Everything depraved and yandere wanted!
anonymous
August 9 2009, 02:55:11 UTC
A Nation is deeply and obsessively in love with America. For whatever reason (shyness, bad history, Alfred's geography!fail, or they hide it very well, IDK), neither Alfred or anyone else knows about it. The obsession gets worse when they think Alfred is getting too close to someone else.
This Nation can't take it anymore and drugs Alfred, so they could have at least one night together even if Alfred doesn't remember. One night turns into two, into three...and the yandere also gets increasingly possessive. They love Alfred and is the only one he needs, why does he does he bother with all those worthless others?
Then Alfred, after mentioning to the others his concern over "missing days and nights," disappears.
How it ends - with a creepy sad ending or a rescue - is up to anon.
Kinks: yandere love, dub/non-con, drug-use, mind-games, kidnapping, suspense, plz! The yandere could be anyone.
BONUS 1: Alfred suffers noticeable after-effects the day after the drug is used. Think loss of memory, soreness, dizziness, fatigue, loss of appetite or weight, etc.
BONUS 2: The yandere is unapologetic. They have a justification for every action they take, even if it doesn't make any logical sense.
Eyes Wide Open [1/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 15:07:04 UTC
He had a dream. It was a nice dream, he decided as sleep relinquished its hold on him, because he was pretty sure it wasn't a nightmare, even if the details eluded him. Or maybe it was a nightmare, a particularly devious one that was hiding its face from him, because, for some reason, his body was aching, even though he didn't have the time to do much the day before. There was yet another boring meeting, awesome hamburgers for lunch (because it was his turn to do the catering), more meetings, and then...
And then?
He frowned, eyes still pressed firmly shut. What did he do after the meeting? What did they usually do after meetings? Dinner? Drinks? Drinks! Right, he probably went drinking, which would explain the blanks in his memory. Sure, he rarely drank to oblivion, but even heroes had off-days, right? And though he could hold his drink (much better than England, hah!), it wasn't impossible for him to get this drunk.
Just as he thought about it, his stomach gave a little lurch and he leapt off the bed, hands pressed to his mouth to contain the nausea. Instead of hitting the carpeted floor, he collided straight into something like a brick wall. "A wall with arms?" he thought hazily as his appointment with the floor was temporarily postponed. But there wasn't time to think too much on it, because the contents of his stomach was desperately trying to escape the confines of his body, so he pushed off and stumbled toward the bathroom.
He didn't get far. For some reason, his legs had decided that it was the perfect moment to mutiny and he just couldn't put them in the right positions (one in front of the other, how hard was that?). Once more, he was caught before he could hit the floor. He was escorted to the bathroom, half-dragged, half-carried, really, where he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and bid farewell to the remains of his dinner.
Funny, he hadn't drunk this much since the Prohibition, and he'd never had a hangover this bad before (except for that one time that he preferred not to recall), and... there really wasn't any reason for him to have drunk this much, right? He tried to push through the fog of his memory to find some answer, but his head hurt and his knees were beginning to hurt and his mouth tasted like puke.
A glass of water was pushed into his hand, which he accepted gratefully, rinsing out his mouth then gulping down the rest of the glass.
"More?"
He nodded, offering up the glass. He heard the tap and vaguely, it occurred to him that, oh, right, someone was in the room with him. But then the second glass was offered to him and he became too occupied with slaking his thirst to care.
The glass was followed by a damp towel, which he used to wipe his face. The coolness against his skin banished some of the fog in his mind and he came to the realisation that he was stark naked.
And there was a stranger in his room.
In a flash, he was on his feet, the towel around his waist, spinning around to face the invader. Unfortunately for him, the room was spinning faster than he was and, for the third time that morning, he ended up getting caught as he fell.
"There is no need to be worrying, America. We are friends now, da?"
He couldn't open his eyes, because the room was tilting, but he knew that voice, he knew it. It made his stomach do flips. Or maybe that was just because he'd been picked up like a little child and carried. Before he could gather his wits enough to put up a sruggle, he found himself on his bed, the person looming over him like a vulture.
Putting the covers up around him. Tucking him gently into bed.
Something... something was wrong. Something was really wrong, but his brain was protesting the hard work he was trying to put it through.
"I won't hurt you," he thought he heard the person say. A kiss was pressed to his brow (the faint scent of alcohol) and it was oddly comforting.
