Hetalia kink meme part 23
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hetalia kink meme
part 23
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The Pole looked at him seriously, awaiting an answer. England was not so keen on speaking, however. The only sounds coming from his mouth were sobs and whimpers. Even so Poland waited patiently. Eventually England grew tired and let himself fall back against the chair provided in the stall, and he buried his face in his hands.
Oh, the Pole KNEW how to make him talk. He was being a little respectful of his feelings and let him have his moment, but he needed to get down to business. He had an eyebrow threading appointment in twenty-two minutes, after all.
“Look England. I know we don’t, like, talk a lot and don’t probably get along as well as we should, but that doesn’t mean I’m a heartless jerk or anything. As your fellow nation I really don’t like seeing you like this. That's why I demand to know…” he paused for dramatic effect and crossed his arms. “…if you’re a masochist.”
England blinked and looked up at him, rage slowly showing up in his face. “I am NOT a bloody fucking masochist you idiot! That is totally absurd!!”
“Well I don’t know what YOUR definition of masochist is but I know mine is, like, liking pain and stuff.”
“I DON’T LIKE PAIN!”
“Oh yeah? Well prove it,” Poland challenged him and leaned forward, glaring at him a little. “If you don’t like pain, why are there bruises on your arms and-” he paused to unceremoniously tug at his turtleneck, noticing the roughly marked hickeys- “AND your neck, and no doubt other parts of your body?”
England opened his mouth to yell it out, but his heart stopped. No. He couldn’t… He couldn’t possibly say it out loud. That would be not only admitting weakness but also… incriminating America somehow. It felt so wrong and more tears welled up in his eyes as the conflicting emotions boiled up inside him.
Poland looked at him more impatiently and sighed more. “If you won’t say it I will.”
England looked at him questioningly and the Pole’s eyes narrowed.
“Someone hurt you. Carelessly.”
No… No he didn’t. W-we were… we were making love...
“You were hurt on purpose.”
“NO,” England shuddered, barely speaking above a whisper. His eyes were wide and his face was pale. Poland persisted despite England’s denial and he glared more.
“With how bad those bruises are and how very little you see Russia… I’m guessing that someone was America, wasn’t it?”
That certainly hit a nerve and the Brit stood up, practically shoving Poland against the wall and nearly strangling him. “NO IT’S NOT YOU BLOODY LIAR! TAKE IT BACK!!!”
Despite his air supply being depleted from England’s tightening grip on his neck, Poland smirked. “S-so I’m right….” He coughed and England shook his head more.
“NO NO NO NO! YOU ARE NOT RIGHT! YOU ARE WRONG!”
Poland coughed more and before he would pass out, he tried to tear at his turtleneck, raising it up high enough to cause the Brit to desperately hold onto it like if it was his life jacket keeping him from drowning in this cruel reality. Once Poland’s neck was free, he took both England’s arms and squeezed, hard enough to grab hold of him but light enough not to hurt him more than he already was.
“L-let me go!” England begged and Poland rolled his eyes. He stared down at his watch and sighed a little sadly. Nineteen minutes.
“I can’t believe you’re going to maybe make me miss my eyebrow threading appointment, England. So tell you what: Either YOU stand up to America about this or I will. Your choice, and you’d better make it quick because you know I can’t keep my mouth shut very long,” he smirked at the Brit who looked like a deer caught in headlights.
England felt his heart sink and his world turn blurrier. The next thing he knew, there was no more Poland and no more pain or bruises. Only darkness and silence.
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