Drabbles/Unfinished Stuff Part 2 - Hetalia - Various
These happen to be longer XD;
Basically, I have these sitting here and wanted to post them. I have many others, but they're either just word-scribbles or in notebooks back in my house. They're also out of date-order, but whatever.
Not putting anything intended to be a part of a challenge, here, just so you know.
Gist of what's happening: OMG MORE OLYMPICS sob why did I never finish these. Basically, I was amused by Avril Lavigne's choice in songs, and went, "pfft this would be funny" so yeah. Excuse for brocest.
Warnings: INCEEEEEST, kinda-sorta NSFW? A little?
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: America x Canada => Canada x America, hints of America x England
America yanked Canada from his spot on the makeshift dance floor, dragging him away from the mini-concert. Canada stumbled along, protesting as loudly as he could. He struggled, twisted, but to absolutely no avail. America was much too strong and much too determined. His grip on the knit sweater featuring a moose was tight and left no chance of writhing escape.
It was when America slammed Canada back against a wall in an isolated, cold and slightly smelly room that the younger nation realized what was going on. Surely he had heard Avril’s songs, she was once a musical icon of sorts back in the 1990’s and her hits were played across his stations. Canada tried to sink into the wall, feeling rather guilty suddenly. That deep, blue gaze didn’t help the situation.
“What the hell are you trying to pull, Canada?” America hissed, fisting Canada’s sweater and leaning in close enough to be uncomfortable.
Canada shifted awkwardly. “Wh-what are you talking about, eh?” he asked, wishing that carrying polar bears in public wasn’t such an abnormality, even in his country; he would have like to be hugging Kumajiro right now.
He was slammed into the wall again. Thankfully it wasn’t concrete, more like the plastic that lined the hockey rink. “You know exactly what’s going on! C’mon, Canada, why would you do that?”
“They were her top songs-”
“She had others!”
“It was her choi-”
“Fuck me if it were her choice! Everyone heard that!”
America pushed himself off of Canada, walking away to run his hand through his hair, groan, and spin back around. It was remarkable, almost; Canada hadn’t seen him so stressed since the elections. It managed to raise concerns.
“America…?”
“I know you’re upset, I’m not that…what’s the word?”
“Oblivious?”
“Yeah, that one! Look, I know, I know. But man, me and you, it wouldn’t have…” America tried, flopping his hands in the air, trying to conjure up more words, better phrasings, something to get his point across.
Canada slumped, looked at his feet. “…It’s not like you two are doing anything.”
“No, but he thinks there might be something! Which is dumb, there’s a damned reason I declared my independence from the guy. But the bossman wants to keep relations good, wants us to be there for the other when we’re in a pinch and all that, y’know?” America rambled, tugging at his hair, patting Canada’s chest with the back of his hand, walking away and rotating back around. “And, you and me, I mean, we’re bros, man! Even if Nixon-”
“Don’t talk about Nixon. Please.”
“Yeah yeah, but he-”
“America…?”
“What?”
Canada took each flap of America’s jacket into his hands, forcibly turned them around, and threw America against the wall this time. America grunted in surprise, made to make it otherwise, but Canada’s hockey face was on and, as proved earlier, there was no escape from that.
“America, I know why, but you’re such a jerk about it! Don’t tell me why you did this or that, I get it. Just…” He placed a kiss to America’s neck, that spot that always made his leg jerk. “Just think about me sometimes, eh?”
America bit his lip, grabbed Canada’s wrists. “I’m the hero, I always think about you and everyone else.”
“Not like that!”
“Well that’s-”
Canada shut his brother up with a liplock, pressing their bodies together, mewling softly as their flesh fit perfectly together. It was always like this, starting out with a fight and ending with their pieces joining seamlessly. Thank God for geography.
Gist of what's happening: IVAN BEING AN ASS. Basically. He owns the fucking city and everyone in it. And lookit me putting history into AU. Herp derp.
Warnings: AU, and all blame goes to abacusaddict20 for this one. I am now in love with the idea of Ivan and city-themed things.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Ivan, Toris, Eduard, Raivis, Berwald, Tino, and Gilbert. Mentions of Alfred and Ludwig.
Ivan Braginsky shifted his scarf around his neck, smiling at himself in the mirror. It was a cold night, it always was. The wind never ceased to chill and blow, icy tears never failed to drizzle down steel faces, and if the city was lucky then perhaps the streets would fill with loosely stacked, wet down instead of frozen glass. Yes...then the concern of driving would be mostly eliminated. But if the weather suddenly turned sunny and clear, if sunflowers sprouted up everywhere, that would be Ivan's heaven.
He chuckled to himself. It was such a funny thought, to think that his climate torture would go away. He'd come to accept that it never would. After all, the city was his, and he had only claimed so much as his territory.
“Toris,” Ivan clicked, “you have my coat, correct?”
