Bonus 1: Arthur gets all flustered and turned on but denies it Bonus 2: Smut in front of all the nations"
No full on porn, but there will definitely be flustered!Arthur. And paranoid!America. And teasing!France. Also set in more modern times, around 2002-2003. ----------------------
America was a little unhinged at the moment. Everyone knew this. He was strong and brash, and oftentimes more intimidating than he meant to be. The other nations of the world were used to his outrageous behavior, blind ambition and oblivious nature. Sometimes they ignored it, but occasionally his antics would get out of control.
After America was attacked on his mainland, his fellow nations gave him a lot of extra leeway. Most of them knew what it felt like to be attacked - the pain and fear and anger that it brought. It took some time before the anguish behind America’s striking blue eyes started to fade, but America was the strength of his people, and it was their determination and strength that soon had America vowing to do everything he could to bring those responsible to justice and prevent future attacks.
So when America started wearing impressive, well-tailored suits to world meetings, the other nations were awed. When he started wearing sunglasses during meetings, the other nations were confused. When he started to question every little flinch and sigh of his peers, and reach into his jacket as though he had a gun even though they all had to pass through a metal detector before they entered the room, the other nations became exasperated.
Though they all spoke to each other in hushed voices about America’s rampant paranoia and what to do about it, no one dared to say anything to the superpower’s face. His actions over the past few months had made America seem exponentially more intimidating and, at times, borderline insane. It was bad enough that he was bringing an arsenal of weaponry with him everywhere (security had to install a new checkpoint just for America), but on one particular day he finally pushed the limit too far.
The meeting was going fine, apart from the usual arguments. Sweden was in the middle of speaking and Spain was up next. For the past ten minutes England had been struggling internally. The heel of one of his brand new shoes was jutting into his foot, and he was trying to ignore it. A gentleman (unlike some of his peers) did not fidget and twitch while someone else was speaking, and he was trying to wait until there was a lull so that he could adjust his shoe. However, it now felt like the stiff heel was dangerously close to breaking his skin. Being vaguely impolite was one thing, but it would be terribly foolish to wound himself over such a small offense.
He decided to get it over with quickly. England reached down and tugged on the inside of his heel, straightening the leather. He breathed a small sigh of relief and was about to sit up again when he heard a belligerent command issued from someone nearby.
“DON’T MOVE!” exclaimed the familiar voice. England glanced up and saw that America was staring daggers at him from a couple of chairs down, fist clenched against the table.
“Huh?” England said in confusion, moving to sit up.
“I told you not to fucking move!”
“And why should I listen to you?” he replied, disregarding America’s rage and finally snapping back up. This was a bad decision.
You're Doing it Wrong (2/?)
anonymous
February 4 2010, 10:10:09 UTC
Before he knew what was happening, England was pressed against the wall with one arm twisted behind his back. He tried to yell out, but his face was currently being squished and it came out as a loud mumble.
“Quiet!” America yelled, just behind his ear.
After a moment of struggling, England managed to turn his head. “You idiot!” he cried. “What the bloody fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
“I SAID ‘QUIET’! The United States of America does not negotiate with terrorists!” America grabbed his other arm and forced it back. England tried to respond, but he had no idea what to say to America’s bizarre accusation. It sounded as though America had finally gone off the deep end, or had been watching way too many action movies.
“What is going on here?” Germany inquired from his seat. Most of the nations were too stunned by the sudden interruption to speak up.
“He was doing something mighty suspicious under the table. What is it, huh? Derringer? Shoe bomb? WHAT’RE YOU PLANNING, SCUMBAG?” America pulled England back and slammed him against the wall again.
“America!” Germany exclaimed at the young nation’s unnecessary violence. America turned and responded with the crazed expression that his peers were now all too familiar with. “Okay. It’s okay. What is your goal here?” Germany asked tentatively.
“Just a little search and seizure. When I find what he’s hiding we can all go back to our little meeting and this criminal will be locked up and everything will be hunky dory.”
Everyone looked at America like he was insane. England squeaked.
Germany sighed and closed his eyes. “Let him do it. If you’re not concealing any weapons then this should be over quickly.”
