hetalia_kink | Hetalia kink meme part 24

OP loves you so much! More than friends is perfectly fine and I am sure to like any pairing you decide on. Very keen on the playful banter you have rolling here. Thank you so much, it's awesome so far. <3

I like the introduction to each character's train of thought.

More please?

ROFL at ghosts in the Tower. ;p

Well, I think it's hot. (Not OP.)

seconds wholeheartedly

dances away into the night

OP is really excited and hopes you try this! Thank you for even considering xox

Definetly going to camp out for this, it looks glorious! Very smooth writing author anon.

I'm updating right now, Anon- no more waiting!

Glad you're enjoying this!

Nazi aliens are totally a seventies science fiction B-movie thing. Gotta have them.

OP! Hello!

I've exceeded your expectations? Wonderful; thank you!

I'm thinking this will be somewhere around six parts maybe? Part 4 is going up now!

:D

Just one of the crazy things that aliens get up to.

“[Is] ciao [Gulean?]” Tuya muttered. “[I don’t think it’s in the translator’s dictionary.]”

“Ciao is ‘hello!’,” Feliciano told them. “It’s just not English- that’s what the translators are programmed for.”

“It’s only programmed for one language?” Suxa asked in trepidation.

“Mm-hm,” Feliciano said. “Language algorithms are hard, you know! And originally it was only Pict-English-Pict-”

“[We praise our beneficent overlords for their generosity and wish them the best of luck in their crusade of happiness,]” everyone in the area recited quickly.

Feliciano just looked confused, but plowed on.

“-and then it had to go Universal-English-Universal and the Universal side had to be hooked up to all the dictionaries of all the non-Terran languages and dialects and slang ever and Earth doesn’t have the right sort of dictionaries for any language to English yet and it’s going to take centuries probably to get some unless that new internet gleaning thing works and we’re really lucky the English one got put together so quickly, really.”

“So what do we do here?” Tuya asked.

“Well, this is where you pick the place you’re going to live!” Feliciano told them. “You pick one of the lit-up countries on the map, and then you put where you’re from and who you’re supposed to be and the machine gives you a paper map of the cities and towns and things you can live in and then you pick one and tell the computer what it is and then it gives you a list of districts and you pick one and then it gives you houses and apartments and you pick one and then you get it and go move in!”

“[He talks a lot,]” Suya said.

“[Don’t be rude, Suya, he asked us to speak in] English,” Suxa scolded. “Where would you recommend, Feliciano?”

“Oh, oh, I-”

“Fucking guido! Leave stupid!”

“Tony!” Feliciano snapped. “That’s not funny and it’s really rude and I don’t like it! I don’t care if you do that to everyone it’s not good and I should report you to Alfred and I’m not leaving!”

“Leave!”

“No, grigino!”

The Kims stood around awkwardly.

“[I think they are insulting each other?]” Suxa said uneasily. “[But I’m not sure.]”

“My job!” Tony screamed. “Not yours! Fucking leave!”

“Don’t you know any other words!”

Tony glared at Feliciano as best he could, then ignored him.

“[So, where would you like to live?]” Tony asked the Kims.

“Tonyyyyyyyyy,” Feliciano whined. “I can’t understand what you’re saying!”

“[Ignore him,]” Tony told them. “[He’s not supposed to be here.]”

Tuya gasped, and for a second wondered at the way this fake body reacted to surprise.

“[Is he actually] human?”

“[Not really. But close enough.]”

“[Where would you suggest we live?]” Suxa asked.

“[Anywhere’s fine,]” Tony said dismissively. “[But I don’t like] England.”

“[So we don’t have to go to this] South Korea?”

“Korea’s nice!” Feliciano piped up. “Kind of way too enthusiastic, but nice! England’s okay, I guess.”

“[It’s better if you don’t go to the place you’re pretending to be from. You don’t know the customs or anything- a lot of immigrants stay here in] America, [because it’s easy to pass anything ‘strange’ off as some cultural thing. No one questions it; and if they do, you can complain and people will take your side because of] ‘minority rights’.”

“[Really? Amazing!]”

“[Isn’t it?]”

Suxa shifted nervously.