A thin, malnourished teen stumbled forward, handing the tall Russian a heavy coat that was so layered with fur and cloth it had begun to cause his arms to sweat just from holding it. “H-here you are, Ivan.” Toris stammered, keeping his head bowed to hide the dark circles beneath his eyes. Ivan smiled, plucked the coat from the boy's grasp, and slipped it on.
“And my hat?”
Three seconds. A new record.
“Retrieve Eduard and Raivis, if you will. I have business to attend to tonight, as you know.”
---------
Berwald was immensely unhappy when Ivan stepped into the cozy diner, glaring at him more than usual, sending no hint of recognition toward the three teens that followed until beckoned to sit down by their caretaker. Ivan frowned at him and made a soft whine in the back of his throat.
“Such a mean look, Berwald. Do you often show that face to customers?”
The angry, sizzling stare never faltered. “Y'r n't w'lc'm h're.” he grumbled low and bear-like.
Ivan laughed in such a childish manner it could only be described as a giggle. “Oh, I suppose I'm not, am I?” he stated, sitting down on a stool in front of Berwald, his face tinted with the faintest of blushes. He was laughing softly. “After all, I'm here to collect something precious of yours.”
A knife was promptly lodged into the wooden counter, ridiculously close to Ivan's hand, but his expression didn't twitch away for a second. He stared at the knife and removed it, humming in approval. “I can take this, too, if you'd like.”
“Y'r not g'ttin' m' wife.”
“You would like that, wouldn't you?”
“Y'r not g'ttin' m' wife.”
“Both of you agreed to this, I've come to take him to my home. Remember?”
Berwald glared. He looked ready to wrap his hands around Ivan's throat, granted he could get to it past the scarf. “Y' tricked me.”
Ivan smiled as he cocked his gun, now held to Berwald's head. “Kindly get Tino. The look on his face if he were to see you dead would be much too pleasing to bear. I think I would have to take a picture, the distress I'm imagining is very enticing.”
---------
“Get the fuck out of here!! I've told you, I'm not giving my club to you, you fucking bastard!”
Ivan sighed. So loud. “Ahh, but you owe me, Weillschmidt.”
The platinum blonde launched a wad of spit into Ivan's face. “Like hell I do! Get your vodka-butt out of here before I take you out myself!” Gilbert shouted, slamming his fist on the table, causing it to shake and possibly even dent a little. Ivan wiped the saliva off calmly, and proceeded to act as if it didn't happen.
“Mm, if you don't then you'll regret it.” he hummed. Waving his hand, the three teens and newly-acquired Tino shuffled out of the room, hesitant and fearful.
Gilbert watched, disgusted. “That fucking Jones would have your head if he saw that.”
For the first time all night, Ivan's jaw clenched, mouth drawn into a line.
“We won't speak of that pig.”
“And we won't goddamned speak of my awesome club! Now get the fuck out of here!”
“You have a temper.”
“Hell, I have a temper!”
“Always looking for a fight, always so alone...”
“I like being alone.”
“Then you wouldn't mind Ludwig being unable to come home, hm?”
Gilbert faltered. His younger brother worked far longer and harder than he did, and it was rare occasion enough that they got to see each other. Ivan knew the 'loner' persona was a fake, a downright fraud.
Gist of what's happening: Gilbert checking Alfred out. Then they do stuff. Written to "Hot Mess" by Cobra Starship.
Warnings: OH GOD AGE DIFFERENCE is like 8 years but this sort of creeped Abacus out so I dunno. And it's AU. And no, I don't know where I'm going with this.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Gilbert x Alfred, guest appearances by Matthew and Toris
He was young, the baby fat still lingering on his round cheeks despite the handsome aging he had gone under. Yes, the boy was good-looking, and the way his face contorted in the limelight did nothing to quell the desirable aspects of his well-built form. Youthful, energetic, expressional…the blonde-haired, blue-eyed barely legal teen stirred a rumbling want inside the young adult watching him from afar, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Americans were known to be beautiful in all their rowdy, unrestrained glory; Alfred F. Jones was of no exception. He was a freedom loving-spoiled-eagle, an untamed spirit through and through. His singing was atrocious, but his breathtaking stage presence made up for it.
Gilbert Weilschmidt smirked as Jones bowed, flashed a lady-killer’s smile, and hopped off the karaoke stage with a zealous holler, returning to his table next to another blonde-whom Gilbert had to stare at for a long while before realizing he was there-and a feminine brunette male. Watching him talk and interact with the two friends, it wasn’t difficult to see that he had changed quite a bit since he was a child. Gilbert knew him, then, but as Alfred Kirkland, not Jones. It seemed unorthodox that Alfred would give himself a new middle name, as well, but it wasn’t entirely questionable.
The pigment-challenged twenty-six year old flicked his cigarette to the floor and pushed from the wall he had been leaning on. He hadn’t intended to find Alfred remotely attractive, but what could a little fun hurt? It wasn’t as if he’d be remembered, Alfred was only ten or so when they met, the likelihood of being recognized was low.