England made a strangled sound of protest as he flailed against the wall. “T-this is outrageous!” he yelled. “We all go through the same security system! How could- why would I evade it?!”
“That’s for the interrogators to find out. Now spread ‘em.”
England’s eyes widened in horror as America guided his hands towards the wall so that he was pushing against it. America used his boots to nudge England’s feet further apart, and he complied helplessly. He took a deep breath, trying as hard as he could not to think about all the other nations that were staring at him.
He felt large hands on his hips. Obscenely large, really, considering America’s age. He closed his eyes as tight as physically possible and those large hands started to travel up his sides slowly. Rather than patting the fabric of his suit, they were lingering and sliding along his body in a most tantalizing way.
It was then that England realized America had no idea what the fuck he was doing.
“Hey!” America shouted, “Stop squirming!” He leaned in close enough that England could feel warm breath on his ear, and whispered, “This can go as fast or as slow as you make it, comprende?”
England couldn’t help but notice the slight drawl in America’s voice, and shivered in spite of himself.
You're Doing it Wrong (3/?)
anonymous
February 12 2010, 06:39:25 UTC
He stared straight ahead at the wall, studying the texture and biting his lip much too hard. He tried to think of anything that would get his mind off the hands that were shifting along the thick fabric of his suit jacket. Just as he was starting to give thanks for the layers between America’s calloused fingers and his sensitive skin, the younger nation started to unbutton his jacket. England felt America’s breath on his neck as a hand slipped into his suit and slid along the dress shirt underneath. He nearly gasped aloud when a finger grazed his nipple, which was already erect and demanding attention.
England tried to convince himself that he couldn’t help it. Anyone would react to being touched that way. And it definitely wasn’t because it was America’s hands touching him (gentle, yet firm and purposeful) or because of the large crowd of people watching him (eyes scanning his body as he quivered and panted under America’s touch).
Turning his head towards the floor, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks bright red, he put all his concentration into willing his body to stop responding. Surely America could feel how stiff his nipples were through the shirt, yet he continued to drag his fingers over England’s chest. The bastard must have been doing it on purpose. He had to know.
With a grunt of frustration, America pulled his hand out of England’s jacket. He looked down thoughtfully and rubbed his hands together. Even though England couldn’t see what America was doing, he knew what was coming and tried to steel himself against the next attack.
America crouched down and rolled on his heels, trying to find his balance. When he stabilized, he closed his hands around the cuff of England’s left leg.
England just barely flinched, and considered his situation as America made a strange attempt at patting him down. “You just had to buy the shoes, didn’t you,” his mind said.
Along his calf, up to his knee. A hand brushing against the back of his knee sent a chill through his body. “You thought that if you looked nice, he someone might notice.”
The hands moved up again, reaching his thigh. “’Oh, these will make me look smart,’ you said. Now look where we are. Wonderful.” He was about to rebuke his sarcastic inner voice when those hands skimmed the fabric of his crotch in a maneuver that definitely didn’t follow standard procedure. With a soft gasp, his entire body tensed, and he prayed for an earthquake or a hurricane or something that could get him out of this horrific situation. It couldn’t possibly get any worse.
America moved on to the right leg, and made a sound of vindication that shocked everyone. “Ah hah!” he exclaimed, patting England’s pocket again before reaching in and grabbing the contents. “What do we have here?” The object he pulled out was small and plastic, and from a distance it looked like a pod of some sort.
It took a few moments before England had regained his composure enough to turn his head, although he didn’t dare to move his legs and risk getting another face-full of wall.
When England didn’t respond immediately, America took this to mean that his worst suspicions were confirmed. “It’s a bomb, isn’t it?! You sick sunnofabitch, trying to lure us to our deaths during a conference! These meetings are supposed to promote peace and tolerance, not explosions and screaming!”
England waited until America was done with this tirade before he offered his explanation weakly. “It….it’s a toothbrush.”
America gawked at him, and then quirked an eyebrow. Looking at it closer, it did indeed appear to be a travel toothbrush. America, however, was convinced that he knew better. “Bullshit. Why would you, of all people, be carrying a toothbrush?”
