA!World-AU. Where Pirate!England and Ninja!Japan are arch-enemies (but secretly best friends), America constantly runs around in a banana-costume, dinosaurs exist, China runs a funny-fortunes-for-your-fortune-cookie-company, Germany teaches his dogs Harry-Potter-spells as commands… whatever mlia-related awesomeness you can think of.

Bonus: copy in a/the MLIA-quote that inspired you for every Nations characterization :D

Bonus2: Google and Yahoo are characters too.

Yeah… I don’t even know…

this must be done. immediately.

does OP have any requests for certain characters, other than the ones listed, or is it anything goes for the rest of the Hetalia gang?

~~Google and Yahoo as characters? I must do this...~~ i'll just...walk away now...-laughs-

_{reCaptcha: galactic helped. the galaxy is looking out for me!}

Oh you don't even have to write the ones listed in that role, if you have a better idea! Those were merely examples :D I trust everyone who is cool enough to real MLIA to know what they're doing xD

<3

Lovino's always yelling and insulting people- except for when he's about to fall asleep. So Spain takes advantage of this by keeping him awake and being as huggy and lovey-dovey as possible right before he falls asleep. :) I want something really fluffy. Smut is okay but not necessary!

Sorry it took me so long to do this. The prompt has been filled here: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18772.html?thread=70008404#t70008404

Somehow one nation gets a chance to get a do-over. Just one. They can go back to one point, any point, in time and do it over. It can be a historical event or maybe they missed the chance to tell another nation how they really felt about them.

Anon would love it, if Canada makes an appearance.

I guess it should be a warning that it has altered history? ...Not sure how to put this.

Arthur's packing up, heading out, back to Europe. He's never coming back again. He's full of fury and anger at losing, at the humiliation. He's so full of hate that the hurt doesn't come back. Not for a long while.

--

He's sitting at an office now and staring out into dreary skies full of rain. He flips open his phone and there's a picture of them together from the last group date. France and Canada were there too, but he had cropped them out.

Their relationship had never been the same again. Was he "in love"? No, he wasn't in love. The days when they were together, he was always that small boy who came greeting him home, it was never anything else. He only wanted to protect an innocent smile so that it would never be tainted by the likes of France or Scotland or Ireland. He's done so much, tried so hard, and it was all for him. But he didn't appreciate it. He rings a bell and declares his independence.

He had always been a small boy in his eyes. He was supposed to win, but history decides to play a trick on him and instead, he was the one on the ground, crying as he realized he couldn't shoot the boy he had cared so much for.

The hurt settles in by 1812 and that war definitely signaled that things would never be as it is. After two world wars, he realized that he just might've fallen in love with America. But as he stares at America's brilliant smile, he knew that the sort of love he has for him would never happen either. "America..." He whispers as he let his head fall backwards on the armchair and stare up at the ceiling.

--

Arthur realizes that something was wrong the moment he was awake. He's wearing coats that he hadn't worn in a long time, pants and shoes, too, were not ones he would wear. There's a mirror in front of him and he realizes that he had been dressed in the clothing of the late 18th century. He narrows his eyes, "It must've been those three bloody idiots." He could imagine the smirks on the faces of France, Spain, and Prussia as they dressed him up just when he went to sleep.

There's something odd about the palace as he walks down it. Was it this clean, was it this bright? Whatever happened to that coffee stain he had accidentally caused last month?

"--land! Mr. Kirkland!" England turned around to see a man, dressed in a similar fashion as he was, running to him and waving his hand to catch his attention. "Ah, thank goodness I found you! The ship's ready to take leave, sir, I trust that you have packed all your belongings?" He said, catching his breath as he spoke with Arthur. England looked at him with confused eyes and the man tried to clarify, "...The voyage sir? To the New World? You were going to see how things were going over there?"

"...What? Do you mean America?"

"Er...Yes, sir. The New World. America, you could call it as such now."

England was utterly confused now, why was he speaking like one would way back when? Not that he had a strange accent or anything, but the way he names things, stuff like 'voyage' and 'New World', made him feel something nostalgic, something like the days before he met America.

--

England stared up at the grand ship. He was at the harbor now, watching as people packed things up and into the ship. He knew now, there was most certainly something wrong. If he really needed to get to America, he would use a plane, first class, too. But here they were, packing up a ship for him to get to the other continent. "Where are you?" He whispered in a harsh, annoyed tone.