So he strode over, leading with his head and chest, egotism and headstrong personality showing through every step of the way. With little to no grace he ran his hand along Alfred’s shoulder as he approached, grinning widely as the boy jumped with a loud yelp and turned to get a look at the culprit. His glasses had shifted down the bridge of his nose, his cheeks stained with a flush of red.
“Y-yeah?” he stammered. How cute. How typical. He even tried to straighten up to look bigger and stronger than his slumped posture had allowed.
Gilbert pulled the hem of Alfred’s shirt. “The awesome me has something to talk to you about, Jones.” he stated, his grin growing. Before Alfred could interrupt, he continued, turning his playful tug of the shirt into a convincing grip of the blonde’s thick shoulder. “C’mon, there’s an empty room over there. Your daddy sent me.”
He could see the clockwork trying to make sense of the situation in Alfred’s eyes; his yellow brows furrowed much in the same manner as his father. After quick glances to his friends for approval-the other blonde must have been his younger brother, they looked ridiculously similar-Alfred stood, allowing Gilbert a better look-over of his physique. He was much stronger than he had given him credit for, sturdy and jock-like, definitely a sporty kind of guy.
The blue eyes never left him, and neither did the gleaming smile that came up rather spontaneously. “Alright, bud, where to?”
Like a dog, wasn’t he? Gilbert relaxed his gaze-the red of his eyes wasn’t always the most welcoming of stares to receive-and curled his smirk. It always worked on luring people in, and Alfred, like all the others, fell for it, his jaw slacking with an eager sort of leer. “Right over here, chump. Just follow me, then we’ll talk.”
---------
There was hardly any talking after Alfred had made it clear that the interest was mutual. They had their lips locked, roughly kissing and growling as each tried to gain the upper hand. Gilbert felt far too awesome to let the younger boy win, and Alfred had it in his head that a hero never let anyone undermine him in anything. Running out of breath, they settled against a wall, Alfred’s hands planted on either side of Gilbert’s head.
“How…how do you know me? And what’s your name, dude?”
Gilbert’s head was spinning with desire, he wanted more, but Alfred wasn’t going to give in to that anytime soon. He swallowed. “Gilbert, punk.”
For the first time since they had interacted that night, Alfred appeared to have a moment of clear realization of what was going on. He didn’t move away or act repulsed. Instead, he leaned closer, examining Gilbert’s features at a much closer angle. And for the first time that night, Gilbert felt nervous, and it showed.
“H-hey, what the hell are you looking at, specs?”
Alfred cocked his head. “Weilschmi-whatever-dt, right? One of dad’s friends?”
Gilbert’s face paled.
“Yeah! You’re the guy who came by that one time! Something about frogs and tomatoes!” It disturbed Gilbert how excited and unfazed he was, but he kept quiet about that part. He backed into the wall as much as he could, finding it much easier said than done, damn shoulder blades.
His expression dropped as he watched Alfred smile, as if the sun were caught inside of him and only released when those rough lips tilted up to his sky-blue eyes. He felt somewhat guilty, but had to brush it off. If he didn’t, he probably wouldn’t come home with a bouncing blonde to warm the other side of his lonely bed.
Not that he hated being alone, of course…no, not at all.
Gilbert managed a small grin. “Yeah. Sure, kid.”
“That’s great! I mean…well, dad sucks, but you were pretty cool back then!”
Gist of what's happening: Seven Years' War, hopefully leading into...something. Basically, the point isn't there yet, and I don't want to spoil it. Main focus is to be on America and Prussia, though.
Warnings: WOO HOO HISTORICAL~
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Young!America, England, and Prussia
When the boats came in that morning, America had been expecting only one European nation to be strutting onto the docks. He had never met the man with the shock of white hair, but he knew the moment he saw him. Another European…and this one carried himself in such a way it reminded him of England. They walked side-by-side, much to England’s apparent displeasure and the stranger’s amusement, as they departed the ship. Dressed in clothing far more expensive and glorious than anything America could have imagined, he stared in awe as they approached.
The way England looked at him snapped him from his amazement, and beckoned him without fail. Never in his life did he wish to disobey when that look crossed his guardian’s face. Despite that, he beamed a wide grin at England as he ran up to the overseas duo.
“England! You’re back!”
England’s tight expression softened into a small smile, brief and quickly rid of. “Yes, I am. America, this is Prussia. He’ll be staying with us for a small while.” He introduced, guiding his hand toward his companion. It was only then America noticed the gleaming red eyes, piercing and locked with a fiery ambition he had never seen. “Prussia…please behave yourself, America is young.”
Prussia cackled, and America could have, in a moment of terrified shock, sworn his teeth were all pointed. “And what the hell do you think I’d do him?”
“Knowing you, plenty of things.”
America’s lips drew together. He felt awkward, suddenly, shrinking into himself as the men secured themselves in a staring contest, England glaring and Prussia grinning.