“[There’s… just one thing,]” he said.

Tony cocked his head.

“[We’d been told not to go to] Germany [because Sututz`i Abechiho often visits there. Is] Germany [near] America [because I don’t want us to be in any danger from him! I never even want to get near him; I’d be too scared of what he might do!]”

Tony looked at them for a moment, and then laughed uproariously.

“Ooooh, I really like Germany!” Feliciano exclaimed. “You should go, you should go! They’ve been complaining about all the extraterrestrial Neo-Nazis but you seem nice so you should go and make them happy!”

Thanks! It's turning out to be bigger than I'd thought it be.

"So you are 'him', then."

"No, I'm 'Australia', remember?" Prussia chuckles from behind as he leans back on her
dresser in her bedroom, the sheets and linen a royal purple. She shoots a glare at Prussia
but says nothing. "You see, Me, West und Aussie here are celebrating 80 years of friendship.
I was wondering the best event for such an awesome occasion; Aus hosted a whole lot of other
stuff and West isn't the best party planner. But then you come to the me to solve your
problem, und suddenly we have the best celebration activity known to man!" Hungary blushes
profusely. Trust Prussia to turn a personal problem into a social event.

"Of course I'd never tell herr-shtick-in-the-ass about it, but I convinced Aus into it."

"Hope I'm not too much a surprise, sheila." Hungary shook her head. Australia had a
reputation as a flirt and a rogue; shameless, blatant, impure, Switzerlands sworn enemy
considering his charms had Lichtenstein so entranced. But god damn he was irresistibly
charming and dead sexy. And he probably was more tact than the Prussian.

"And besides, someone has to teach hot it's done." Aus cracked at Prussia's expense. "Alright, Herr Smooth. What makes you think you're
better?" "One, you've never been with a girl long 'nough. Two, I 'ave a PHD." The two
started with their friendly sparks "Pah, I bet you don't even vhat zat stands for!" "Sure I
do; Pretty Huge Di-"

Hungary clears her throat, which gains Australia's attention immediately. "Ah, sorry. Well
Prussia, shall we?" he asked removing his shirt, Hungary felt he tongue leave the corner of her mouth as she witnessed the splendor Australia's ripped body and impecible sun-kissed skin. "Go on then, show me your skill then." Prussia huff's, removing his undershirt. Aus turns to Hungary. "I'll be
gentle, a'ight?" She takes a breath, "Danke."

_____________________________

Ok, so this fill is getting pretty long, there's a lot of foreplay before we get to the main kink part but hey, it's smut, whose complaining?

Yeah I'm an idiot. Didn't even format it right. Sorry, folks.

True, It's not exactly what I had in mind, but what I did had in mind was pretty shallow and had little to work with.

Besides, sometimes putting a little spin on things make them incredibly unique.

I'm really impressed as to where you're going with this! Keep up the good work!

Ah! Anon! Thank you very much for this! Hugs to make you feel better?

It doesn't help that Ludwig has such a terrible handle on his emotions, anyhow. It's just not good.

/really late OP!

that sounds fantastic to me! go wild, anon c:

Any objections to the queen being Fem!Canada?

Yay! But just so you know: there’ll probably be implied past!FrUK (cause I really wanna write England giving his ex-brother relationship advice about, y’know, France), and I'm going with Jack as Australia's human name.

Alright, let’s see... I have my papers, the presentation, note paper... Australia went through the all of the files he had prepared the Commonwealth meeting. He had been desperate to host it for a while now, since the last time he had, he forgot about it completely and had come in his trunks with his surfboard, panting for breath.

Which, by the way, was totally not his fault! He hadn’t hosted the meeting in over 20 years, and they’d been changing the hosting city and date all the time!

But since he was hosting the meeting again, he could prove to the others that yes, he can in fact, be organized. He had even taken out one of his nicer suits (sure, England had threatened to castrate him if he 'looked scruffy in front of the Queen,' but still) and still had most of the day left to spa-

RIING~... RIING~

Oh crap, he almost forgot his phone! How else would he have been able to text his boyfriend during the...

No, no, bad Australia, he scolded himself, answering the phone. “Hello?”

