[Fanfic] - Mpreg? No Problem!
Title: Mpreg? No Problem!
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Netherlands/Denmark, England
Summary: In which Netherlands learns that Denmark is not, in fact, high when he says he can have kids. Short one-shot.
KM Prompt: An inebriated romp between the sheets results in a broken condom and a pregnancy scare. The catch? No angst - Ned & Den are such chill broheims that they just roll with it.
Warnings: I aim for crack delivered with a straight face. While not meant to be taken seriously whatsoever, hopefully they’re still IC. Well, drunkenly IC. Drunk nations, broken condoms, late night phone calls, way too much bro-ing out.
Netherlands pulled out, and immediately grimaced and snarled upon seeing the ripped condom and semen fucking everywhere. God damn it, he hated messes.
Denmark didn’t seem to notice, still drunk and giggling and dopey below him, stretching out across the bedsheets.
“Damn thing broke,” Netherlands muttered, moving aside throw it away in one lurched, inebriated motion.
“Whoa, what?” Denmark asked, sloppily lifting himself up onto his elbows to look, eyebrows furrowed but dopey grin still in place. “Oh. Shit.”
Netherlands tossed the thing towards the trash can nearby - huh, didn’t make it, you know what, he was drunk and sleepy, he’d give a fuck tomorrow - and raised an eyebrow at Denmark. He didn’t think Denmark had to worry about STD’s or anything; he was still kind of confused over why Denmark insisted on condoms when he was the bottom, but didn’t care enough to bring it up. He moved to sit against the headboard beside Denmark’s sprawled form. “What’s the matter?”
“Condom broke.”
“Yeah,” Netherlands replied, unimpressed. What wonderful observational skills Denmark had.
“What if I get pregnant?”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“You know,” Denmark waved, grin stretching wider, “kids!”
“Are you high? You’re a dude. Look down.”
“I know -” Denmark replied with a laugh “- get that look off your face, shit. Okay,” Denmark waved a hand, again, “remember when I went over to England’s place with Norge all those years ago?”
“You mean the Viking raids.” What a way to put it - Denmark made it sound like a damn tea party.
“Yeah. Well, he didn’t like that very much.”
“Really now.”
“Man, stop it. Anyway, he kinda hit me with, I dunno, a spell or something. Revenge I guess. And now I can have kids!”
...right. Denmark had to be high. When did he miss that happening? And why didn’t Denmark share? Hmph. Selfish bastard.
Denmark’s stupid grin didn’t waver in the face of his flat stare.
Netherlands gave up the staring contest first and sighed. “What?”
“Aw, you don’t believe me. Here, let’s get England on speakerphone.” And with that, Denmark climbed over him to reach his phone while Netherlands muttered “drunk ass” under his breath.
Denmark hummed, draped over Netherlands’ legs, kicking his feet into the air and punching buttons on his phone; Netherlands rolled his eyes and grabbed his pipe from the nightstand. If he was gonna have to sit through this idiocy, he may as well smoke.
England picked up with a terse and annoyed “Hello?”
“Hey England, you’re still up!” Denmark loudly exclaimed into the phone.
“While that statement is certainly debatable - I assume you haven’t looked at a clock? No? Yes, indeed, it is late. Denmark,” England sighed, “shall we get to the point of this phone call?”
“Oh, yeah! Here, lemme put it on speakerphone.”
Hours away, quite comfortably pajama’d in bed, England facepalmed.
“England,” came Netherlands’ bored greeting.
“Er, hello. Is that you, Netherlands?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Hey,” Denmark cut in, “I was tellin’ Netherlands about that curse you put on me -”
“I wouldn’t say it was a curse, exactly -”
“Point is, he doesn’t believe me.”
“Well, I certainly don’t know why you would be calling me about it.”
“You’re the one who did it!”
England sighed. Why did he pick up the phone, again?
“Is this true?” Netherlands asked, still sounding very bored.
Another sigh from England. “Yes. If you don’t believe me, ask Norway. He’s the one who figured out that, ah, well -”
“That you fucked up an impotence spell and made me more fertile,” Denmark smirked into the phone.
“Ah, that.”
Netherlands’ snort. “So he might be pregnant then.”
“Wait - what?!” England yelped. “That is why you two are calling me at this hour?”
“Yep,” Denmark drawled, kicking his feet back and forth through the air and almost catching Netherlands in the chin. “Told ya he didn’t believe me, so thanks for clearing that up.”
England heard Denmark speak to Netherlands over the phone - “I’ll bet our kid’ll be totally adorable” - followed by Netherlands’ low agreement. He still sounded bored.
“You do know - I mean, really, this is a child we are talking about here,” England insisted, hurriedly, into the phone.
“Yeah? We’ll be the best dads ever,” Denmark chirped.
“You two aren’t even...”
“Hm?”
“You aren’t even, er, official.”
“Hm. Guess we could be,” Netherlands said.
Denmark let out one laugh before he said “Psh, of course. Gotta have a stable living environment or whatever. Official boyfriends?” England heard a smack of flesh on flesh - “Awesome!”
The only thing England could get out was a strangled sound, right into the mouthpiece.
“Something wrong, England?” Netherlands asked. England could hear the smirk in that voice.