Gist of what's happening: SEXUAL RELATIONS. Like. Motherland/Colony sexual relations. Don't like, don't read. But America's a big boy, so no shota here.
Warnings: NSFW. Depending on your view, could be incest or just some kind of Turpin/Johanna thing. And this is when America's a BIG colony, not a little one. Again, no shota here.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: England x Young!America
America craned into him, releasing a heavy sigh as he tried to catch his breath. This always left him gasping for air, being so close to England, having their bodies pressed so close...he drowned in the excitement. England's hand was pumping them together, thumb rubbing against his slit, his foul mouth spilling deep, dark whispers that sent chills down the colony's back; it was all almost too much to handle. He was young, but every bit a man.
"A-ah, England, England...!"
"Shh, shh, darling...almost there..."
He let out a depraved whine, stringing his fingers through England's short, choppy hair. Biting his lower lip, he tried all he could to keep his moans held in. It was one of those nights where they tangled themselves on the bed, with the window wide open for the breeze to come through, when all was quiet. The bustle of the town was missing, any voices were gone. It was just them, pressed together atop the messed sheets, gasping and trying not to wake the inn-keeper.
Gist of what's happening: This will be my favorite fic once I finish. Essentially, this is about the unification of Germany, and the building wariness to said unification. Takes place during/after the Franco-Prussian War, the third and final war in the trial to prove Prussian dominance over Europe and claim to unite the German states, which leads to African colonization which causes enough tension to lead into World War I. However, this fic also includes the looming concern of America, a young nation overseas who already has achieved much of what Europe has in hundreds of years in only a small portion of that. In summary, this fic is chalk full of foreshadowing.
Warnings: BOOT TO THE HEAD. No, really.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Prussia and France. Mentions of America, Germany, and England.
“Don’t unify him, mon ami. No good will come of it.” France ground out, barely strong enough to look his former friend in the eye from his lowly position on the ground. “You’ve proven your strength, we’ve all seen what you can do. Denmark and Austria-”
Prussia flung a kick to France’s head, smirking cruelly once he heard the loud crack of bone meeting marble. From there his boot was forced into his neck, the pressure altering depending on the tone of groan that was elicited. “Those pansies were nothing! You and your Napoleon weren’t any different! He thought he could beat the awesome, awesome me!” he spat. “I am the Kingdom of Prussia, and I will unite Germany under the Second Reich!”
He removed his foot, squatting instead to snatch a handful of bloodied blond hair in his hand, lifting the Frenchman’s head up violently. France was afraid that the cat-like grin and hateful red eyes would be the last things he would ever see. “And there’s nothing you can do about it!” Prussia emphasized by shaking his arm, popping France’s neck as it flopped at his will, the will of iron and blood.
“Don’t.” France coughed in Prussia’s face, earning him another quick throw to the floor. He shuddered, pushed himself up despite the rage in the kingdom’s eyes. “You’ll destroy us all with that child.” he quivered, unable to shield the despair twisting his face. “All of us.”
Prussia perked, straightened up and looked down on him, crossing his arms. “And how the hell do you figure that, fuzzface?”
“He’ll be another America, that…that demon child, Prussia, don’t do it!” France groaned and gripped his side where a gun wound reopened. “Learn from that bastard’s mistakes, bringing a child into the world right now, here…! It’s stupid.”
Again, a kick landed right against his temple, but this time he did no more than twitch as blood began to seep from his wound and, he suspected soon enough, from his head. “Don’t tell me what to do! I’m going to revive that kid and turn him into something great! That filthy America-”
“England. England, mon ami, England is the one that brought that monster into existence.” France scooted himself away, propping himself against a wall. He breathed heavily, putting manual pressure to his side. “If I had raised the boy…”
Prussia growled. Fucking…he didn’t understand any of this shit, what was so great about America? Germany would but much greater, much more powerful, he would be unstoppable and awesome! It was the perfect plan!
“Brows is a loser and you goddamn know it.” he accused somewhat shakily, taking hard steps closer to the beaten nation. In all honesty, there was something scary about the British Empire that struck deep down into Prussia’s core, a foreboding that the island should not be messed with. Bismarck was smart…he could only pray that a navy would never come into German possession.
France shook his head. “You know how powerful that bastard has gotten. But America…” he coughed, slumping forward until he finished. “America…he’s much, much worse. He’ll be our undoing.”
“He’s overseas, what can he-”
“England is terrible at letting things go. He won’t allow America to forget that a Europe exists beyond trading opportunities. He will do anything to get that brat involved in our problems.”
Prussia shifted his gaze, nudged France’s shoulder with his foot, and planted his fists on his hips. “So you’re saying that England’s bro is stronger than mine?”
“Oui. Infinitely.”
Instead of the frown France was looking for, he grudgingly had to accept the wide, predatory smirk that he had seen far too many times.