The giggling that had sprung up around the room suddenly grew louder. England blinked in confusion. “What is that supposed to- oh. Oh. Ha-ha, that’s so very funny. Everyone have a good laugh at my expense but I’ll have you know that there is NOTHING wrong with our dentistry!”
You're Doing it Wrong (4/?)
anonymous
February 13 2010, 10:36:40 UTC
America ignored the giggles that had erupted into blatant laughter. “Then why do you have to carry around a toothbrush with you?”
England hid his face once more. “I just like having fresh breath after meals. It’s hygienic and courteous.”
A smooth, sly voice drifted from the far end of the conference table. “Ah, he is not to be blamed for this. If I was forced to eat such cooking every day I would never stop brushing my teeth.”
“NO ONE ASKED YOU, FROG BREATH,” England snapped.
“My, so touchy.”
The way that France emphasized the “touch” part did not help England’s irritability He would have continued to yell at the devious Frenchman if America hadn’t interjected with a loud grumble.
“This is too suspicious. I think we’re gonna have to take it to the next level.”
England gulped and asked the obvious question, though he knew the answer wouldn’t be good. “And w-what does that entail, exactly?”
America looked at him and replied with perfect conviction. “Strip search.”
Okay, it had definitely fallen into the “getting worse” category.
“No,” England replied, gaping at America. “No! NO! THIS IS NOT ON.” He swung his head around and shot an incredulous look at Germany. The meeting was taking place in his country, so it was his responsibility to end this nonsense. To his horror, Germany appeared to be thinking about it. Thinking. Considering the possibilities. “This is absolutely ridiculous,” England asserted, his voice high and frantic. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Owning a toothbrush is not a crime.”
Germany was not thinking about the legal ramifications of carrying a toothbrush. Rather, he was thinking about the last time that someone had provoked America in his paranoid condition. Several nations still had the bruises from plying America off Russia. Ultimately, Germany decided that an embarrassed England was preferable to an angry America. He sighed and rubbed his temple. “Okay, but be quick about it. And please try to use discretion.” As if America even knew what the word meant.
England’s right eye started to twitch. “You c-can’t do this. What about my rights? What about my dignity as a respected nation of Earth and a representative-“
America scoffed. “It’s always ‘rights’ this and ‘rights’ that. I don’t care about your personal rights! This is a matter of homeland security!”
“WE’RE NOT IN YOUR HOMELAND, YOU BERK!”
America shook his head, determined not to let even a modicum of logic sink in. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”
"Anon would like to see Alfred strip searching Arthur in the middle of a meeting, in front of all the other allies.
Bonus 1: Arthur gets all flustered and turned on but denies it
Bonus 2: Smut in front of all the nations"
No full on porn, but there will definitely be flustered!Arthur. And paranoid!America. And teasing!France.
Also set in more modern times, around 2002-2003.
----------------------
America was a little unhinged at the moment. Everyone knew this.
He was strong and brash, and oftentimes more intimidating than he meant to be. The other nations of the world were used to his outrageous behavior, blind ambition and oblivious nature. Sometimes they ignored it, but occasionally his antics would get out of control.
After America was attacked on his mainland, his fellow nations gave him a lot of extra leeway. Most of them knew what it felt like to be attacked - the pain and fear and anger that it brought. It took some time before the anguish behind America’s striking blue eyes started to fade, but America was the strength of his people, and it was their determination and strength that soon had America vowing to do everything he could to bring those responsible to justice and prevent future attacks.
So when America started wearing impressive, well-tailored suits to world meetings, the other nations were awed. When he started wearing sunglasses during meetings, the other nations were confused. When he started to question every little flinch and sigh of his peers, and reach into his jacket as though he had a gun even though they all had to pass through a metal detector before they entered the room, the other nations became exasperated.
Though they all spoke to each other in hushed voices about America’s rampant paranoia and what to do about it, no one dared to say anything to the superpower’s face. His actions over the past few months had made America seem exponentially more intimidating and, at times, borderline insane. It was bad enough that he was bringing an arsenal of weaponry with him everywhere (security had to install a new checkpoint just for America), but on one particular day he finally pushed the limit too far.