“Bonjour, Australie!”

Speak of the devil. “France! What’s up, babe?” he replied, just as eagerly.

“Not a lot back home, cher. I thought I’d come over to see you while I have a few weeks off.”

A few weeks... T-That long?! Australia just managed to hold back a (very manly, thank you very much) squeal at the news; “Blimey, that’s brilliant! You mean it, weeks?!”

He heard France chuckle lightly over the phone, “Oui, I'm excited too. I know you have a meeting, but I couldn’t wait to see you!”

“What, y’already here or something?” Australia laughed.

“Exactly! So if you could pick me up now, that would be great.”

...

“Wait, what?”

“I’m at the airport, with no car, no food, and no partner!” France clarified, with a hint of a whine in his voice. “I’m lonely!”

Oh, God, he’s gonna get all bratty if I leave him like this. “Fine, fine, I’ll pick you up.”

“Really?! Oh, thank you, Jack, you are a godsend! Je t’aime!”

“Sure, sure. Hey, what are boyfriends for?” Australia sighed, getting a bit impatient. “So, which airport are you at? The one in Perth, right?”

“No, I couldn’t get a flight there. I’m in Geraldton.”

Australia almost dropped the phone in shock, “G-Geraldton?! Francis, the meeting’s tonight! And in case you didn’t notice the location, I’m hosting it!”

“I-I know that! But you told me it doesn’t start till this evening, right? You have plenty of time!”

“No I don’t! It takes ten hours there and back and I still need to practise...” Australia complained, forgetting that France always saw this as an invitation to, well...

“But Australiiiiie... it’s crowded, I’ve got jet lag and it’s hooooot! You said it gets cooler in March but I’m still sweating! Why are you always so hot?”

Australia managed to both blush and groan at the comment, “Blame geography. But can’t you get a taxi...?”

“Quoi?! Non! What if he doesn’t have-?”

“France, no idiot’s gonna drive in a taxi without an AC here,” Australia interrupted, almost mechanically. France tried the same trick every time.

Australia heard a sigh on the other end, alerting him that France was about to try a new trick; “Please, Australia...” France sighed, “I... I just want to see your face a few extra hours. I won’t be here forever, after all.” Shit, shit, shit, he knows I can’t refuse him when he’s like this. “Come on, Jack...”

Australia’s palm was already preparing to deal a blow to his own face; “...Fine. But if I’m-”

“Yes! Merci, Jack! I love you so much!”

“...If I’m late, I’ll fucking strangle you.”

Just setting the scene here; smut will be coming a bit later.

Antonio remembered that he had to meet with Lovino fifteen minutes after his last class had ended. He was almost at the bus stop, but quickly began hurrying back. Lovino’s temper was infamous throughout the whole school, ever since he had stormed out of his obligatory German class, shouting in the hallways about where they could stick their “goddamned Sauerkraut!”

The Spaniard shivered and sped up. He didn’t want to get on anyone’s bad side, but certainly not Lovino’s.

Fortunately for him, he found his classmate at the wardrobe, chatting somewhat amicably with Manon, a fellow student of theirs, and Maarten’s younger sister. The girl smiled at Lovino, waved goodbye and turned around to leave the school. She also smiled at Antonio when she spotted him and gave him a thumb up. He gulped when he looked away from her and met Lovino’s seething gaze.

“If not for Manon,” the Italian started venomously, “I would have left twenty minutes ago.”

Antonio apologized with a red face. “I totally forgot, Lovino! I won’t be late next time, promise.”

“Next time, ha. Let’s see if we survive this time first.” Lovino frowned and began marching towards the stairs. “Mr Horatio will let us use the classical languages classroom, so come on.” Antonio sighed and followed him. He didn’t have much of a choice.

The classical languages classroom was a small, somewhat cosy space with faded posters and newspaper articles filling the places on the walls that weren’t covered by the large maps of the Roman Empire and Ancient Greece. The blackboard was still covered with notes in the teacher’s messy handwriting and the occasional stick figure drawing. Antonio recognized a hastily drawn ground plan of the Forum Romanum and the Athenian Acropolis. Next to the drawing were some letters he did not recognize, probably Greek. Lovino smirked at the mess and plopped down behind Mr Horatio’s desk. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Antonio noticed for the first time that he wore a thin golden ring on his left hand ring finger.