“We’ll see about that, fuzzface.”
Basically, I have these sitting here and wanted to post them. I have many others, but they're either just word-scribbles or in notebooks back in my house. They're also out of date-order, but whatever.
Not putting anything intended to be a part of a challenge, here, just so you know.
Gist of what's happening: OMG MORE OLYMPICS sob why did I never finish these. Basically, I was amused by Avril Lavigne's choice in songs, and went, "pfft this would be funny" so yeah. Excuse for brocest.
Warnings: INCEEEEEST, kinda-sorta NSFW? A little?
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: America x Canada => Canada x America, hints of America x England
America yanked Canada from his spot on the makeshift dance floor, dragging him away from the mini-concert. Canada stumbled along, protesting as loudly as he could. He struggled, twisted, but to absolutely no avail. America was much too strong and much too determined. His grip on the knit sweater featuring a moose was tight and left no chance of writhing escape.
It was when America slammed Canada back against a wall in an isolated, cold and slightly smelly room that the younger nation realized what was going on. Surely he had heard Avril’s songs, she was once a musical icon of sorts back in the 1990’s and her hits were played across his stations. Canada tried to sink into the wall, feeling rather guilty suddenly. That deep, blue gaze didn’t help the situation.
“What the hell are you trying to pull, Canada?” America hissed, fisting Canada’s sweater and leaning in close enough to be uncomfortable.
Canada shifted awkwardly. “Wh-what are you talking about, eh?” he asked, wishing that carrying polar bears in public wasn’t such an abnormality, even in his country; he would have like to be hugging Kumajiro right now.
He was slammed into the wall again. Thankfully it wasn’t concrete, more like the plastic that lined the hockey rink. “You know exactly what’s going on! C’mon, Canada, why would you do that?”
“They were her top songs-”
“She had others!”
“It was her choi-”
“Fuck me if it were her choice! Everyone heard that!”
America pushed himself off of Canada, walking away to run his hand through his hair, groan, and spin back around. It was remarkable, almost; Canada hadn’t seen him so stressed since the elections. It managed to raise concerns.
“America…?”
“I know you’re upset, I’m not that…what’s the word?”
“Oblivious?”
“Yeah, that one! Look, I know, I know. But man, me and you, it wouldn’t have…” America tried, flopping his hands in the air, trying to conjure up more words, better phrasings, something to get his point across.
Canada slumped, looked at his feet. “…It’s not like you two are doing anything.”
“No, but he thinks there might be something! Which is dumb, there’s a damned reason I declared my independence from the guy. But the bossman wants to keep relations good, wants us to be there for the other when we’re in a pinch and all that, y’know?” America rambled, tugging at his hair, patting Canada’s chest with the back of his hand, walking away and rotating back around. “And, you and me, I mean, we’re bros, man! Even if Nixon-”
“Don’t talk about Nixon. Please.”
“Yeah yeah, but he-”
“America…?”
“What?”
Canada took each flap of America’s jacket into his hands, forcibly turned them around, and threw America against the wall this time. America grunted in surprise, made to make it otherwise, but Canada’s hockey face was on and, as proved earlier, there was no escape from that.
“America, I know why, but you’re such a jerk about it! Don’t tell me why you did this or that, I get it. Just…” He placed a kiss to America’s neck, that spot that always made his leg jerk. “Just think about me sometimes, eh?”
America bit his lip, grabbed Canada’s wrists. “I’m the hero, I always think about you and everyone else.”
“Not like that!”
“Well that’s-”
Canada shut his brother up with a liplock, pressing their bodies together, mewling softly as their flesh fit perfectly together. It was always like this, starting out with a fight and ending with their pieces joining seamlessly. Thank God for geography.
Gist of what's happening: IVAN BEING AN ASS. Basically. He owns the fucking city and everyone in it. And lookit me putting history into AU. Herp derp.
Warnings: AU, and all blame goes to abacusaddict20 for this one. I am now in love with the idea of Ivan and city-themed things.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Ivan, Toris, Eduard, Raivis, Berwald, Tino, and Gilbert. Mentions of Alfred and Ludwig.
Ivan Braginsky shifted his scarf around his neck, smiling at himself in the mirror. It was a cold night, it always was. The wind never ceased to chill and blow, icy tears never failed to drizzle down steel faces, and if the city was lucky then perhaps the streets would fill with loosely stacked, wet down instead of frozen glass. Yes...then the concern of driving would be mostly eliminated. But if the weather suddenly turned sunny and clear, if sunflowers sprouted up everywhere, that would be Ivan's heaven.
He chuckled to himself. It was such a funny thought, to think that his climate torture would go away. He'd come to accept that it never would. After all, the city was his, and he had only claimed so much as his territory.
“Toris,” Ivan clicked, “you have my coat, correct?”
