❝told me i was beautiful, and came into my bed❞
my sweetest downfall | axis powers hetalia | 1900 words | taiwan ; hong kong | r |
in which hong kong and taiwan spend their time away from china with one another.
de-anoning from the kink meme.
My Sweetest Downfall
She has never been to Arthur’s house before. Since she took up her brother’s seat on the Security Council, the three allies-Arthur, Francis, and Alfred-have tentatively welcomed her into their intimate circle. Still, there is still a sense of staleness, of distrust, between them, and it weighs heavily upon her. Of course, there is always the unspoken supposition that she is merely a temporary fix, a patch on a problem they don’t have the energy to deal with. But she tries, as much as she can, not to think of that, because there is no point. She knows where those thoughts would lead, and she needs no further cause to be miserable.
But, to say the least, she’s a bit uneasy about this first visit.
“Hey, Xue,” Alfred greets her warmly, a smile on his boyish features. “The three of us have some, er, things to discuss-d’you mind waiting outside for a bit?”
They treat her like a child, sometimes. It rankles her, but then she remembers that she remains free only by their good graces. She inclines her head, manages a smile. “Of course,” she responds regally. “I’ll just go take a walk in the gardens, shall I?”
“Yah, that’d be great,” Alfred says earnestly, relief evident on his face. He’s trying, she knows, and she appreciates it. He’s taken her side, after all. Even Francis is kind to her, though he does have a tendency to be patronizing. And Arthur is nice, something of a priss but still caring. It’s like…it’s like having older brothers.
“Alright,” Xue says, in a falsely bright voice, “Just call me if you need me.” And she turns away and walks out onto the lawn, her hands shaking slightly. For these men-this American, these Europeans-they are not her brothers. She has three elder brothers who love her very much, and one whom she refuses to think of.
She ends up in Arthur’s rose gardens in a matter of moments; at once she is captured by the fragrance of a thousand blooms. She closes her eyes tightly and allows the sensation to wash over her; she forces back the memories that are threatening to surface, she puts a lock on her heart.
“Jiejie?”
She turns abruptly, for only one person calls her that. And she hasn’t heard his voice in a very, very long time.
“…Wen?” Her voice comes out a hushed whisper and she drinks him in. Her youngest brother, who was given away to Arthur years and years ago-it’s been nearly twenty years, now that she thinks on it.
He’s taller, now, standing before her. The last time she saw him, he was a little boy; now he is a young man. His hair is darker, his skin paler, his eyes more intense. He’s not wearing his traditional, scarlet robes; he’s dressed like an English schoolboy, in a blazer and tie. It makes the entire thing somehow laughable. Xue covers her face in her hands and begins to chortle, and suddenly she is laughing so hysterically that she’s crying.
“Jiejie?” Wen asks again, coming towards her and placing one hand on her shoulder, “Are you alright?”
She sucks in her breath and nods dumbly. “…it’s good to see you, Wen. Have you been okay?”
He shrugs, nonchalant.
“Look at you,” she says, her voice full of wonder, “you’re all grown up. My little Wen…”
“You’re beginning to sound like Yen Jiejie,” Wen grumbles, “and you’re not that much older than me.”
“I feel older,” she retorts, sticking out her tongue. “Actually, I just feel…old.”
He braces his hands against his shoulders-he’s so big and strong, now, that the contact sends a jolt through Xue as he does so-and pushes her away, as though to get a clearer look of her.
“You’re not old, Jiejie,” Wen says, simply.
“Then don’t call me ‘Jiejie’,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out at him. “You’re making me feel like an old lady!”
He turns bright red, and averts his gaze. “F-fine.”
“Fine, what?” She prompts him with a sly smile.
“F-fine…X-xue.”
Her name sounds magical, said in his new, mature voice. Deep and gravely, the one syllable unlocks something that Xue had thought she’d long ago sacrificed. Impulsively, she reaches towards him and wraps her arms around his waist.
“Wen, it’s been so long,” she murmurs dreamily, her head against his chest.