"Russia, I'd kill you before you can even try," he mumbled sleepily.
He thought he heard a chuckle in reply, but sleep reclaimed him to shield him a little longer from his troubles, and he gladly returned to the fold.
Eyes Wide Open [1.5/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 15:32:33 UTC
America was just gorgeous when he was sleeping. Oh, sure, he was always gorgeous, the golden boy with the infectious smile and eyes as blue as the endless sky they were always affixed on. Somehow, though, he seemed even more beautiful asleep, and he just couldn't resist leaning in to steal another kiss. And another. And another. America made a small sound, lips curling slightly into a smile, causing the butterflies in his stomach to renew their fluttering.
Why had he waited so long to do this?
He'd been so afraid, so worried that he wasn't good enough, that he wouldn't be good enough for America. After all, America was a hero! He'd seemed almost invincible during the Cold War, and even after, while he... huh, what was he? Not even twenty years out of Communism. There was no way, absolutely no way he could even compare.
Or so he thought.
His face was beginning to hurt, but he couldn't stop smiling, just looking down at America's sated, sleeping face and smiling. He'd only intended to do this once, to feel it once, to create a memory to lock away and treasure forever, but America enjoyed it, didn't he? America enjoyed him.
And he would willing give himself over and over again if it could make America so happy and satisfied.
"Love you," he whispered, heart beating so fast, so exhuberently that he thought it might burst. "Love you, love you, love you."
If America was awake, surely he'd reply with the same, right? But since he was sleeping, it was better to let him rest.
Giggling softly to himself, he gave the sleeping man one more kiss, retrieving his vodka bottle from the nightstand. Yes, he would let his dear America rest.
Eyes Wide Open [2/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 16:48:58 UTC
Like a true hero, he was right as rain, fit as a fiddle by the time the next chapter rolled about. The second time he fought off sleep to rejoin the land of awakening, he found himself refreshed, if desperately in need of the toilet and a couple of glasses of water. As if to reward him for suffering through that morning, there was even a note on the nightstand informing him that the morning meetings were cancelled because it turned out that everybody was suffering from a hangover that morning. Though he still couldn't remember exactly what happened during the night, his imagination worked to fill in the blanks with amusing images of a drunk England blabbing out his innermost secrets (again).
All in all, he felt great. So great, in fact, that he decided to take the short walk from his hotel to the meeting venue instead of breaking out his favourite SUV, the one that had Germany nagging at him every time the man came over. It was a wonderful day, one of those days when the sky seemed to go on forever, even when viewed from within the confines of a city. After this summit, maybe he could take a vacation, borrow one of their awesome fighter jets... but what were the chances of that? Lately, it was beginning to feel like he was always busy with one thing or another. He wasn't exactly unhappy about it, because people were starting to like him again for his work, and he did enjoy helping out his current boss, but... well...
It was too nice a day to spoil with non-happy thoughts, so he put them out of his mind, smiling, waving and saying 'hi' to anyone who met his eye. While most of the people merely stared at him as if he was insane, some smiled back and walked on with a renewed spring in their steps. And maybe those who smiled back would go on to smile at other people, who would go on to smile at other people until everyone was smiling and happy. Even if it was a naive hope, he liked to believe that it could happen.
Walking, he realised, brought him to the meeting room faster than if he had driven, though he conveniently ignored the fact in favour of bouncing into the room to check if he was the first.
He wasn't.
Russia was already there, sipping vodka from a bottle.
Russia. America frowned briefly, trying to remember what it was about Russia that was so important. Something about... a glass? Glasses? The note? Of course! He was so brilliant!
"Why are you drinking? I thought the meeting was postponed so that everyone could get over their hangovers?"
A slow smile spread over the Russian's face, one that usually sent most other countries cowering. It wasn't that the smile was particularly sinister, no. In fact, viewed on it's own, it could be called 'sweet' or even 'adorable'. On a man as large and imposing as Russia, though, it looked as out of place as a baby in a lion's mouth. The fact that that particular smile was usually the prelude to some terrible revalation no doubt also contributed to its scariness. America, however, was unaffected.
"Yes. This morning, when I come here for the meeting, there was no one being here, so I go to look for them." Russia took another sip of the vodka, grinning around the lip of the bottle. "But I, I am not getting hangovers, you know?" He leaned forward, as if bending close to tell a secret. "I don't stop drinking long enough for them to catch me."