Immediately following his question, two pixies appeared by him, flying around and giggling at him.

"What did you do?"

"...? We didn't do anything!" The pixies giggled. They seemed completely innocent of knowledge. But England could figure it out on his own, he was transported back in time, wasn't he? He hadn't a clue who would do that, but he might as well as take the chance now and deal with the consequences later.

--

"England!!" He was greeted by a bright smile as he opened the door. As it turns out, he had yet to find America in that first voyage in this 'world' and currently, he was on his n-th voyage here. He had visited so many times, he had forgotten.

This time, I won't do anything wrong. "Hey there, Ameri--oof!" America had thrown a hug on him and he was squeezed so tightly he was afraid he would faint from a lack of air. America was still so strong... "Alfred, I can't breathe!"

"Oh, sorry!" America said, eyes drooping as he let go of Arthur quickly. "I just missed you so much!"

England smiled, "I missed you too." He said as he gave the boy a kiss on the forehead.

Whenever he went back to England, he always spoke of ways to keep the colony happy even if it meant endangering some English taxes. "No!" He told the king, "We're not going to raise their taxes!" And to the Parliament, the same thing, "I'll deal with it, don't send in any army! They're upset with not enough land, I can talk with them about it!"

The year 1776 came and went with nobody declaring for liberty. America was a teenage boy now, still full of smiles each time England visited.

"Sir, shouldn't we tax some more on the American colonies--"

"How many times have I said it, no! We're getting enough funds, aren't we?!"

"...But...At this rate, I don't think the citizens of British Canada would stand for it much longer!"

"..." England turned away, signaling the end of the discussion. That territory was a spoil of war and filled with the French. It was perfectly reasonable to use it for taxes. America was different, he had to keep him happy. It's Canada, he's too quiet to do anything, he reasoned.

--

"America!" England called as he knocked on the door. "Where is he?" He's been knocking for ten...fifteen minutes now with no response. "Is he out?" The moment he quieted himself, he heard something in the backyard of America's house which was still covered with woods. It was murmurs, as if two people were chatting.

Curious, he walked to the back, making out the figures of two people standing and talking. The sounds were rising as if they were arguing and England could hear America's voice.

"--I can't do that! And you can't either!" He said to the other person. "England doesn't deserve this!"

"Maybe not in your eyes since you're his golden child, but what about me? He's never said a word of praise to me despite how hard I've been working!--" This voice. It was so familiar. "--I preferred days with France better!"

Canada.

"...Still..."

"Please help me, brother..." Canada's voice was pleading now. "I want my independence, I want my own say in things. But I'll need your help."

England watched as Canada took his brother's hands and the resolve in America's eyes waver. So I lose him anyways? England thought and felt his own heart breaking to pieces.

"...No!" America pulled his hand away. "It's pointless, he's a world power and you're a small country, I won't help you!"

England couldn't believe his ears, America was defending him!

"Small country?! I would hardly think so! But fine, if that's what you think, I'll get my own freedom! I wouldn't need your help!" And with that, Canada had run off, back into his own country to make plans of revolution.

America had walked back into the house and he heard the doorbell ring. "Wow, Canada, you sure run fa-- Oh, England!" He had almost assumed that Canada had gone and came back, trying to convince him again. He smiled at his mother country who looked rather upset. "...Is something the matter?"

England stepped into the house, glancing up at America now. He was growing up, he realized. "Yes." He responded to America's question.

"...Um, I'm not a mind reader, so why don't you tell me why?" He asked as he sat down on a wooden chair by the table. England sat on the other side.

"I think you know why."

America was silent as his clenched his fists. "...C...Canada, he's going to..."

"It's not as if I don't know what's going on within my kingdom. I'm asking you, what would you do?"

"I..." America took a breath. "...Can I please stay neutral?" Blue eyes looked at him pleadingly. "I love you, England. But I love Canada too. I can't do it. I won't fight against either of you."

--

Canada's a small and meek country. England had fought the war with that in mind. He was winning too, but he knew all too quickly that things were playing out as they originally had with America. Why would Prussia help him? Why would the Dutch? The reasons seemed to be the same as when the French had helped America. He could hear them all laughing at him.

This time, he's standing in front of Canada. His gun at the ready, facing him with purple eyes, Canada was full of determination that he will win.
"It's over, England. You didn't care about me, why are you bothering?"

And England realizes he had no answer.