“It has.” He cups her face in his hands and pulls her upwards, his prim, cold lips settling down firmly on hers.
The touch takes her breath away. A wave of memories crashes down on Xue’s mind-holding his hand while they ran through Yao’s gardens, combing through his hair in front of her long mirrors, hugging him tightly during a thunderstorm, kissing his forehead the day Arthur came to take him away.
Finally, he pulls away from her, blushing profusely. “I-I’ve been waiting to do that for twenty years,” he says, bashful.
Xue takes a step back, reexamining him. This is her little brother, after all, and she can’t quiet reconcile how she feels about that kiss. But her fingers brush gently across her lips, and her minds sorts through her feelings as her heart struggles to do the same. Finally, she laughs lightly.
“I’ve been around, you know,” she says with a smile, “Why did you have to wait so long?”
Wen looks back at her, and for the briefest second his straight line mouth turns upwards in a smile. And then he grabs her again and kisses her passionately, pouring a lifetime’s worth of emotion into the gesture.
Her knees go weak and she leans against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He places one hand on the small of her back and another runs gently through her long, dark hair.
She pulls away after a moment, smiling coyly at him. “My, my, Wen,” she says with a laugh, “where did you learn to kiss like that?”
He shrugs, pulling off his blazer with the motion. She blushes as he proceeds to unbutton and shed his over-starched shirt. His bare chest gleams in the noonday sun as he advances towards her. She takes a step back, tripping over the long hem of her skirts. He catches her by the wrist and pulls her towards him, kissing her cheek, her throat, her collarbone, all as he pulls her clothes away from her body and reveals the soft, magnolia petal skin underneath.
She allows her skirts to drop the ground as she reaches to undo the clasp of his belt. One of his hands slides up her thigh and caresses her skin, causing her to moan with pleasure. Her fingernails leave marks where they dig into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls her down onto the ground. They lie for a moment, still in the freshly-cut grass, and then he reaches for her again. When she sheaths him, she gasps; not because it is unexpected, but because of how natural it feels. She cannot believe they’ve never done this before.
When he lies back, still for the moment, she reaches up to brush the hair gently away from his forehead.
“Wen?”
“Hmmm?”
“I love you, you know.”
“Because I’m your brother?”
“No. Because you’re you.”
- - -
They fall into an easy routine, after that. Every time the Security Council meets, Arthur brings Wen along. He waits for Xue’s signal, and then the two of them sneak away, finding an empty hotel room or a uninhabited couch somewhere to enjoy a few stolen minutes alone. He’s not allowed to go anywhere without Arthur’s permission, at first, but as the years roll by-they seem like days to immortals-his freedom grows closer and closer, and he travels, bringing her flowers and staying for tea.
- - -
Tonight, she is crying. They have met in London once again, and in Wen’s small room, cradled against him under his sheets, she sobs into his shoulder.
“My seat, Wen,” she says through her tears, her voice hitching on a sob, “they just took it away.”
He smoothes down her long, dark hair and gently kisses her brow. “It’s alright,” he says soothingly.
“No, it’s not!” she cries indignantly. “I’m supposed to be China!” Xue beats her hands against his bare chest in frustration.
He tilts his head quizzically. For all that he loves her, he’s never been quite assured that she is China. For his brother Yao remains fresh, and fond, in his memory. He decides silence is probably the best policy.
He reaches down, gently tracing his skilled fingers over the curve of her breasts, travelling down her stomach and finally between her thighs. She sighs, spreading her legs, and he embraces her, hard against the softness of her skin.
Wen is able to distract her for ten minutes, perhaps fifteen. She digs her fingers into his hair and kisses every inch of his face, while his hands continue to gently caress her body. Eventually, however, she pushes him away, gasping for breath.
“What am I supposed to do, now?” she asks him dismally. Suddenly horror clutches her, and she turns frantically to him, eyes wide. “What if they make me go back? What will I do, Wen? I can’t go back to Gege, I just can’t-!” She is sobbing again, tears running hot and fast down her face.