A thin, malnourished teen stumbled forward, handing the tall Russian a heavy coat that was so layered with fur and cloth it had begun to cause his arms to sweat just from holding it. “H-here you are, Ivan.” Toris stammered, keeping his head bowed to hide the dark circles beneath his eyes. Ivan smiled, plucked the coat from the boy's grasp, and slipped it on.
“And my hat?”
Three seconds. A new record.
“Retrieve Eduard and Raivis, if you will. I have business to attend to tonight, as you know.”
---------
Berwald was immensely unhappy when Ivan stepped into the cozy diner, glaring at him more than usual, sending no hint of recognition toward the three teens that followed until beckoned to sit down by their caretaker. Ivan frowned at him and made a soft whine in the back of his throat.
“Such a mean look, Berwald. Do you often show that face to customers?”
The angry, sizzling stare never faltered. “Y'r n't w'lc'm h're.” he grumbled low and bear-like.
Ivan laughed in such a childish manner it could only be described as a giggle. “Oh, I suppose I'm not, am I?” he stated, sitting down on a stool in front of Berwald, his face tinted with the faintest of blushes. He was laughing softly. “After all, I'm here to collect something precious of yours.”
A knife was promptly lodged into the wooden counter, ridiculously close to Ivan's hand, but his expression didn't twitch away for a second. He stared at the knife and removed it, humming in approval. “I can take this, too, if you'd like.”
“Y'r not g'ttin' m' wife.”
“You would like that, wouldn't you?”
“Y'r not g'ttin' m' wife.”
“Both of you agreed to this, I've come to take him to my home. Remember?”
Berwald glared. He looked ready to wrap his hands around Ivan's throat, granted he could get to it past the scarf. “Y' tricked me.”
Ivan smiled as he cocked his gun, now held to Berwald's head. “Kindly get Tino. The look on his face if he were to see you dead would be much too pleasing to bear. I think I would have to take a picture, the distress I'm imagining is very enticing.”
---------
“Get the fuck out of here!! I've told you, I'm not giving my club to you, you fucking bastard!”
Ivan sighed. So loud. “Ahh, but you owe me, Weillschmidt.”
The platinum blonde launched a wad of spit into Ivan's face. “Like hell I do! Get your vodka-butt out of here before I take you out myself!” Gilbert shouted, slamming his fist on the table, causing it to shake and possibly even dent a little. Ivan wiped the saliva off calmly, and proceeded to act as if it didn't happen.
“Mm, if you don't then you'll regret it.” he hummed. Waving his hand, the three teens and newly-acquired Tino shuffled out of the room, hesitant and fearful.
Gilbert watched, disgusted. “That fucking Jones would have your head if he saw that.”
For the first time all night, Ivan's jaw clenched, mouth drawn into a line.
“We won't speak of that pig.”
“And we won't goddamned speak of my awesome club! Now get the fuck out of here!”
“You have a temper.”
“Hell, I have a temper!”
“Always looking for a fight, always so alone...”
“I like being alone.”
“Then you wouldn't mind Ludwig being unable to come home, hm?”
Gilbert faltered. His younger brother worked far longer and harder than he did, and it was rare occasion enough that they got to see each other. Ivan knew the 'loner' persona was a fake, a downright fraud.
Gist of what's happening: Gilbert checking Alfred out. Then they do stuff. Written to "Hot Mess" by Cobra Starship.
Warnings: OH GOD AGE DIFFERENCE is like 8 years but this sort of creeped Abacus out so I dunno. And it's AU. And no, I don't know where I'm going with this.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Gilbert x Alfred, guest appearances by Matthew and Toris
He was young, the baby fat still lingering on his round cheeks despite the handsome aging he had gone under. Yes, the boy was good-looking, and the way his face contorted in the limelight did nothing to quell the desirable aspects of his well-built form. Youthful, energetic, expressional…the blonde-haired, blue-eyed barely legal teen stirred a rumbling want inside the young adult watching him from afar, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Americans were known to be beautiful in all their rowdy, unrestrained glory; Alfred F. Jones was of no exception. He was a freedom loving-spoiled-eagle, an untamed spirit through and through. His singing was atrocious, but his breathtaking stage presence made up for it.
Gilbert Weilschmidt smirked as Jones bowed, flashed a lady-killer’s smile, and hopped off the karaoke stage with a zealous holler, returning to his table next to another blonde-whom Gilbert had to stare at for a long while before realizing he was there-and a feminine brunette male. Watching him talk and interact with the two friends, it wasn’t difficult to see that he had changed quite a bit since he was a child. Gilbert knew him, then, but as Alfred Kirkland, not Jones. It seemed unorthodox that Alfred would give himself a new middle name, as well, but it wasn’t entirely questionable.
The pigment-challenged twenty-six year old flicked his cigarette to the floor and pushed from the wall he had been leaning on. He hadn’t intended to find Alfred remotely attractive, but what could a little fun hurt? It wasn’t as if he’d be remembered, Alfred was only ten or so when they met, the likelihood of being recognized was low.