--

"Aww, geez, you're a mess." Alfred says as he wraps some bandages around England's head. He's at America's house now. Canada's won and he's lost.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this..." He whispers. This had been his chance to make things right. He's made things right with America, but Canada hates him now.

"You can't eat your cake and have it at the same time!" America joked, but those words stung England's heart. He realized with clench fists, that was what he had tried to do and he breaks down in tears. "Hey! W-What? Did I say something wrong?!" America asked nervously as he reached for a handkercheif to wipe away his tears.

--

It was after America had left him alone when a flying mint bunny showed up. "Who are you? I know you're not the real mint." He tells it.

"I should've known that it would take more than this to trick you." The bunny says as it lands on England's lap. "So, how'd it go?" England didn't answer. "I thought you'd be happy, if you got to go back in time and try again."

No answer.

"You're going to have to live with this. You had one chance to change things."

The bunny disappears and England wished he had never bothered to try and change anything.

--

Considering writing more for other nations and what they want as a do over. Would OP mind if they were a bunch of little one shots?

I loved this so much! I will love you with all my wicked heart if you continued this AU to see how different world history would be.

Aww man, I wish more people gave this fill a read because what you've done here, anon, is you've made a completely new culture. I love it. There's so much to explore in this tiny part alone.

Thanks for filling!!

Kinda inspired by pika-la-cynique’s amazing comic on deviantart~

England and Nation A end up as flatmates in a tall block with many many other flats. Those many many other flats obviously are home to a handful of other Nations which they all get to know one by one. Until they one day realize, that their respective quasi-stalkers from older days (France and Nation B) are flatmates too… in the same block! From that point on, a lot of trouble, hilarity and neighbor-quarreling ensues.

As for Nation A and Nation B: I couldn’t decide. Choose from the list:
A: Romano, B: Spain
A: Austria, B: Prussia
A: Norway, B: Denmark (<- that one would actually be my favorite.. but it really doesn’t matter what you choose ;D)

Bonus; England and Nation B grow so desperate, that at some point, they actually try to fake a relationship with each other, to keep their stalkers away from them. Until they realize, that it probably wasn’t a good idea if those stalkers are batshit crazy..

Bonus 2; There’s one team of flatmates that has a (bad) history of welcoming newbies with a fruitbasket. You don’t have to include that, if you don’t know the original xD

Btw: I don’t see how you could fit this in the canon-world, so AU and therefore human!names are preferred. I don’t have any name-preferences for the Nations without a human!name.

Russia/America/China/England
Kink-foursome (as in some form of smutishness required). Anything else goes.

Bonus- Russia is the one that starts it
Bonus-All except one are drunk
Bonus-Commies vs Capitalists ...though it can be set in modern times.

...but now I really want to see it.

And those bonuses. <3

*ships China/America and China/England*

Yes please! China tops someone, too?

In one webcomic strip, Greece seems hurt by Japan's remarks about how he can't tell that Greece's hair is any messier in the rain because his hair looks messy all the time until he begins thinking that this might be "humiliation play."

A Google search reveals that "humiliation play" refers to "erotic humiliation," i.e. making someone sexually aroused by verbally or physically humiliating them.

...I need a continuation of this strip like burning, anons. What results from Greece thinking that Japan is flirting with him in a...special way? Does Japan eventually find out? Does he freak out? Decide to instigate some real humiliation play between the two of them? Just something, anything to do with this humiliation play business.

... Though I feel like a total pervert for knowing exactly what he meant by "humiliation play" without needing to look it up. OTL

Thirded.

And I knew what he meant by that too, lol.

First time posting, hope I'm doing it right.

I would love Some Like it Hot or Sugar (if you prefer) with Canada as Joe/Josephine and America as Jerry/Daphane.

Who Sugar is is completely up to anon, but would prefer a female nation, (please no genderbending)

Bonus: This anon loves RussiAmerica, so if you threw in !creepy/lech Russia as Osgood the 3rd, anon would love you forever

seconding. this is too beautiful ;___;

So. Male!Hungary and fem!Prussia have been friends forever. Of course, "friends" here entails that they shared their first kiss, their virginity, and whatever else you want, even though they never dated each other or saw themselves as romantic. The reasoning behind sharing all their first sexual encounters was because they trusted each other c:

After an unprecedented amount of time where both Gari and fem!Prussia are single, they decide that they really need to get laid... and what better way to fix that than by becoming sex buddies?