He can’t fathom her emotions, when all he wants is to go back. He cannot understand why anyone would choose to leave Yao, why Xue is so horrified by the prospect of returning. All he can do is catch her face gently in his hands and kiss her lips; she tastes like salt and plums.
- - -
It is their thirtieth anniversary. She has brought him new clothes, Chinese style-a long red tunic lined in black; loose, full pants; and a wrist cuff made of pure jade.
“It’s about time you started acting Chinese again,” she says with a laugh. If she only knew.
Wen follows their normal routine to the letter: the simple but tasty meal of shrimp and rice, the gentle conversation over drinks, the earnest and sensual foreplay on her living room couch.
“I love you,” she says, not for the first time, when he has scooped her up in his arms and taken her into the bedroom. “So, so much.”
“I know,” Wen replies. He has returned her sentiments often enough, but today the world “love” tastes like sawdust on his tongue and he cannot pass it through his lips. Instead, he takes her gently, lifting her skirts and thrusting into her with passion and longing unlike anything she’s ever felt from him before.
“Wen…” she sighs out his name, and on her lips it sounds like a deep, soothing caress.
“Xue,” he responds, gently brushing back her hair as she snuggles close against him. She falls asleep lying against him, her lips turned upwards in a smile. He leaves before she awakes the next morning, gathering up his gifts and shutting the door slowly behind him.
And when she sees, on television, Arthur handing Wen back to Yao with dignity and stiffness, she breaks. Tears stream down her face as she curses him, and his non-existent ancestors, and the elder brother they both share.
“You,” she snarls, looking at Yao’s face through the screen, “you take everything from me.”
original fill → &hearts
→ I chose Taiwan's name to be "Xue" and Hong Kong's to be "Wen." The "Yen" they mention in the beginning is Vietnam.
→ The first scene takes place in about the 1960's; after the Chinese Civil War and during Britain's control of Hong Kong.
→ The second scene refers to 1971, when China's seat on the Security Council reverted to the People's Republic.
→ The last scene takes place in 1997, when Hong Kong was given back to China after fifty years.
in which hong kong and taiwan spend their time away from china with one another.
de-anoning from the kink meme.
My Sweetest Downfall
She has never been to Arthur’s house before. Since she took up her brother’s seat on the Security Council, the three allies-Arthur, Francis, and Alfred-have tentatively welcomed her into their intimate circle. Still, there is still a sense of staleness, of distrust, between them, and it weighs heavily upon her. Of course, there is always the unspoken supposition that she is merely a temporary fix, a patch on a problem they don’t have the energy to deal with. But she tries, as much as she can, not to think of that, because there is no point. She knows where those thoughts would lead, and she needs no further cause to be miserable.
But, to say the least, she’s a bit uneasy about this first visit.
“Hey, Xue,” Alfred greets her warmly, a smile on his boyish features. “The three of us have some, er, things to discuss-d’you mind waiting outside for a bit?”
They treat her like a child, sometimes. It rankles her, but then she remembers that she remains free only by their good graces. She inclines her head, manages a smile. “Of course,” she responds regally. “I’ll just go take a walk in the gardens, shall I?”
“Yah, that’d be great,” Alfred says earnestly, relief evident on his face. He’s trying, she knows, and she appreciates it. He’s taken her side, after all. Even Francis is kind to her, though he does have a tendency to be patronizing. And Arthur is nice, something of a priss but still caring. It’s like…it’s like having older brothers.
“Alright,” Xue says, in a falsely bright voice, “Just call me if you need me.” And she turns away and walks out onto the lawn, her hands shaking slightly. For these men-this American, these Europeans-they are not her brothers. She has three elder brothers who love her very much, and one whom she refuses to think of.
She ends up in Arthur’s rose gardens in a matter of moments; at once she is captured by the fragrance of a thousand blooms. She closes her eyes tightly and allows the sensation to wash over her; she forces back the memories that are threatening to surface, she puts a lock on her heart.
“Jiejie?”