“Are you going to sit down or what?” The Italian’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Yes, sorry. I tend to, uh, get distracted.”

“I know,” Lovino said while the Spaniard sat down across from him, at the table where Erzsébet usually sat, “it’s fucking annoying when you keep humming all through class. It’s probably also the reason that you suck so much at everything.”

Antonio looked the other boy in the eye. “I don’t suck at everything, you know. My average in history is 85!”

“Sure, whatever.”

The Spaniard let the insult slide off and smiled again. “Well, we’re not here to talk about my grades, are we? We’re here to improve them, if anything!”

“Yes.” Lovino shuffled a bit. He twisted his ring absentmindedly. “Well, before we start talking about Latin, we have to arrange the payment thing. I actually asked Manon what she gets for that tutor group crap – be grateful – and she said about $10 per hour. She also said that I’d have to ask less, since she helps multiple students at once. You are probably gonna stir enough trouble for all those students, but… What I’m trying to say is, $13 a lesson seems reasonable to me. I don’t want to spend more than two hours with you anyway.”

“That’s fine,” Antonio replied. It actually was less than he’d thought Lovino would ask. The Spaniard smiled broadly. “That’s absolutely fine!”

“Should’ve asked more,” Lovino muttered under his breath. Then he ran a hand through his hair and planted his elbows on the desk decisively. “Anyway, Latin. I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to do, so you tell me. What’s your problem?”

Antonio pursed his lips slightly. “I’m not sure. Everything was going quite alright last year. I even got in a hundred somewhere in February! But then this year it kind of… started going downhill or something.”

“Yeah, yeah. So you do know the basics, I guess. Conjugations and that crap.” Antonio nodded and Lovino narrowed his eyes. “Okay, tell me the conjugation of the word rosa.” The Italian leant back with a smug grin on his face. It looked like he was enjoying his position of, albeit limited, power. Antonio thought deeply.

“Well, I guess it’s like… Rosa, rosae, ro…sae? Uh, rosam... Something like that. Wait, I forgot one, didn’t I?” The Spanish boy scratched his head sheepishly. “There’s – no, wait, I know it! – nominative, genitive, accusative, ablative… And then some… Okay, maybe I don’t really know the conjugations.”

Lovino leant forward. “How the hell do you translate stuff if you don’t know basic conjugations?”

“I just translate the words in a text and see if I can make a sentence out of them..?” Antonio replied. He chuckled nervously when Lovino began desperately clawing at his own hair, groaning exaggeratedly. “Wrong answer?”

“Yes!” the Italian answered. He looked at Antonio. “You’re even stupider than I thought you were! You’ve been studying Latin for over four years; you should at least know the names of the fucking conjugations!”

“At least we found the first subject to touch upon, right?” Another nervous chuckle escaped his throat.

Lovino promptly let his head fall down on the desk. “I should’ve asked way more money.”
---
Despite the rocky start, the two students actually got some work done during the 90 minutes they had left. Antonio studied conjugations and their functions until he knew them by heart. Lovino was still snobby, but rightly proud of what he’d accomplished so far. Antonio thought it was also because of the money he would receive later, but that was only natural, he reasoned. He was happy that someone could help him though.

“Well,” the Italian said when the hands of the clock began nearing five, “I suppose your idiot brain has done enough work for today. I don’t think it can handle any more thinking above its level.”

Antonio raised his eyebrows without looking at Lovino. “Was that an insult?” He was trying to push his books into his backpack.

“Yeah, it was. I think you need a lesson in those as well. I’ve been doing nothing but insulting you for the past two hours, and I don’t think you’ve noticed.”

“Well, you insult people a lot… So it can’t mean you really hate me, right?” He finally succeeded in stuffing his Latin books into his bag, although he was afraid he’d crumpled his maths notes enough to make them unreadable. Then he looked up to Lovino, who blinked at him. “I think it’s time to go home.”