America blinked at this tidbit of information. "Oh, I get it! You only get a hangover after you stop drinking!" It made sense! You certainly didn't get a hangover while drinking. It was perfectly logical. Almost. "But it means you're going to be drunk during the meeting."
"Of course!" replied the Russian matter-of-factly, still grinning that grin that never reached his eyes.
America would have said something, but at that moment, the doors opened to admit a rather pissed off England followed by a smirking France. The others soon followed and by the time the meeting had been called to order loudly by Germany (causing more than a few winces due to lingering hangovers), he'd forgotten all about his conversation.
Eyes Wide Open [2.5/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 17:10:27 UTC
Today, America smiled at him. At him. At him. For a moment, he panicked, wondering if America remembered anything from the night before. Fortunately, it didn't seem to be the case, though America seemed really, really happy all day.
The only downside to this was that America was smiling at everyone else too. Liet had told him before, reminicing about his time spent under America's employment, that America was just like that. When he was happy, he wanted everyone to be happy with him. When he'd pointed out that that sounded rather idiotic, that it was impossible to make everyone happy, Liet just smiled sadly.
"At least he tries."
Liet. Liet loved America too, right? And America, the eternally clueless America, could remember Lithuania's name. Was there something there? Liet'd denied it when he asked, but of course he would deny it. Liet knew that he was totally head over heels for America, so there was no way he'd ever admit it. After all, Liet used to be his too, and he knew well enough not to fight with him over the things he wanted.
But things were going well, so he could leave Liet alone for now. There was no need to concern himself with other people, now that he had America. And if America could say that back to him, then life would be utterly perfect.
He waited and watched throughout the meeting, hoping and wishing that America would smile at him and talk to him again, but America seemed more interested in teasing England and talking to just about everyone else. As usual. It was enough to make his blood boil.
He comforted himself with the knowledge that he was the one who slept with America, he was the one who made America feel good in bed, and no one else could take his place like that. And he would remind America again, tonight, about how good it felt, and maybe, tomorrow, America would smile at him again.
In his pocket, his fingers tightened around a pack of pills.
Re: Eyes Wide Open [2.5/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 17:58:13 UTC
Oh... my God. This type of fic usually isn't my cup of tea, but YOU MAKE IT MY CUP OF TEA, ANON. YOUR WRITING. IT IS AMAZING. YOUR CHARACTERIZATIONS, EACH PART OF THE CHAPTER MOVING FROM AMERICA'S TO RUSSIA'S POV; I AM IN LOVE.
Eyes Wide Open [3/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 18:48:03 UTC
He didn't know why his stomach was making such a huge protest about taking another bite of the hamburger, but he thought maybe it was time to ban trade unions. His body wasn't allowed to go on strike! He wasn't France, after all. But somehow, not even the extra bacon and cheese helped rouse his appetite, so he spent the rest of his lunch hour sipping listlessly at his coke.
"You are not feeling well, America?"
America glared, though he absolutely did not pout. Last night, he'd felt so energetic that he tried to invite everyone out for another night out. Most of them declined. England told him to take some cough syrup and go to bed like a good boy, so naturally, he had to do something completely contary.
He went to a bar. A vodka bar, because he had a sudden craving for vodka mixers. It was all Russia's fault, of course, for drinking that thing in front of him all day. And recommending the bar. And offering to show him there.
Originally, he'd decided that he was going to have one drink, just one to help him sleep, but when he got there, he spotted Lithuania with a couple of other nations and he just had to go over to say 'hi'. Somewhere during the introductions, which were kind of pointless, considering he was never going to be able to remember all their names, Russia managed to slip off.
The rest of the night was a bit of a blur, no doubt because of all the flowing vodka, and, while it was fun at the time, the morning had been hell. He couldn't even remember how he ended up in bed.
"This is your fault," he declared, sinking down bonelessly onto the tabletop. "I can't even eat a hamburger."
The smile on the Russian's face never faded, not even as he beat a hasty retreat. America continued to not pout, burying his face in his arms.
He had to look up again when he felt someone sitting opposite him.
"Is better to eat soup when you are having the hangover," said Russia pleasantly, pushing the tray over to him. On it was a plate of hot soup and a cup of tea.
America narrowed his eyes, then gave up when the action gave him a headache. "I don't drink tea," he protested lamely, reaching for the spoon. "And soup is not better than burgers."