She turns abruptly, for only one person calls her that. And she hasn’t heard his voice in a very, very long time.
“…Wen?” Her voice comes out a hushed whisper and she drinks him in. Her youngest brother, who was given away to Arthur years and years ago-it’s been nearly twenty years, now that she thinks on it.
He’s taller, now, standing before her. The last time she saw him, he was a little boy; now he is a young man. His hair is darker, his skin paler, his eyes more intense. He’s not wearing his traditional, scarlet robes; he’s dressed like an English schoolboy, in a blazer and tie. It makes the entire thing somehow laughable. Xue covers her face in her hands and begins to chortle, and suddenly she is laughing so hysterically that she’s crying.
“Jiejie?” Wen asks again, coming towards her and placing one hand on her shoulder, “Are you alright?”
She sucks in her breath and nods dumbly. “…it’s good to see you, Wen. Have you been okay?”
He shrugs, nonchalant.
“Look at you,” she says, her voice full of wonder, “you’re all grown up. My little Wen…”
“You’re beginning to sound like Yen Jiejie,” Wen grumbles, “and you’re not that much older than me.”
“I feel older,” she retorts, sticking out her tongue. “Actually, I just feel…old.”
He braces his hands against his shoulders-he’s so big and strong, now, that the contact sends a jolt through Xue as he does so-and pushes her away, as though to get a clearer look of her.
“You’re not old, Jiejie,” Wen says, simply.
“Then don’t call me ‘Jiejie’,” she retorts, sticking her tongue out at him. “You’re making me feel like an old lady!”
He turns bright red, and averts his gaze. “F-fine.”
“Fine, what?” She prompts him with a sly smile.
“F-fine…X-xue.”
Her name sounds magical, said in his new, mature voice. Deep and gravely, the one syllable unlocks something that Xue had thought she’d long ago sacrificed. Impulsively, she reaches towards him and wraps her arms around his waist.
“Wen, it’s been so long,” she murmurs dreamily, her head against his chest.
“It has.” He cups her face in his hands and pulls her upwards, his prim, cold lips settling down firmly on hers.
The touch takes her breath away. A wave of memories crashes down on Xue’s mind-holding his hand while they ran through Yao’s gardens, combing through his hair in front of her long mirrors, hugging him tightly during a thunderstorm, kissing his forehead the day Arthur came to take him away.
Finally, he pulls away from her, blushing profusely. “I-I’ve been waiting to do that for twenty years,” he says, bashful.
Xue takes a step back, reexamining him. This is her little brother, after all, and she can’t quiet reconcile how she feels about that kiss. But her fingers brush gently across her lips, and her minds sorts through her feelings as her heart struggles to do the same. Finally, she laughs lightly.
“I’ve been around, you know,” she says with a smile, “Why did you have to wait so long?”
Wen looks back at her, and for the briefest second his straight line mouth turns upwards in a smile. And then he grabs her again and kisses her passionately, pouring a lifetime’s worth of emotion into the gesture.
Her knees go weak and she leans against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He places one hand on the small of her back and another runs gently through her long, dark hair.
She pulls away after a moment, smiling coyly at him. “My, my, Wen,” she says with a laugh, “where did you learn to kiss like that?”
He shrugs, pulling off his blazer with the motion. She blushes as he proceeds to unbutton and shed his over-starched shirt. His bare chest gleams in the noonday sun as he advances towards her. She takes a step back, tripping over the long hem of her skirts. He catches her by the wrist and pulls her towards him, kissing her cheek, her throat, her collarbone, all as he pulls her clothes away from her body and reveals the soft, magnolia petal skin underneath.
She allows her skirts to drop the ground as she reaches to undo the clasp of his belt. One of his hands slides up her thigh and caresses her skin, causing her to moan with pleasure. Her fingernails leave marks where they dig into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls her down onto the ground. They lie for a moment, still in the freshly-cut grass, and then he reaches for her again. When she sheaths him, she gasps; not because it is unexpected, but because of how natural it feels. She cannot believe they’ve never done this before.