Roll with it, anons. ;)

Bonus: Angstttt. Like, idek, A falling in love with B but B rejecting them? Whatever.
Bonus2: male!Prussia.

Seconding!!! Oh, please someone fill?!! I don't have time right now!

I'd love to see/read about the two largest countries dping America and making him watch as they go at it before dping him (as in making him squirm) but not being able to touch until they let him.

Bonus one: More then one form of Dp ~~and dominant Canada...what its geographically accurate!~~
Bonus two: If it is only one form its (as a previous anon put it) : 'not the form where a gag reflex is a problem'
Bonus three: Lots of toys

HOW COME NO ONE HAS SECONDED THIS!!?!??

ReCaptcha: Approve services...if anyone fills this out i will DEFINITELY approve their service ;)

Germany has a kink for watching Prussia swallow his seed.
Just work it anons. Make Germany as crazy/possessive about this as you want him to be.

oh gawd, this is so damn plotless but i hope this is what you're looking for... and its a microfill. (gets shot)

Germany's arms find their way around Prussia's waist as the albino kisses him hard on his lips. Said albino is sitting on his lap, straddling him and their tongues are fighting for dominance. The blonde wins the battle as his tongue slips past the Prussian's lips, exploring the hot, wet cavern of his mouth while his hands roam about his body.

Prussia's hand snakes down to reach for the blonde's clothed erection, fondling it in his palm. "West," he breaks the kiss and looks up at Germany, red eyes growing darker with lust. His fingers brush lightly against the bulge, teasing as he unbuttons the German's trousers, freeing his hardened cock. His fingers dance across the appendage, tracing intricate patterns on it as the blonde's lips curl upwards in a smirk.

"Suck me," Germany orders and Prussia complies, getting on his knees.

He takes a lick of Germany's cock, flicking his tongue over the tip, teasing it with his fingertips, rubbing gently. He swirls his tongue on the tip, dipping into the German's leaking slit, then licks all the way to the base and back to the tip again as he slowly takes it into his mouth. The German moans as he jerks forward, attempting to thrust into the Prussian's mouth but the albino's lips leave his cock to lick at his balls instead.

"Nn," Germany groans as the albino scrapes his teeth against his hardened length. His hand entangle themselves in the albino's hair, pushing his head further forward, causing the Prussian to cry out. He takes the German's length into his mouth, fingers reaching to caress his balls, squeezing gently. "So I hear that you haven't been behaving while I was away?"

Prussia's eyes widen as Germany thrusts deeper into his throat - it feels so raw, so good - and he moans, creating a delicious vibration against the blonde's cock. He starts to shake his head in denial, which Germany prevents with a sharp yank of his hair, causing tears to form in the albino's eyes.

"You should be punished for such behaviour," Germany 's blue eyes narrow as he forces his entire length into the Prussian's throat. The albino moans again as he rubs his thumb along the blonde's inner thighs, sliding his tongue along the underside of the German's cock while sucking. The blue eyed man moans, hips bucking forwards as his grip on the Prussian's hair tightens. He's close, very close and when Prussia flicks his thumb across his perineum, applying pressure at with his fingernail, he goes across the edge, screaming his brothers name.

Prussia gags, wishing that the German came all over his face instead but the blonde is holding his head in place so there is no escape.

"Swallow," the blonde growls, panting heavily and Prussia obeys, cheeks burning as he discovers that strangely, he enjoys the sensation of his brother's seed painting his throat white.

"Brother," Germany pulls Prussia to his feet and into his lap again, arms encircling his waist. "You're mine. If you misbehave again, I assure you, your punishment will be worse."

Prussia laughs, but a shudder goes down his spine from hearing Germany speak those words. "Of course, West," he leans up to give his brother a light peck on the lips but doesn't return the embrace, leaving his hands on his lap.

Because he's as sure as hell that he doesn't want his little brother to know that he came just from swallowing his seed.

ummm i hope you liked it! (scampers away)

Umm....

MARRY ME AUTHOR ANON DDDDD8

haha am glad you liked it! ehh will wagner's wedding march do? lol!

:DDD~ Yes it will!
*already saving fic*

^^ haha its my first time writing GerPru, i usually do GerAus so haha i'm glad someone likes it ^^

...I'll be in my bunk.

? ^^

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=i%27ll+be+in+my+bunk

lulz author!anon epic fail here OTL thanks for the link ^^

oh... oh...

"Said albino is sitting on his lap, straddling him and their tongues are fighting for dominance."