So he strode over, leading with his head and chest, egotism and headstrong personality showing through every step of the way. With little to no grace he ran his hand along Alfred’s shoulder as he approached, grinning widely as the boy jumped with a loud yelp and turned to get a look at the culprit. His glasses had shifted down the bridge of his nose, his cheeks stained with a flush of red.
“Y-yeah?” he stammered. How cute. How typical. He even tried to straighten up to look bigger and stronger than his slumped posture had allowed.
Gilbert pulled the hem of Alfred’s shirt. “The awesome me has something to talk to you about, Jones.” he stated, his grin growing. Before Alfred could interrupt, he continued, turning his playful tug of the shirt into a convincing grip of the blonde’s thick shoulder. “C’mon, there’s an empty room over there. Your daddy sent me.”
He could see the clockwork trying to make sense of the situation in Alfred’s eyes; his yellow brows furrowed much in the same manner as his father. After quick glances to his friends for approval-the other blonde must have been his younger brother, they looked ridiculously similar-Alfred stood, allowing Gilbert a better look-over of his physique. He was much stronger than he had given him credit for, sturdy and jock-like, definitely a sporty kind of guy.
The blue eyes never left him, and neither did the gleaming smile that came up rather spontaneously. “Alright, bud, where to?”
Like a dog, wasn’t he? Gilbert relaxed his gaze-the red of his eyes wasn’t always the most welcoming of stares to receive-and curled his smirk. It always worked on luring people in, and Alfred, like all the others, fell for it, his jaw slacking with an eager sort of leer. “Right over here, chump. Just follow me, then we’ll talk.”
---------
There was hardly any talking after Alfred had made it clear that the interest was mutual. They had their lips locked, roughly kissing and growling as each tried to gain the upper hand. Gilbert felt far too awesome to let the younger boy win, and Alfred had it in his head that a hero never let anyone undermine him in anything. Running out of breath, they settled against a wall, Alfred’s hands planted on either side of Gilbert’s head.
“How…how do you know me? And what’s your name, dude?”
Gilbert’s head was spinning with desire, he wanted more, but Alfred wasn’t going to give in to that anytime soon. He swallowed. “Gilbert, punk.”
For the first time since they had interacted that night, Alfred appeared to have a moment of clear realization of what was going on. He didn’t move away or act repulsed. Instead, he leaned closer, examining Gilbert’s features at a much closer angle. And for the first time that night, Gilbert felt nervous, and it showed.
“H-hey, what the hell are you looking at, specs?”
Alfred cocked his head. “Weilschmi-whatever-dt, right? One of dad’s friends?”
Gilbert’s face paled.
“Yeah! You’re the guy who came by that one time! Something about frogs and tomatoes!” It disturbed Gilbert how excited and unfazed he was, but he kept quiet about that part. He backed into the wall as much as he could, finding it much easier said than done, damn shoulder blades.
His expression dropped as he watched Alfred smile, as if the sun were caught inside of him and only released when those rough lips tilted up to his sky-blue eyes. He felt somewhat guilty, but had to brush it off. If he didn’t, he probably wouldn’t come home with a bouncing blonde to warm the other side of his lonely bed.
Not that he hated being alone, of course…no, not at all.
Gilbert managed a small grin. “Yeah. Sure, kid.”
“That’s great! I mean…well, dad sucks, but you were pretty cool back then!”
Gist of what's happening: Seven Years' War, hopefully leading into...something. Basically, the point isn't there yet, and I don't want to spoil it. Main focus is to be on America and Prussia, though.
Warnings: WOO HOO HISTORICAL~
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Young!America, England, and Prussia
When the boats came in that morning, America had been expecting only one European nation to be strutting onto the docks. He had never met the man with the shock of white hair, but he knew the moment he saw him. Another European…and this one carried himself in such a way it reminded him of England. They walked side-by-side, much to England’s apparent displeasure and the stranger’s amusement, as they departed the ship. Dressed in clothing far more expensive and glorious than anything America could have imagined, he stared in awe as they approached.
The way England looked at him snapped him from his amazement, and beckoned him without fail. Never in his life did he wish to disobey when that look crossed his guardian’s face. Despite that, he beamed a wide grin at England as he ran up to the overseas duo.
“England! You’re back!”
England’s tight expression softened into a small smile, brief and quickly rid of. “Yes, I am. America, this is Prussia. He’ll be staying with us for a small while.” He introduced, guiding his hand toward his companion. It was only then America noticed the gleaming red eyes, piercing and locked with a fiery ambition he had never seen. “Prussia…please behave yourself, America is young.”
Prussia cackled, and America could have, in a moment of terrified shock, sworn his teeth were all pointed. “And what the hell do you think I’d do him?”
“Knowing you, plenty of things.”
America’s lips drew together. He felt awkward, suddenly, shrinking into himself as the men secured themselves in a staring contest, England glaring and Prussia grinning.