The meeting was going fine, apart from the usual arguments. Sweden was in the middle of speaking and Spain was up next. For the past ten minutes England had been struggling internally. The heel of one of his brand new shoes was jutting into his foot, and he was trying to ignore it. A gentleman (unlike some of his peers) did not fidget and twitch while someone else was speaking, and he was trying to wait until there was a lull so that he could adjust his shoe. However, it now felt like the stiff heel was dangerously close to breaking his skin. Being vaguely impolite was one thing, but it would be terribly foolish to wound himself over such a small offense.
He decided to get it over with quickly. England reached down and tugged on the inside of his heel, straightening the leather. He breathed a small sigh of relief and was about to sit up again when he heard a belligerent command issued from someone nearby.
“DON’T MOVE!” exclaimed the familiar voice. England glanced up and saw that America was staring daggers at him from a couple of chairs down, fist clenched against the table.
“Huh?” England said in confusion, moving to sit up.
“I told you not to fucking move!”
“And why should I listen to you?” he replied, disregarding America’s rage and finally snapping back up. This was a bad decision.
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Please, continue. excellent set up so far
also, lol at the titleXD
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“Quiet!” America yelled, just behind his ear.
After a moment of struggling, England managed to turn his head. “You idiot!” he cried. “What the bloody fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
“I SAID ‘QUIET’! The United States of America does not negotiate with terrorists!” America grabbed his other arm and forced it back. England tried to respond, but he had no idea what to say to America’s bizarre accusation. It sounded as though America had finally gone off the deep end, or had been watching way too many action movies.
“What is going on here?” Germany inquired from his seat. Most of the nations were too stunned by the sudden interruption to speak up.
“He was doing something mighty suspicious under the table. What is it, huh? Derringer? Shoe bomb? WHAT’RE YOU PLANNING, SCUMBAG?” America pulled England back and slammed him against the wall again.
“America!” Germany exclaimed at the young nation’s unnecessary violence. America turned and responded with the crazed expression that his peers were now all too familiar with. “Okay. It’s okay. What is your goal here?” Germany asked tentatively.
“Just a little search and seizure. When I find what he’s hiding we can all go back to our little meeting and this criminal will be locked up and everything will be hunky dory.”
Everyone looked at America like he was insane. England squeaked.
Germany sighed and closed his eyes. “Let him do it. If you’re not concealing any weapons then this should be over quickly.”
England made a strangled sound of protest as he flailed against the wall.
“T-this is outrageous!” he yelled. “We all go through the same security system! How could- why would I evade it?!”
“That’s for the interrogators to find out. Now spread ‘em.”
England’s eyes widened in horror as America guided his hands towards the wall so that he was pushing against it. America used his boots to nudge England’s feet further apart, and he complied helplessly. He took a deep breath, trying as hard as he could not to think about all the other nations that were staring at him.
He felt large hands on his hips. Obscenely large, really, considering America’s age. He closed his eyes as tight as physically possible and those large hands started to travel up his sides slowly. Rather than patting the fabric of his suit, they were lingering and sliding along his body in a most tantalizing way.
It was then that England realized America had no idea what the fuck he was doing.
“Hey!” America shouted, “Stop squirming!” He leaned in close enough that England could feel warm breath on his ear, and whispered, “This can go as fast or as slow as you make it, comprende?”
England couldn’t help but notice the slight drawl in America’s voice, and shivered in spite of himself.
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England tried to convince himself that he couldn’t help it. Anyone would react to being touched that way. And it definitely wasn’t because it was America’s hands touching him (gentle, yet firm and purposeful) or because of the large crowd of people watching him (eyes scanning his body as he quivered and panted under America’s touch).
Turning his head towards the floor, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks bright red, he put all his concentration into willing his body to stop responding. Surely America could feel how stiff his nipples were through the shirt, yet he continued to drag his fingers over England’s chest. The bastard must have been doing it on purpose. He had to know.
With a grunt of frustration, America pulled his hand out of England’s jacket. He looked down thoughtfully and rubbed his hands together. Even though England couldn’t see what America was doing, he knew what was coming and tried to steel himself against the next attack.
America crouched down and rolled on his heels, trying to find his balance. When he stabilized, he closed his hands around the cuff of England’s left leg.