The Spanish boy nodded, explaining that he had to take three buses to get home and that it would take two hours now that he’d go during the rush hour. “Normally, it takes about 80 minutes, but the bus does run late a lot of th—”

“Not interested, idiot!”

Antonio shut up. Then he smiled. “Say, Lovino?” The Italian didn’t react, only standing up, retrieving his stuff and starting to walk to the door. “Lovino,” Antonio tried again, following his classmate, “I actually don’t know anything about you. Tell me something! You’ve got two brothers, right? Where do you guys live?”

The Italian opened the door. He let Antonio through without a word and slammed the door shut. Antonio flinched. Maybe Lovino didn’t like it when he was asked things about his personal life, although he couldn’t quite grasp why that would be. The Spaniard had met the boy’s twin brother some times. He didn’t share many classes with the other Italian, but occasionally met up with him in music lessons. From what he’d gathered, he could say that Lovino and his brother were completely different. There apparently was a third Vargas brother, but he went to a different school in the area. Antonio only knew the twin brother’s name; Feliciano. The Spanish student didn’t know why Lovino wouldn’t want to talk about his life. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about it. It was different for a lot of other students at their World Academy.

Maybe that was it, Antonio thought. Then Lovino broke his train of thought once again.

“Are you going to stand there all day, bastard?” he snarled. “The cleaning ladies are coming in a few, if you don’t move they’re gonna sweep you up, mark my words.”

“Sorry, got distracted again. Lead the way, Vino.”

“Don’t call me Vino!”

“Lovi, then?”

“Lovino!”

“Oh, I know! What about Lolo?!”

“Would you shut the fuck up already?! My name is Lovino Vargas, thank you very much.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll call you Lovino alright.”

“You better.”

It was a simple fact, England had managed to go years without allowing anybody to lay with him. He had kept his anal virginity in tact throughout his life, throughout the years that he had been recognised as a country, through the years of rumours that had been spread about him. The case of Arthur's virginity was a mystery, a topic to be explored even, for many of the nations. Sure, England had had sex before, he had been the one to fuck certain male nations, but... Never had he been on the receiving end of this.

England is unable to remember how he had ended up on the ground of a forest after a particularly harsh St George's day. All he could remember was the drinking, the drinking and the company he had invited, and the next thing he knew, he was writhing underneath China's slim body. His movements gentle, barely moving England over the dirt that had been clinging onto the sweat soaked body of the younger nation. It was pleasurable, to say the least, but from that moment on, the feeling of a orifice of his body that was never meant to be breached being stretched, he craved. Surely, when he had recovered from the initial shock of China above him, he had enjoyed it.

The fingernails acting like claws down the mans back, both grunting their own languages, but knowing in some way what each was saying... It was an intoxicating feeling. A feeling that he had never felt before, and he knew now why other nations never put up that much of a fight when he had told them that the only way he would be on his back is if they were riding him.

But something China had done that night (or, early morn, if one is to get specific), it was almost as if his cock was the key to awaken some kind of predator deep within him. Not a noticeable change, of course not, just in the boredom of world meetings, he would look around the nations, wondering. Simply wondering. The change was not that of a 'sex addict' just wondering if the girth of China, the length of China was not enough.

His thoughts got the best of him just over two years after he had lost his virginity, after a meeting when he found himself under the table with France's watchful eye. It was not a secret around the nations that he and France had had sexual encounters before, it was just this was the first time that England was licking at the others penis. The taste was at the back of his mind as he took in the length the best he could, his mouth stretching around the girth that he never noticed before, and loving the way he struggled with the last inch or two, the small gagging sounds he made were not only making France twitch.

A part of England was surprised to find himself allowing the Frenchman to push him up against the window, his naked back being pressed against the one way window; they could see all of the people that walked past, while no one could see what was happening inside. A once strong empire trying his hardest to crane his neck to watch as it went in, as it stretched his hole to make sure the girth would fit. He went with the next bed thing, as he let go of one of Francis' shoulders, to feel around where the puckered skin embraced the member tightly, sucked the other nation inside and seemed to do the best to keep it there forever.