Gist of what's happening: SEXUAL RELATIONS. Like. Motherland/Colony sexual relations. Don't like, don't read. But America's a big boy, so no shota here.
Warnings: NSFW. Depending on your view, could be incest or just some kind of Turpin/Johanna thing. And this is when America's a BIG colony, not a little one. Again, no shota here.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: England x Young!America
America craned into him, releasing a heavy sigh as he tried to catch his breath. This always left him gasping for air, being so close to England, having their bodies pressed so close...he drowned in the excitement. England's hand was pumping them together, thumb rubbing against his slit, his foul mouth spilling deep, dark whispers that sent chills down the colony's back; it was all almost too much to handle. He was young, but every bit a man.
"A-ah, England, England...!"
"Shh, shh, darling...almost there..."
He let out a depraved whine, stringing his fingers through England's short, choppy hair. Biting his lower lip, he tried all he could to keep his moans held in. It was one of those nights where they tangled themselves on the bed, with the window wide open for the breeze to come through, when all was quiet. The bustle of the town was missing, any voices were gone. It was just them, pressed together atop the messed sheets, gasping and trying not to wake the inn-keeper.
Gist of what's happening: This will be my favorite fic once I finish. Essentially, this is about the unification of Germany, and the building wariness to said unification. Takes place during/after the Franco-Prussian War, the third and final war in the trial to prove Prussian dominance over Europe and claim to unite the German states, which leads to African colonization which causes enough tension to lead into World War I. However, this fic also includes the looming concern of America, a young nation overseas who already has achieved much of what Europe has in hundreds of years in only a small portion of that. In summary, this fic is chalk full of foreshadowing.
Warnings: BOOT TO THE HEAD. No, really.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Pairings/Characters: Prussia and France. Mentions of America, Germany, and England.
“Don’t unify him, mon ami. No good will come of it.” France ground out, barely strong enough to look his former friend in the eye from his lowly position on the ground. “You’ve proven your strength, we’ve all seen what you can do. Denmark and Austria-”
Prussia flung a kick to France’s head, smirking cruelly once he heard the loud crack of bone meeting marble. From there his boot was forced into his neck, the pressure altering depending on the tone of groan that was elicited. “Those pansies were nothing! You and your Napoleon weren’t any different! He thought he could beat the awesome, awesome me!” he spat. “I am the Kingdom of Prussia, and I will unite Germany under the Second Reich!”
He removed his foot, squatting instead to snatch a handful of bloodied blond hair in his hand, lifting the Frenchman’s head up violently. France was afraid that the cat-like grin and hateful red eyes would be the last things he would ever see. “And there’s nothing you can do about it!” Prussia emphasized by shaking his arm, popping France’s neck as it flopped at his will, the will of iron and blood.
“Don’t.” France coughed in Prussia’s face, earning him another quick throw to the floor. He shuddered, pushed himself up despite the rage in the kingdom’s eyes. “You’ll destroy us all with that child.” he quivered, unable to shield the despair twisting his face. “All of us.”
Prussia perked, straightened up and looked down on him, crossing his arms. “And how the hell do you figure that, fuzzface?”
“He’ll be another America, that…that demon child, Prussia, don’t do it!” France groaned and gripped his side where a gun wound reopened. “Learn from that bastard’s mistakes, bringing a child into the world right now, here…! It’s stupid.”
Again, a kick landed right against his temple, but this time he did no more than twitch as blood began to seep from his wound and, he suspected soon enough, from his head. “Don’t tell me what to do! I’m going to revive that kid and turn him into something great! That filthy America-”
“England. England, mon ami, England is the one that brought that monster into existence.” France scooted himself away, propping himself against a wall. He breathed heavily, putting manual pressure to his side. “If I had raised the boy…”
Prussia growled. Fucking…he didn’t understand any of this shit, what was so great about America? Germany would but much greater, much more powerful, he would be unstoppable and awesome! It was the perfect plan!
“Brows is a loser and you goddamn know it.” he accused somewhat shakily, taking hard steps closer to the beaten nation. In all honesty, there was something scary about the British Empire that struck deep down into Prussia’s core, a foreboding that the island should not be messed with. Bismarck was smart…he could only pray that a navy would never come into German possession.
France shook his head. “You know how powerful that bastard has gotten. But America…” he coughed, slumping forward until he finished. “America…he’s much, much worse. He’ll be our undoing.”
“He’s overseas, what can he-”
“England is terrible at letting things go. He won’t allow America to forget that a Europe exists beyond trading opportunities. He will do anything to get that brat involved in our problems.”
Prussia shifted his gaze, nudged France’s shoulder with his foot, and planted his fists on his hips. “So you’re saying that England’s bro is stronger than mine?”
“Oui. Infinitely.”
Instead of the frown France was looking for, he grudgingly had to accept the wide, predatory smirk that he had seen far too many times.
“We’ll see about that, fuzzface.”