I have such a kink for Prussia sitting in Germany's lap, it's not even funny *____*

oh, possessive Luddy is the best thing ever, and the last sentence killed me *showers you with love*

^^ glad you liked it! haha i like prussia sitting in germany's lap too so... d:

*keyboard smashing*
I think I'm in love.
And I have a new kink.

I really can't thank you enough, authoranon!
THIS WAS AMAZING, EVEN CAPS LOCK CAN'T EXPRESS IT!

^^ you're welcome lol. and thank you! ^^

"he enjoys the sensation of his brother's seed painting his throat white"

I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO WATCH THE HETALIA MOVIE NOW

BECAUSE IT'S CALLED "PAINT IT WHITE"

sdfasdfsadfsadfsd

AHAHAHAHAHAHA XD

I would like a broke and desperate Arthur taking a job he’s not really cut out for. Like teaching that rich, unruly man!slut of a French kid how to be a Gentleman.

Anon chooses if Arthur’s just got quite a bad temper himself or if he’s actually a real punk in disguise. I don’t care about any age difference, but I do prefer them being close more than apart, age-wise.

Life as a nation can't all be stiff upper lip and carry on, can it? Anon would like a story where a nation has just had it, they're overwhelmed and can't seem to get ahead or anything done no matter how hard they try.

Bonus: Someone notices (eventually) and offers some comfort.

Seconded, because I have a weakness for hurt/comfort.

So everyone saw China's Halloween design right, with Jiang Shi China? I would like to see an AU revolving around China as a Jiang Shi. Tone doesn't matter much to me, though I'm very fond of creepy stories.

BONUS: If you can work Russia/China into it you can have a little piece of my soul.

Seconding :D

Can you please include a link to the halloween designs in case everyone has NOT seen them?

Psh, probably should have thought to do that. Here's Himaruya's original sketch.

http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/16500000/hetalia-halloween-Russia-and-China-hetalia-16599685-560-409.jpg

by jiang shi AU, do you mean he's a real life jiang shi or just some sort of Halloween something?

~~wrote some RoChu Halloween something this Halloween gdkgkdf~~ nvrmnd

^^

England putting a whip in one of his colony/conquered nation's hand, standing there naked, and asking to be dominated. The colony/nation is in a blank state of "Not sure if want."

No USUK or UKCan. Be creative! But if you're a potential filler and you really want to do one of those pairings, go ahead.

I fucking love that commercial, just like I love this prompt.

Hetalia Kink meme part 15

Prussia x Germany with Anal Beads

Re: Prussia x Germany with Anal Beads

Re: Prussia x Germany with Anal Beads

Spamano // Spain is an author AU

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [1a/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [1b/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [1c/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [1d/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [1e/?]

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [1e/?]

OP is in love!

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [1e/?]

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [1e/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2a/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2b/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2c/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2d + AN/?]

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2d + AN/?]

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2d + AN/?]

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2d + AN/?]

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2d + AN/?]

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Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2d + AN/?]

OP, trying to hold back on the love poems

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2d + AN/?]

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [2d + AN/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3a/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3b/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3c/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3d/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3e/?]

Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3AN]

OP ~

4non is back

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3AN]

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3AN]

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Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3AN]

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Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3AN]

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Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3AN]

Authornon couldn't resist

Re: Authornon couldn't resist

Re: Most Fragrant Rose of Summer [3AN]

TBC HERE:

To Be Written [1/?]

To Be Written [2/?]

To Be Written [3/?]

Re: To Be Written [3/?]

Re: To Be Written [3/?]

Re: To Be Written [3/?]

Re: To Be Written [3/?]

random anon

Re: random anon

Re: To Be Written [3/?]

Re: To Be Written [3/?]

Re: To Be Written [3/?]

Author!anon

Re: Author!anon

Op here~

author!anon

Re: author!anon

To Be Written [4/?]

To Be Written [5/?]

To Be Written [6/?] + Author's Note

OP

Re: To Be Written [6/?] + Author's Note

France/England, the year 1000 fear

Spain/Romano, frottage

Re: Spain/Romano, frottage

Re: Spain/Romano, frottage

Filled, Filled, Filled!!!

Various - The Quiet Ones

Miss Saigon crossover US/Vietnam, US/UK

Re: Miss Saigon crossover US/Vietnam, US/UK

Belarus/Ukraine - Futanari+Dubcon

Re: Belarus/Ukraine - Futanari+Dubcon