"This is not being English tea," replied the Russian, grinning away like a Cheshire cat. "It is camomile, to settle the stomach, with honey, to counter the alcohol."
America eyed the drink suspiciously. He didn't feel quite up to eating even soup, so he decided to try out the tea first. It gave off a gentle, soothing fragrance, very much unlike English tea and he brought the cup up to his lips. Then passed it to Russia, who looked amused.
"You are thinking I put poison in the tea?"
"I am thinking you still look a little Red around the corners."
Something darkened a shade in those violet eyes, but the smile merely parted around the rim of the cup, taking a nice, big mouthful to demonstrate that it was perfectly safe. Only after he watched the Russian swallow did he try the drink for himself.
It tasted mostly of honey with a hint of something vaguely medicinal. While the taste was nothing to crow about, the scent was relaxing and America found himself feeling a little better as he sipped at this not-tea.
"Is good, da?"
"It's ok," said America grudgingly. He picked up a spoonful of soup and held it up as well.
Russia obliged, violet eyes fixed to his as that mouth closed over the spoon.
He swallowed at the same time Russia swallowed. "Are you... trying to flirt with me?" he demanded, pulling the spoon back.
Russia seemed to consider this. "Um... yes. Pretty much. Yes." He smiled widely when America gaped at him. "I am trying to get more tourists to come to spend their tourist money, so is like flirting, da?"
Oh. OH. Something akin to disappointment fluttered across his chest, but he overrode it with relief. Russia was just being nice for tourism! Ah... "Well, I have been wanting to take a vacation. What's fun at your place?"
"It depends on what America considers 'fun', da?" replied Russia, returning to his usual smiling state. "After all, Russia is a very big country, da?"
Eyes Wide Open [3.5/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 19:16:54 UTC
He'd worried for a bit about how he was going to get the pills into America, but things worked out in the end: America didn't suspect a thing. Everyone thought he was really sweet and considerate for volunteering to send America back to the hotel, but the best part was that America himself thought that he was really sweet and considerate to send him home.
America was really being really grabby, which was a good sign. It showed that America missed him already. And this time, it was America who made the first move, nuzzling against his neck and giggling.
"You... yooooooooooouuuuu! You smell like vodka!"
He ran his fingers through that golden hair, pulling America back so that he could do some kissing. "Vodka totally doesn't have its own smell," he told America, though the glazed look in those eyes told him that the man probably wouldn't remember that simple fact by the morning. But that was fine, so long as they had the night.
"You taste like vodka," mumbled America against his lips, licking his lips. "I think I liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike vodka."
It was a confession, wasn't it? It was. It really was. He'd thought then that nothing could spoil it, nothing could spoil the love between the two of them.
Then came morning, and America was being his usual flirty self again. Maybe not quite as flirty, considering it looked like he was suffering from a bad hangover, but wasn't it cruel to flirt at all when you already had a partner? And they'd gone all the way too! It wasn't like they were just playing around like some other people.
If one thing good came out of all the flirting, it was that he would get another chance to make love to his darling America. The summit was almost over, and he'd been so worried that he wouldn't be able to see America again once he had to go home, but it seemed that America had agreed to follow them home.
The next time, next time, he would make it clear to America that his feelings were not meant to be toyed with. Next time, he wasn't going to be so nice. He would have to make sure that America remembers.
a different anon says:
anonymous
August 9 2009, 19:41:23 UTC
author!anon...I was so sure before, that it was Russia...but then you made a comment up-page about "Are you sure it's Russia?" and then I was confused...
But...
I think I've got it now. Not gonna spoil it for everyone else. Just wanted to let you know, I'm onto you. ; )
(Unless it really is Russia, then...I'm just reading into things too far...D: )
Re: a different anon says:
anonymous
August 9 2009, 19:43:46 UTC
oiufhd I TOTALLY MISSED THAT ABOUT `are you sure it`s russia` but then that LINE and I thought, `Russia would`t say that` and ...dsfhoihfoushdfi oh god if it is who I think who it is, author-anon, you are a genius...
Re: Eyes Wide Open [3.5/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 20:08:15 UTC
This anon is very conflicted and confused XD
Most of this fill points to it being Russia. Anon dislikes rape-truck!Russia but loves Territorial!Russia. So... conflicted.
