[Fanfiction] Two AU Romania/Moldova Filled Fic Prompts
Characters: Romania (Mircea) and Moldova (Ion, at one point using the alias of Gavril)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Some filled fic prompts from glassofport on tumblr for an AU with human version of Romania and Moldova as if they were ~*~celebrities~*~
- glassofport preguntó: omg wait i want the first time they kissed
He’s actually laughing, Mircea notes dimly. This too-tall but still so small pissant that had flippantly introduced himself as Gavril as if the name tasted bad in his mouth while still being entirely too serious about everything was actually laughing. But then again, their entire short accquaintanceship was a series of coincidental run-ins, run-outs, run-overs…run-aways. That’s what Gavril was confessing to, anyway. Having run away from his home in the middle of nowhere last year to see what he could make of himself here in Chisinau.
Mircea was distracted, rubbing his hands together for warmth as Gavril’s words washed over him like a quietly accented haze.
“I don’t think I did so badly in a year for a sixteen year old.”
“-sixteen? You’re only sixteen?”
Gavril blinked once before smiling sheepishly, lifting his hands in front of his mouth to hide it and dropping his gaze to the snow-covered ground.
“Only sixteen,” he replied in that airy, nonchalant tone that Mircea was starting to learn meant he felt self-conscious and was trying not to show it. “I don’t look sixteen.”
Mircea shoved Gavril roughly against a pockmarked brick wall, pinning him in place with a hand braced on either side of his head.
“You don’t act sixteen,” the Romanian murmured.
Gavril faltered and bit his lip, an action that caught Mircea’s attention immediately.
“I don’t feel sixteen,” he whispered back.
- glassofport preguntó: okokok ion in one of those "bribing" scenarios with mir before/after they go on a talk show
They had agreed, to some end (before they had gotten distracted by some convenient flat surface), that this particular charade for the public eye was necessary if Mircea wanted to continue having a career that wasn’t stuck in a niche. They had understood that even before they’d gotten married in that tiny ramshackle chapel in Majorca that hiding the nature of their relationship from everyone save their closest inner circle of confidants would be necessary.
Somewhere amidst these past four years, it had become standard practice to simply ignore each other at those glitterati events and then make up for the offense at home. But even these offenses were now common practice and Ion felt there wasn’t a need to continue apologising for ignoring Mircea when it was for his sake that Ion had to do it in the first place.
And Mircea was, in his own way, a very attractive man capable of quite a cunning and vindictive mind when it suited him, and he’d found a way around Ion’s restrictions quickly, especially now that the American media was suddenly interested in double-booking both of them to appear together, because nothing was more interesting (apparently) than two celebrities who were (supposedly) strangers but came from the same country.
(Ion bristled at that falsification each time because he was Moldovan, not Romanian and it was very goddamned different.)
But really, all Mircea had to do was let it slip just once on national television that he and Ion were quite a bit more involved than anyone thought.
And the idiot didn’t seem to have any foresight and realise how disastrous it would be for his career, because he felt wronged and deprived of the instant gratification of having his spouse at his side-
Ion grimaced to himself. Perhaps that last one…all the same, this whole act was for Mircea’s benefit in the end.
And now they were standing backstage of Ray Veno, crowded into a dark corner where nobody could see them. Mircea had his back against the wall, curled into a slackened slouch as he stared at the floor with a vaguely rebellious look on his face. Ion towered over him with crossed arms and an imperious expression.
“I know you don’t like this any more than I do-”
A harsh scoff interrupted his words and Ion had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from retaliating in a far more physical (and painful) manner.
“I know you don’t like this any more than I do,” he enunciated slowly, “so I’m prepared to pay for your good behaviour.”
“Is this bribery?” Mircea drawled slowly, crossing his own arms and letting his head loll backwards lazily, “or a threat? What are you going to do? Evict me from the bedroom or refuse to talk to me or-“
The list continued and Ion felt his already burdened temper fray dangerously.
Impulsively, he seized Mircea’s chin and pulled him upward until the Romanian was standing on his tiptoes to be on the receiving end of what was more like an assault than a kiss.
When the need for air became overwhelming, Ion pulled back slightly and let his fingers drift upward from Mircea’s jaw to trace the shell of his ear with delicate fingertips, smoothing flyaway strands of dark blonde down.
“Bribery for good behaviour,” Ion murmured quietly against Mircea’s kiss-swollen lips, “first payment now, second payment upon delivery.”