England just barely flinched, and considered his situation as America made a strange attempt at patting him down.
“You just had to buy the shoes, didn’t you,” his mind said.
Along his calf, up to his knee. A hand brushing against the back of his knee sent a chill through his body.
“You thought that if you looked nice, he someone might notice.”
The hands moved up again, reaching his thigh.
“’Oh, these will make me look smart,’ you said. Now look where we are. Wonderful.”
He was about to rebuke his sarcastic inner voice when those hands skimmed the fabric of his crotch in a maneuver that definitely didn’t follow standard procedure. With a soft gasp, his entire body tensed, and he prayed for an earthquake or a hurricane or something that could get him out of this horrific situation. It couldn’t possibly get any worse.
America moved on to the right leg, and made a sound of vindication that shocked everyone.
“Ah hah!” he exclaimed, patting England’s pocket again before reaching in and grabbing the contents. “What do we have here?”
The object he pulled out was small and plastic, and from a distance it looked like a pod of some sort.
It took a few moments before England had regained his composure enough to turn his head, although he didn’t dare to move his legs and risk getting another face-full of wall.
When England didn’t respond immediately, America took this to mean that his worst suspicions were confirmed. “It’s a bomb, isn’t it?! You sick sunnofabitch, trying to lure us to our deaths during a conference! These meetings are supposed to promote peace and tolerance, not explosions and screaming!”
England waited until America was done with this tirade before he offered his explanation weakly. “It….it’s a toothbrush.”
America gawked at him, and then quirked an eyebrow. Looking at it closer, it did indeed appear to be a travel toothbrush. America, however, was convinced that he knew better.
“Bullshit. Why would you, of all people, be carrying a toothbrush?”
The giggling that had sprung up around the room suddenly grew louder. England blinked in confusion. “What is that supposed to- oh. Oh. Ha-ha, that’s so very funny. Everyone have a good laugh at my expense but I’ll have you know that there is NOTHING wrong with our dentistry!”
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England hid his face once more. “I just like having fresh breath after meals. It’s hygienic and courteous.”
A smooth, sly voice drifted from the far end of the conference table. “Ah, he is not to be blamed for this. If I was forced to eat such cooking every day I would never stop brushing my teeth.”
“NO ONE ASKED YOU, FROG BREATH,” England snapped.
“My, so touchy.”
The way that France emphasized the “touch” part did not help England’s irritability
He would have continued to yell at the devious Frenchman if America hadn’t interjected with a loud grumble.
“This is too suspicious. I think we’re gonna have to take it to the next level.”
England gulped and asked the obvious question, though he knew the answer wouldn’t be good. “And w-what does that entail, exactly?”
America looked at him and replied with perfect conviction. “Strip search.”
Okay, it had definitely fallen into the “getting worse” category.
“No,” England replied, gaping at America. “No! NO! THIS IS NOT ON.” He swung his head around and shot an incredulous look at Germany. The meeting was taking place in his country, so it was his responsibility to end this nonsense.
To his horror, Germany appeared to be thinking about it. Thinking. Considering the possibilities.
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” England asserted, his voice high and frantic. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Owning a toothbrush is not a crime.”
Germany was not thinking about the legal ramifications of carrying a toothbrush. Rather, he was thinking about the last time that someone had provoked America in his paranoid condition. Several nations still had the bruises from plying America off Russia.
Ultimately, Germany decided that an embarrassed England was preferable to an angry America. He sighed and rubbed his temple.
“Okay, but be quick about it. And please try to use discretion.”
As if America even knew what the word meant.
England’s right eye started to twitch. “You c-can’t do this. What about my rights? What about my dignity as a respected nation of Earth and a representative-“
America scoffed. “It’s always ‘rights’ this and ‘rights’ that. I don’t care about your personal rights! This is a matter of homeland security!”
“WE’RE NOT IN YOUR HOMELAND, YOU BERK!”
America shook his head, determined not to let even a modicum of logic sink in. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”
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Flustered!UK + Paranoid!Pervert!US = lajfdlkjfalkdjlfjdlakfjdHOTlakdflajdflajd
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