And then there was that not-so-subtle hint that it isn't Russia.... Confused. I have a vague idea who this might be, but there are a lot of usual suspects when it comes to a nation being obsessed with America-- so I could be wrong.
Either way, ignore me. I love this fill and I want to have Writer!Anon's babies <3
OP: The suspense is killing me! Thank you, writer!anon!
anonymous
August 9 2009, 20:33:08 UTC
I did not expect this to be picked up so quickly, or that such a talented writer!anon would fill this! Your writing and characterizations are incredible. You could feel the suspense, the mystery, the obsession - everything I was looking for in each and every word. This is an amazing piece of art (yes, art) that you've given us to enjoy, writer!anon.
What I really have to commend you is definitely the suspense/mystery. Yes, I adore the underlying sexiness and creepiness, but you're definitely keeping us on our toes! Is it Russia? It seems like it is. But maybe it's not. You've left me as in the dark as America and as fascinated with this as the obsessor!
I'll stop here, because I will probably go on and on about the brilliance of this. I applaud you. Thank you so much for this, writer!anon. I eagerly await the next installment.
Re: Eyes Wide Open [3.5/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 21:35:54 UTC
This is quite the mystery you given us, I wonder who this mysterious assailant may be? The vodka comment made me think of Finland. (Should I be ashamed of myself?) I honestly have no idea though. At least I feel like I can rule out Russia (too obvious, or are you trying to mislead us?) and England (unless the man refers to himself in the third person). I can't wait for the next chapter <3
Re: Eyes Wide Open [3.5/?]
anonymous
August 9 2009, 22:49:17 UTC
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF KEYBOARD SMASH!!
Dear author!anon, I thought I knew. Yes, yes, I thought, "Oh, Russia. How obvious." Then you slapped me in the face with your AWESOME. My heart skipped a beat.
I re-read this, anon. And I realized. Yes. You. YES. YES!!! I will not say anymore. But, I know, anon. At least, I think I know... And I love you for it. Oh, how I adore you...
I am so in love with what you have written. I read this on a whim and I was surprised beyond my wildest dreams. YOU ARE MY CUP OF TEA, ANON!
Let me just say, that the INTERACTION between America and Russia... their dialogue is very amusing.
"I am trying to get more tourists to come to spend their tourist money, so is like flirting, da?" Ho ho... Oh, Ivan~ You write him very well.
This Nation can't take it anymore and drugs Alfred, so they could have at least one night together even if Alfred doesn't remember. One night turns into two, into three...and the yandere also gets increasingly possessive. They love Alfred and is the only one he needs, why does he does he bother with all those worthless others?
Then Alfred, after mentioning to the others his concern over "missing days and nights," disappears.
How it ends - with a creepy sad ending or a rescue - is up to anon.
Kinks: yandere love, dub/non-con, drug-use, mind-games, kidnapping, suspense, plz! The yandere could be anyone.
BONUS 1: Alfred suffers noticeable after-effects the day after the drug is used. Think loss of memory, soreness, dizziness, fatigue, loss of appetite or weight, etc.
BONUS 2: The yandere is unapologetic. They have a justification for every action they take, even if it doesn't make any logical sense.
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And then?
He frowned, eyes still pressed firmly shut. What did he do after the meeting? What did they usually do after meetings? Dinner? Drinks? Drinks! Right, he probably went drinking, which would explain the blanks in his memory. Sure, he rarely drank to oblivion, but even heroes had off-days, right? And though he could hold his drink (much better than England, hah!), it wasn't impossible for him to get this drunk.
Just as he thought about it, his stomach gave a little lurch and he leapt off the bed, hands pressed to his mouth to contain the nausea. Instead of hitting the carpeted floor, he collided straight into something like a brick wall. "A wall with arms?" he thought hazily as his appointment with the floor was temporarily postponed. But there wasn't time to think too much on it, because the contents of his stomach was desperately trying to escape the confines of his body, so he pushed off and stumbled toward the bathroom.
He didn't get far. For some reason, his legs had decided that it was the perfect moment to mutiny and he just couldn't put them in the right positions (one in front of the other, how hard was that?). Once more, he was caught before he could hit the floor. He was escorted to the bathroom, half-dragged, half-carried, really, where he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and bid farewell to the remains of his dinner.