Still, there was not enough stretching. Not enough of that feeling of being full, even as his body was rocked against the window, finding out that everything that anybody had said about the French stereotype was true. The love making (dare he even call it that) was more than outstanding, each kiss that trailed down his body leaving a burn that would last in his memory, dark purple marks that stood out on his pale skin. Nothing about the way the Frenchman moved and moved him was flawed, he was impeccable.

But still, there was something missing. There was always something missing.

America was the next one. They had entered a relationship, and waited a while for the sex to come naturally. They stayed clothed throughout each others visits, and it amused England how relatively childlike the relationship for people who are centuries old. And as he lays in the dark of night in the cold bed in which two people lie, clad in only their underwear, he wonders how much longer it is going to be until he gets to push his hand underneath the elastic and feel the member that seems to lie dormant.

He tries to cheat, tries to get a glimpse. Accidentally walking in when America is showering, when he is getting changed, but he knows that it is not the flaccid state he would find it in that he wants, and it is when he changes his tactics he realises that America beats all of his expectations in terms of when he wakes in the morning. England curses his luck, and continues to try and change when he would wake up, on the off-chance that the teenage-like nation sleeping beside him would wake with an erection, but he had been so far unlucky. Maybe America was more sexually mature than England gave him for granted...

It is early spring, a few months after their relationship begins, that England finally gives up his restraint and pushes America against the door. He is visiting the bigger nation, trying to keep their long distance relationship going, but even kissing makes England rut his growing need against America, and for the first time, he feels a response. He feels their clothed cocks together, and England cannot lie; he is impressed. Never expecting his ex-colony to be how he would say... Packin' (it has been a while since England had caught up with the lexis of the new generation)?

They do not make it to the bedroom, and the first time England gets a glimpse of what America is hiding, it is still at the front door of the house. The Briton simply drops to his knees without a word, pulls the trousers and underwear down and takes it in his hand. He inspects it, looks for any flaws; visually, he seems perfect. The taste as he licks the vein on the underside is still the same, but the way he reacts to each breath on the muscle sends delighted shivers down England's spine. But as he finishes teasing America with his mouth, they find their way to his dining room table.

They first make love on the top of the table. America standing before it, England on his back once more. He tries to grip onto the material, but he simply cannot. He moves more than he remembered, becoming almost a doll for America to use, for America to move how he wants, and although he is being forced to draw out moans and cries of pleasure, he is able to hit the spot deep within England that makes him raise his back of the table and scratch at the smooth material that is waxed wood; something is just not enough.

At the next meeting, England looks to America, wondering what is missing. The sex satisfies him, by the end of his visits after the initial session, England is basically sucked dry of any bodily fluid that he can produce. They end up single two springs after, however, and France becomes aware with his talks with America that something has changed. The England that he had once had a casual fling with every once in a while, who refused to allow anybody inside him, was gone. Now replaced by a insatiable desire, and he knew there was never going to be anyone alive to fill that.

Whatever England got, there was never going to be enough.

^{So next time we'll be going to Canada, Russia and Germany... In more detail! Any suggestions for improvement?}

Hetalia kink meme part 24

Re: Not Like Hero and Leander (1/?)

Re: Scribes and Stones [3/?]

Re: Sututz`i Abechiho (3/?)

Re: France/Any Male Nation, Submitting & Begging

+1

Re: USUK-Cat transformation

Re: Not Like Hero and Leander (1/?)

Re: Sututz`i Abechiho (3/?)

Re: Sututz`i Abechiho (3/?)

Re: OP here

Re: Sututz`i Abechiho (3/?)

Sututz`i Abechiho (4/?)

Re: Letting Her Hair Down (part 1/?)

Re: Letting Her Hair Down (part 1/?)

Letting Her Hair Down (part 2/?) ABOVE

OP here

Re: Visitation Rights (1/...)

Re: France/Any Male Nation, Submitting & Begging

Re: fem!France + fem!England- Walking through dreams

AustraliaxFrance - Limits (Part 1a/?)

Re: AustraliaxFrance - Limits (Part 1b/?)

Aut disce aut discede [2a/?]

Aut disce aut discede [2b/?]

Never Enough 1a/?

Never Enough 1b/?