[Sweethearts Week Challenge] "Be my Valentine?"
Title: "Be My Valentine?"
Genre: Family fluff
Word Count: 510
Rating: G
Summary: Colonial America wants England to be his Valentine.
Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me
Written for the Sweethearts Week Challenge at usxuk
[Woo! I wrote/drew something for each day! I can't believe it! Here's to the end of the first fan competition I've ever participated in *raises glass*. Everyone I enjoyed your work immensely, thank you so much for sharing your fan creations with me!]
He never got a break it seemed. In Europe he was constantly being hounded by other nations, diplomatic changes seemingly happened over night. No one could decide who to be loyal to, no one could decide on their monarchs or methods of rule. When he came to America it was slightly more relaxing, but there were of course things to deal with here.
It had been a long day of checking on colonial assemblies and making sure that commerce was running smoothly. This land was certainly proving profitable, even if there had been some challenges at first. The colonies were growing well, he would be able to return to Great Britain soon and work on affairs there. He leaned back in the chair slumping slightly in relaxation. He closed his eyes breathing the American air deeply.
“England! Be my Valentine!”
England turned to the bright eyed little boy that was running up to him. The boy flew up to him, practically climbing into his lap. America was as bright-eyed as ever. He was carrying in his small hand a rose that had no doubt been torn from the bush itself, evidenced by its too short stem and the small cuts on America’s fingers. It must have been wrested from some unsuspecting greenhouse. The boy held up the flower to him expectantly. England accepted it.
“Thank you, America.”
“So, will you?” He was giving him that face that England found incredibly endearing, the face that made him hope that he could always be there to protect that innocence. He really hoped that would never have to change even though deep in his heart he knew better. He held the rose up to his nose earning a smile from the young boy. England reached out a hand to pat the small child on the head.
The child closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like a puppy or other small animal. England imagined what the boy would become as he grew, if anything he would certainly be strong. It seemed he would also be successful. Not only did he have a seemingly unlimited amount of natural resources. He would grow up tall and handsome. England would have to beat the others off with a bigger stick than he did now, once the boy had grown fully into his potential.
None of it mattered at the moment. What would happen in the future was irrelevant in the face of those innocent blue eyes and the simple gift of a rose. Even if the rose had probably been gathered under suspicious circumstances. However, he was always willing to forgive the child almost everything.
“Of course I will.” He pulled the child into a hug feeling the youth and vitality flow into his own ancient bones. There had never been anyone who had seemed to care about him as much as America. Not his brothers, not any of his neighbors, none of them had looked up at him never afraid, smiling and calling him “Big Brother”.
“I love you!”
“I love you too.”
Genre: Family fluff
Word Count: 510
Rating: G
Summary: Colonial America wants England to be his Valentine.
Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me
Written for the Sweethearts Week Challenge at usxuk
[Woo! I wrote/drew something for each day! I can't believe it! Here's to the end of the first fan competition I've ever participated in *raises glass*. Everyone I enjoyed your work immensely, thank you so much for sharing your fan creations with me!]
He never got a break it seemed. In Europe he was constantly being hounded by other nations, diplomatic changes seemingly happened over night. No one could decide who to be loyal to, no one could decide on their monarchs or methods of rule. When he came to America it was slightly more relaxing, but there were of course things to deal with here.
It had been a long day of checking on colonial assemblies and making sure that commerce was running smoothly. This land was certainly proving profitable, even if there had been some challenges at first. The colonies were growing well, he would be able to return to Great Britain soon and work on affairs there. He leaned back in the chair slumping slightly in relaxation. He closed his eyes breathing the American air deeply.
“England! Be my Valentine!”
England turned to the bright eyed little boy that was running up to him. The boy flew up to him, practically climbing into his lap. America was as bright-eyed as ever. He was carrying in his small hand a rose that had no doubt been torn from the bush itself, evidenced by its too short stem and the small cuts on America’s fingers. It must have been wrested from some unsuspecting greenhouse. The boy held up the flower to him expectantly. England accepted it.
“Thank you, America.”
“So, will you?” He was giving him that face that England found incredibly endearing, the face that made him hope that he could always be there to protect that innocence. He really hoped that would never have to change even though deep in his heart he knew better. He held the rose up to his nose earning a smile from the young boy. England reached out a hand to pat the small child on the head.
The child closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like a puppy or other small animal. England imagined what the boy would become as he grew, if anything he would certainly be strong. It seemed he would also be successful. Not only did he have a seemingly unlimited amount of natural resources. He would grow up tall and handsome. England would have to beat the others off with a bigger stick than he did now, once the boy had grown fully into his potential.
None of it mattered at the moment. What would happen in the future was irrelevant in the face of those innocent blue eyes and the simple gift of a rose. Even if the rose had probably been gathered under suspicious circumstances. However, he was always willing to forgive the child almost everything.
“Of course I will.” He pulled the child into a hug feeling the youth and vitality flow into his own ancient bones. There had never been anyone who had seemed to care about him as much as America. Not his brothers, not any of his neighbors, none of them had looked up at him never afraid, smiling and calling him “Big Brother”.
“I love you!”
“I love you too.”