When he lies back, still for the moment, she reaches up to brush the hair gently away from his forehead.
“Wen?”
“Hmmm?”
“I love you, you know.”
“Because I’m your brother?”
“No. Because you’re you.”
- - -
They fall into an easy routine, after that. Every time the Security Council meets, Arthur brings Wen along. He waits for Xue’s signal, and then the two of them sneak away, finding an empty hotel room or a uninhabited couch somewhere to enjoy a few stolen minutes alone. He’s not allowed to go anywhere without Arthur’s permission, at first, but as the years roll by-they seem like days to immortals-his freedom grows closer and closer, and he travels, bringing her flowers and staying for tea.
- - -
Tonight, she is crying. They have met in London once again, and in Wen’s small room, cradled against him under his sheets, she sobs into his shoulder.
“My seat, Wen,” she says through her tears, her voice hitching on a sob, “they just took it away.”
He smoothes down her long, dark hair and gently kisses her brow. “It’s alright,” he says soothingly.
“No, it’s not!” she cries indignantly. “I’m supposed to be China!” Xue beats her hands against his bare chest in frustration.
He tilts his head quizzically. For all that he loves her, he’s never been quite assured that she is China. For his brother Yao remains fresh, and fond, in his memory. He decides silence is probably the best policy.
He reaches down, gently tracing his skilled fingers over the curve of her breasts, travelling down her stomach and finally between her thighs. She sighs, spreading her legs, and he embraces her, hard against the softness of her skin.
Wen is able to distract her for ten minutes, perhaps fifteen. She digs her fingers into his hair and kisses every inch of his face, while his hands continue to gently caress her body. Eventually, however, she pushes him away, gasping for breath.
“What am I supposed to do, now?” she asks him dismally. Suddenly horror clutches her, and she turns frantically to him, eyes wide. “What if they make me go back? What will I do, Wen? I can’t go back to Gege, I just can’t-!” She is sobbing again, tears running hot and fast down her face.
He can’t fathom her emotions, when all he wants is to go back. He cannot understand why anyone would choose to leave Yao, why Xue is so horrified by the prospect of returning. All he can do is catch her face gently in his hands and kiss her lips; she tastes like salt and plums.
- - -
It is their thirtieth anniversary. She has brought him new clothes, Chinese style-a long red tunic lined in black; loose, full pants; and a wrist cuff made of pure jade.
“It’s about time you started acting Chinese again,” she says with a laugh. If she only knew.
Wen follows their normal routine to the letter: the simple but tasty meal of shrimp and rice, the gentle conversation over drinks, the earnest and sensual foreplay on her living room couch.
“I love you,” she says, not for the first time, when he has scooped her up in his arms and taken her into the bedroom. “So, so much.”
“I know,” Wen replies. He has returned her sentiments often enough, but today the world “love” tastes like sawdust on his tongue and he cannot pass it through his lips. Instead, he takes her gently, lifting her skirts and thrusting into her with passion and longing unlike anything she’s ever felt from him before.
“Wen…” she sighs out his name, and on her lips it sounds like a deep, soothing caress.
“Xue,” he responds, gently brushing back her hair as she snuggles close against him. She falls asleep lying against him, her lips turned upwards in a smile. He leaves before she awakes the next morning, gathering up his gifts and shutting the door slowly behind him.
And when she sees, on television, Arthur handing Wen back to Yao with dignity and stiffness, she breaks. Tears stream down her face as she curses him, and his non-existent ancestors, and the elder brother they both share.
“You,” she snarls, looking at Yao’s face through the screen, “you take everything from me.”
original fill → &hearts
→ I chose Taiwan's name to be "Xue" and Hong Kong's to be "Wen." The "Yen" they mention in the beginning is Vietnam.
→ The first scene takes place in about the 1960's; after the Chinese Civil War and during Britain's control of Hong Kong.
→ The second scene refers to 1971, when China's seat on the Security Council reverted to the People's Republic.
→ The last scene takes place in 1997, when Hong Kong was given back to China after fifty years.