Funny, he hadn't drunk this much since the Prohibition, and he'd never had a hangover this bad before (except for that one time that he preferred not to recall), and... there really wasn't any reason for him to have drunk this much, right? He tried to push through the fog of his memory to find some answer, but his head hurt and his knees were beginning to hurt and his mouth tasted like puke.
A glass of water was pushed into his hand, which he accepted gratefully, rinsing out his mouth then gulping down the rest of the glass.
"More?"
He nodded, offering up the glass. He heard the tap and vaguely, it occurred to him that, oh, right, someone was in the room with him. But then the second glass was offered to him and he became too occupied with slaking his thirst to care.
The glass was followed by a damp towel, which he used to wipe his face. The coolness against his skin banished some of the fog in his mind and he came to the realisation that he was stark naked.
And there was a stranger in his room.
In a flash, he was on his feet, the towel around his waist, spinning around to face the invader. Unfortunately for him, the room was spinning faster than he was and, for the third time that morning, he ended up getting caught as he fell.
"There is no need to be worrying, America. We are friends now, da?"
He couldn't open his eyes, because the room was tilting, but he knew that voice, he knew it. It made his stomach do flips. Or maybe that was just because he'd been picked up like a little child and carried. Before he could gather his wits enough to put up a sruggle, he found himself on his bed, the person looming over him like a vulture.
Putting the covers up around him. Tucking him gently into bed.
Something... something was wrong. Something was really wrong, but his brain was protesting the hard work he was trying to put it through.
"I won't hurt you," he thought he heard the person say. A kiss was pressed to his brow (the faint scent of alcohol) and it was oddly comforting.
"Russia, I'd kill you before you can even try," he mumbled sleepily.
He thought he heard a chuckle in reply, but sleep reclaimed him to shield him a little longer from his troubles, and he gladly returned to the fold.
Reply
Why had he waited so long to do this?
He'd been so afraid, so worried that he wasn't good enough, that he wouldn't be good enough for America. After all, America was a hero! He'd seemed almost invincible during the Cold War, and even after, while he... huh, what was he? Not even twenty years out of Communism. There was no way, absolutely no way he could even compare.
Or so he thought.
His face was beginning to hurt, but he couldn't stop smiling, just looking down at America's sated, sleeping face and smiling. He'd only intended to do this once, to feel it once, to create a memory to lock away and treasure forever, but America enjoyed it, didn't he? America enjoyed him.
And he would willing give himself over and over again if it could make America so happy and satisfied.
"Love you," he whispered, heart beating so fast, so exhuberently that he thought it might burst. "Love you, love you, love you."
If America was awake, surely he'd reply with the same, right? But since he was sleeping, it was better to let him rest.
Giggling softly to himself, he gave the sleeping man one more kiss, retrieving his vodka bottle from the nightstand. Yes, he would let his dear America rest.
After all, there was always tomorrow.
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All in all, he felt great. So great, in fact, that he decided to take the short walk from his hotel to the meeting venue instead of breaking out his favourite SUV, the one that had Germany nagging at him every time the man came over. It was a wonderful day, one of those days when the sky seemed to go on forever, even when viewed from within the confines of a city. After this summit, maybe he could take a vacation, borrow one of their awesome fighter jets... but what were the chances of that? Lately, it was beginning to feel like he was always busy with one thing or another. He wasn't exactly unhappy about it, because people were starting to like him again for his work, and he did enjoy helping out his current boss, but... well...
It was too nice a day to spoil with non-happy thoughts, so he put them out of his mind, smiling, waving and saying 'hi' to anyone who met his eye. While most of the people merely stared at him as if he was insane, some smiled back and walked on with a renewed spring in their steps. And maybe those who smiled back would go on to smile at other people, who would go on to smile at other people until everyone was smiling and happy. Even if it was a naive hope, he liked to believe that it could happen.
Walking, he realised, brought him to the meeting room faster than if he had driven, though he conveniently ignored the fact in favour of bouncing into the room to check if he was the first.
He wasn't.
Russia was already there, sipping vodka from a bottle.
Russia. America frowned briefly, trying to remember what it was about Russia that was so important. Something about... a glass? Glasses? The note? Of course! He was so brilliant!
"Why are you drinking? I thought the meeting was postponed so that everyone could get over their hangovers?"
