Hetalia kink meme part 21

[hetalia_kink]

axis powers
hetalia kink meme
part 21

VIEW THIS PART ON DREAMWIDTH

STOP! DO NOT REQUEST HERE!
NEW REQUESTS GO IN THE MOST RECENT PART!

New fills for this part can go HERE.
Please continue existing fills on this post until it is full.
Get information at the News Post.

Comments

Cradled 1/2

[anonymous]

So I am the first anon, finally finished messing with this. To the Southern Italian anon: I actually really liked your take on the prompt! It's pretty different from mine, but that's kind of part of the beauty of this prompt, I think. :)

She is America’s, really, and she always has been; she can’t imagine being anything else or wanting to be anything else, but there is still a part of her (some deep, old part) that belongs wholly to Greece, and he is grateful for it. She loves him, she really does; he can see it in her eyes (blue, blue like the sea) and in the way she smiles as he runs his fingers across her skin: over her breasts and the curve of her belly and, finally, dipping between her legs. She sighs, then, soft and breathy and tugs him down to touch their lips together. After, they lie entwined on Greece’s bed, and Greece watches the fading sunlight catch in her hair. She will go back to America soon and fall into the warmth of his cities and his rolling golden hills, but for now, Greece cradles her as surely as he cradled her ancestors when they walked his mountains long ago.

Later, she wants to bake kourambiethes and koulourakia, even though she knows they’re holiday cookies. “They’re my favorites,” she explains, grinning as she reaches for the glasses he’d set on the nightstand beside the bed when he’d undressed her earlier. Her smile is wide and open, and Greece thinks, she is America’s. He returns her smile, stands, and nudges a tabby cat and a tortoiseshell out of the way as he gathers their clothes. She continues, “I like to help my dad bake them every Christmas and Easter. They’re good memories.” Ah, he muses, and good memories are best when shared.

So he agrees, although he might have preferred to lie in bed for the rest of the evening with the cats curled around them (she had been delighted when she saw them and proceeded to tell him all about her own and Greece suspects that it is a trait common amongst cat owners). Greece has the Metaxa and the vanilla and the ingredients for the dough in his pantry, but they have to step out to town to get the almonds and the powdered sugar for the kourambiethes. It’s a nice night, though-the sky is clear and the breeze coming in from the sea is pleasantly cool. She catches her fingers in Greece’s as they walk and squeezes gently, and all Greece can concentrate on is the scent of saltwater and the color blue.

When they have everything they need and are back in Greece’s home, they hum together as they move around his kitchen. It’s airy, but small and filled with old things that remind him of his mother: statues and bits of pottery that were once painted with athletes and warriors. It is usually just him and the cats and he does not need much room. She doesn’t seem to mind the size though, and she smiles at him whenever they bump arms.

They start with the koulourakia, the butter cookies, and as they mix the dough and then twist it like snakes, he whispers stories he has told for centuries into her ears, lessons he hopes will serve her well when she leaves him: remember to bend when the wind blows so that you do not break and the unjust will use any excuse to get what they want and appearances are deceiving, dearest one. When she asks for tales in the original Greek because she wants to hear them as they were when they were first conceived even though she can’t understand a word, he tells her fantastic things about long journeys home and a golden fleece and what it’s like to hold the world on your shoulders. They brush glaze onto the dough, and her fingers are shiny in the kitchen light. She gazes at him, entranced by the sound of his voice, and he thinks about how blue her eyes are behind her glasses. Gently, he takes the cookie sheet from her, slips it into the oven, and starts to clean up what’s left of the egg-glaze.

Re: Cradled 2/2

[anonymous]

As they work on preparing the dough for the kourambiethes, she tells him those fables of his as she learned them growing up: slow and steady wins the race and honesty is the best policy. They’ve changed with time, and now there’s something distinctly American about them, but he enjoys them all the same. Then as she adds the almonds and he the Metaxa, she shares stories he’s never heard, local legends in New Jersey about a Lady in White who haunts the tree she died beneath (“My parents used to scare me to death every time we drove through that park,” she whispers, grinning) and about a horned monster with the head of a horse and wings like a bat that roams the state. Greece likes stories, even ones that are not his own, and he watches her glow as she speaks and thinks that he will miss her when she’s gone.

“My favorite part is eating them,” she admits when the cookies are baked and the finishing touches have been added. She’s got powdered sugar in her hair and on her chin and he wants to kiss it away. When he does, she laughs breathlessly and takes his hand in hers. It’s soft, he notices, and small and there’s chipped blue polish on her nails. It’s blue the way her eyes are, like the sea at noon.

They lean against each other in silence and Greece likes that she doesn’t mind the quiet. She is soft and warm against him, and she smiles when a cat comes to twine around their legs. He’s picked it up and is listening to it purr against his ear when she speaks again, shyly.

“Would you mind if I stayed a little longer?”

Greece blinks, surprised, and smiles.

Notes!
So I didn't really explain what, exactly, the cookies were in any detail because it didn't fit in with how I wanted the story to do, but here's what they are: kourambieths are powdered almond cookies, usually made at Christmas, although of course, when I looked it up to check the recipe, people make them at other times of the year, too. The word's also spelled kourambiedes but I used the spelling I remember from my family's old Greek cookbook. koulorakia are, as mentioned, butter cookies that are traditionally made at Easter. They're rolled into long strips and then twisted into pretty curls. Metaxa is a Greek distilled alcohol. I've never had it outside of the cookies, but my dad and aunt like to do shots of it when we have it.
Most of the stories mentioned come from Aesop's Fables. The ones Greece mentions are, in order, "The Oak and the Reed," "The Wolf and the Lamb," and "The Ant and the Chrysalis." The other stories Greece mentioned references to Odysseus (journey home), Jason and the Argonauts (golden fleece), and Atlas (the world on your shoulders).
The fables I mentioned are "The Tortoise and the Hare" and "Mercury and the Woodman," although what I really meant by the latter is our favorite "tell the truth" myth here in the US: George Washington and the Cherry Tree. The two local New Jersey legends are of thee White Lady Tree in Branchbrook Park in Newark and, of course, the Jersey Devil. If you want more on those, Weird New Jersey can tell you all about 'em.
And finally, I had like nine nationalities to pick from, when I started playing with this, but I'm mostly Greek, and my family's more connected to our Greek heritage than any of my others, so Greece is who I picked.

southern italian anon here :)

[anonymous]

ohhhhhhh myyyyyyy God.

This fill is so good! I really, really enjoyed the multitude of unspoken details and understandings between you and Greece, and I enjoyed the recurring mention of America -- it made my heart ache a little. But I found Greece to be perfectly written, not reacting in any way jealous or upset that 'she' is America's. I loved his love of stories, no matter their origin; I loved their shared fondness for cats; I loveloveloved the fact that some of the stories she told had an American twist. Oh, anon, you've won me over and probably the OP as well!

Also, this anon used to be a Jersey!Anon and was thrilled to see the Jersey Devil, haha.

Greek anon

[anonymous]

Oh gosh, you're really making me smile here, thank you so much! I liked yours a lot, too, especially with the whole Catholic thing--I'm Catholic, or at least, I was confirmed Catholic, but there are things about it that make me uncomfortable, so really resonates. I like how ultimately you came together in the end. Also, I like rosaries; some of them are really pretty.

And yeah, I totally love the Jersey Devil. It's practically my duty as a New Jerseyan to bring up the Jersey Devil whenever possible. <3