A slow smile spread over the Russian's face, one that usually sent most other countries cowering. It wasn't that the smile was particularly sinister, no. In fact, viewed on it's own, it could be called 'sweet' or even 'adorable'. On a man as large and imposing as Russia, though, it looked as out of place as a baby in a lion's mouth. The fact that that particular smile was usually the prelude to some terrible revalation no doubt also contributed to its scariness. America, however, was unaffected.
"Yes. This morning, when I come here for the meeting, there was no one being here, so I go to look for them." Russia took another sip of the vodka, grinning around the lip of the bottle. "But I, I am not getting hangovers, you know?" He leaned forward, as if bending close to tell a secret. "I don't stop drinking long enough for them to catch me."
America blinked at this tidbit of information. "Oh, I get it! You only get a hangover after you stop drinking!" It made sense! You certainly didn't get a hangover while drinking. It was perfectly logical. Almost. "But it means you're going to be drunk during the meeting."
"Of course!" replied the Russian matter-of-factly, still grinning that grin that never reached his eyes.
America would have said something, but at that moment, the doors opened to admit a rather pissed off England followed by a smirking France. The others soon followed and by the time the meeting had been called to order loudly by Germany (causing more than a few winces due to lingering hangovers), he'd forgotten all about his conversation.
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The only downside to this was that America was smiling at everyone else too. Liet had told him before, reminicing about his time spent under America's employment, that America was just like that. When he was happy, he wanted everyone to be happy with him. When he'd pointed out that that sounded rather idiotic, that it was impossible to make everyone happy, Liet just smiled sadly.
"At least he tries."
Liet. Liet loved America too, right? And America, the eternally clueless America, could remember Lithuania's name. Was there something there? Liet'd denied it when he asked, but of course he would deny it. Liet knew that he was totally head over heels for America, so there was no way he'd ever admit it. After all, Liet used to be his too, and he knew well enough not to fight with him over the things he wanted.
But things were going well, so he could leave Liet alone for now. There was no need to concern himself with other people, now that he had America. And if America could say that back to him, then life would be utterly perfect.
He waited and watched throughout the meeting, hoping and wishing that America would smile at him and talk to him again, but America seemed more interested in teasing England and talking to just about everyone else. As usual. It was enough to make his blood boil.
He comforted himself with the knowledge that he was the one who slept with America, he was the one who made America feel good in bed, and no one else could take his place like that. And he would remind America again, tonight, about how good it felt, and maybe, tomorrow, America would smile at him again.
In his pocket, his fingers tightened around a pack of pills.
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F5ING FOREVER!!
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"You are not feeling well, America?"
America glared, though he absolutely did not pout. Last night, he'd felt so energetic that he tried to invite everyone out for another night out. Most of them declined. England told him to take some cough syrup and go to bed like a good boy, so naturally, he had to do something completely contary.
He went to a bar. A vodka bar, because he had a sudden craving for vodka mixers. It was all Russia's fault, of course, for drinking that thing in front of him all day. And recommending the bar. And offering to show him there.
Originally, he'd decided that he was going to have one drink, just one to help him sleep, but when he got there, he spotted Lithuania with a couple of other nations and he just had to go over to say 'hi'. Somewhere during the introductions, which were kind of pointless, considering he was never going to be able to remember all their names, Russia managed to slip off.
The rest of the night was a bit of a blur, no doubt because of all the flowing vodka, and, while it was fun at the time, the morning had been hell. He couldn't even remember how he ended up in bed.
"This is your fault," he declared, sinking down bonelessly onto the tabletop. "I can't even eat a hamburger."
The smile on the Russian's face never faded, not even as he beat a hasty retreat. America continued to not pout, burying his face in his arms.
He had to look up again when he felt someone sitting opposite him.
"Is better to eat soup when you are having the hangover," said Russia pleasantly, pushing the tray over to him. On it was a plate of hot soup and a cup of tea.
America narrowed his eyes, then gave up when the action gave him a headache. "I don't drink tea," he protested lamely, reaching for the spoon. "And soup is not better than burgers."
"This is not being English tea," replied the Russian, grinning away like a Cheshire cat. "It is camomile, to settle the stomach, with honey, to counter the alcohol."
America eyed the drink suspiciously. He didn't feel quite up to eating even soup, so he decided to try out the tea first. It gave off a gentle, soothing fragrance, very much unlike English tea and he brought the cup up to his lips. Then passed it to Russia, who looked amused.
"You are thinking I put poison in the tea?"
"I am thinking you still look a little Red around the corners."
Something darkened a shade in those violet eyes, but the smile merely parted around the rim of the cup, taking a nice, big mouthful to demonstrate that it was perfectly safe. Only after he watched the Russian swallow did he try the drink for himself.
It tasted mostly of honey with a hint of something vaguely medicinal. While the taste was nothing to crow about, the scent was relaxing and America found himself feeling a little better as he sipped at this not-tea.
"Is good, da?"
"It's ok," said America grudgingly. He picked up a spoonful of soup and held it up as well.
Russia obliged, violet eyes fixed to his as that mouth closed over the spoon.
He swallowed at the same time Russia swallowed. "Are you... trying to flirt with me?" he demanded, pulling the spoon back.
Russia seemed to consider this. "Um... yes. Pretty much. Yes." He smiled widely when America gaped at him. "I am trying to get more tourists to come to spend their tourist money, so is like flirting, da?"
Oh. OH. Something akin to disappointment fluttered across his chest, but he overrode it with relief. Russia was just being nice for tourism! Ah... "Well, I have been wanting to take a vacation. What's fun at your place?"
"It depends on what America considers 'fun', da?" replied Russia, returning to his usual smiling state. "After all, Russia is a very big country, da?"
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America was really being really grabby, which was a good sign. It showed that America missed him already. And this time, it was America who made the first move, nuzzling against his neck and giggling.
"You... yooooooooooouuuuu! You smell like vodka!"
He ran his fingers through that golden hair, pulling America back so that he could do some kissing. "Vodka totally doesn't have its own smell," he told America, though the glazed look in those eyes told him that the man probably wouldn't remember that simple fact by the morning. But that was fine, so long as they had the night.
"You taste like vodka," mumbled America against his lips, licking his lips. "I think I liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike vodka."
It was a confession, wasn't it? It was. It really was. He'd thought then that nothing could spoil it, nothing could spoil the love between the two of them.
Then came morning, and America was being his usual flirty self again. Maybe not quite as flirty, considering it looked like he was suffering from a bad hangover, but wasn't it cruel to flirt at all when you already had a partner? And they'd gone all the way too! It wasn't like they were just playing around like some other people.
If one thing good came out of all the flirting, it was that he would get another chance to make love to his darling America. The summit was almost over, and he'd been so worried that he wouldn't be able to see America again once he had to go home, but it seemed that America had agreed to follow them home.
The next time, next time, he would make it clear to America that his feelings were not meant to be toyed with. Next time, he wasn't going to be so nice. He would have to make sure that America remembers.
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But...
I think I've got it now. Not gonna spoil it for everyone else. Just wanted to let you know, I'm onto you. ; )
(Unless it really is Russia, then...I'm just reading into things too far...D: )
Anyway, this is going great! I love it! <3
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Most of this fill points to it being Russia. Anon dislikes rape-truck!Russia but loves Territorial!Russia. So... conflicted.
And then there was that not-so-subtle hint that it isn't Russia.... Confused. I have a vague idea who this might be, but there are a lot of usual suspects when it comes to a nation being obsessed with America-- so I could be wrong.
Either way, ignore me. I love this fill and I want to have Writer!Anon's babies <3
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What I really have to commend you is definitely the suspense/mystery. Yes, I adore the underlying sexiness and creepiness, but you're definitely keeping us on our toes! Is it Russia? It seems like it is. But maybe it's not. You've left me as in the dark as America and as fascinated with this as the obsessor!
I'll stop here, because I will probably go on and on about the brilliance of this. I applaud you. Thank you so much for this, writer!anon. I eagerly await the next installment.
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KEYBOARD SMASH!!
Dear author!anon,
I thought I knew. Yes, yes, I thought, "Oh, Russia. How obvious." Then you slapped me in the face with your AWESOME. My heart skipped a beat.
I re-read this, anon. And I realized. Yes. You. YES. YES!!!
I will not say anymore. But, I know, anon. At least, I think I know... And I love you for it. Oh, how I adore you...
I am so in love with what you have written. I read this on a whim and I was surprised beyond my wildest dreams. YOU ARE MY CUP OF TEA, ANON!
Let me just say, that the INTERACTION between America and Russia... their dialogue is very amusing.
"I am trying to get more tourists to come to spend their tourist money, so is like flirting, da?"
Ho ho... Oh, Ivan~ You write him very well.
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