“You’re - it’s - that is absolutely no way to go about having a child!” he cried. “This whole situation is just entirely improper. You haven’t even planned for it! What do you know about children?”
A snort, probably from Netherlands. “We’re centuries old, I guess it’s about time one of us had a kid around. I can teach it how to kick your ass in football.”
England heard Denmark’s snarl and a “Hey!” followed by the sounds of the phone jostling around in what was presumably a scuffle between the two. “You two!” he tried, “this isn’t a matter to be taken lightly! A child is a huge responsibility.”
“What, you think we’re dumb or something?” Denmark retorted. England didn’t say anything to that.
“We can handle it,” Netherlands said after a moment, monotone.
“But you aren’t even in a committed relationship -”
“Are you deaf?” Netherlands’ cutting voice interrupted.
“We just made it one,” Denmark laughed.
England groaned. “And how are you - no, you know what, never mind - well, all of this - you two are both nutters.”
“You worry too much,” was Denmark’s flippant response. Netherlands hummed an agreement. “All of you are gonna be so jealous because our kid’ll be the best kid ever.”
“I -” England cleared his throat. Obviously logic had no place with these two; he felt bad for the child-who-might-be. “Yes, well. Good luck with that, then.”
Denmark laughed, loud and long, and even Netherlands’ chuckle was audible beneath it. “We don’t even know if it’ll happen, but we’ll keep ya updated.”
England shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please do,” he groaned.
“No problem. Okay, thanks again.”
“Goodnight.”
“Bye!”
England hung up and laid back down, staring at the ceiling. Those two, having a kid. That thing would be a hellion, he was sure of it - Denmark’s wild Viking tendencies and Netherlands’ don’t-give-a-fuck depravity? Lord help them all.
---
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I’m not into mpreg, so I decided to just leave it there and let the readers pick their own ending.
I am also 90% sure that someone is putting crack in my city’s water supply.
QUICK, I NEED TO WRITE SOMETHING REDEEMING D:
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Netherlands/Denmark, England
Summary: In which Netherlands learns that Denmark is not, in fact, high when he says he can have kids. Short one-shot.
KM Prompt: An inebriated romp between the sheets results in a broken condom and a pregnancy scare. The catch? No angst - Ned & Den are such chill broheims that they just roll with it.
Warnings: I aim for crack delivered with a straight face. While not meant to be taken seriously whatsoever, hopefully they’re still IC. Well, drunkenly IC. Drunk nations, broken condoms, late night phone calls, way too much bro-ing out.
Netherlands pulled out, and immediately grimaced and snarled upon seeing the ripped condom and semen fucking everywhere. God damn it, he hated messes.
Denmark didn’t seem to notice, still drunk and giggling and dopey below him, stretching out across the bedsheets.
“Damn thing broke,” Netherlands muttered, moving aside throw it away in one lurched, inebriated motion.
“Whoa, what?” Denmark asked, sloppily lifting himself up onto his elbows to look, eyebrows furrowed but dopey grin still in place. “Oh. Shit.”
Netherlands tossed the thing towards the trash can nearby - huh, didn’t make it, you know what, he was drunk and sleepy, he’d give a fuck tomorrow - and raised an eyebrow at Denmark. He didn’t think Denmark had to worry about STD’s or anything; he was still kind of confused over why Denmark insisted on condoms when he was the bottom, but didn’t care enough to bring it up. He moved to sit against the headboard beside Denmark’s sprawled form. “What’s the matter?”
“Condom broke.”
“Yeah,” Netherlands replied, unimpressed. What wonderful observational skills Denmark had.
“What if I get pregnant?”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“You know,” Denmark waved, grin stretching wider, “kids!”
“Are you high? You’re a dude. Look down.”
“I know -” Denmark replied with a laugh “- get that look off your face, shit. Okay,” Denmark waved a hand, again, “remember when I went over to England’s place with Norge all those years ago?”
“You mean the Viking raids.” What a way to put it - Denmark made it sound like a damn tea party.
“Yeah. Well, he didn’t like that very much.”
“Really now.”
“Man, stop it. Anyway, he kinda hit me with, I dunno, a spell or something. Revenge I guess. And now I can have kids!”
...right. Denmark had to be high. When did he miss that happening? And why didn’t Denmark share? Hmph. Selfish bastard.
Denmark’s stupid grin didn’t waver in the face of his flat stare.
Netherlands gave up the staring contest first and sighed. “What?”
“Aw, you don’t believe me. Here, let’s get England on speakerphone.” And with that, Denmark climbed over him to reach his phone while Netherlands muttered “drunk ass” under his breath.
Denmark hummed, draped over Netherlands’ legs, kicking his feet into the air and punching buttons on his phone; Netherlands rolled his eyes and grabbed his pipe from the nightstand. If he was gonna have to sit through this idiocy, he may as well smoke.
England picked up with a terse and annoyed “Hello?”
“Hey England, you’re still up!” Denmark loudly exclaimed into the phone.
“While that statement is certainly debatable - I assume you haven’t looked at a clock? No? Yes, indeed, it is late. Denmark,” England sighed, “shall we get to the point of this phone call?”
“Oh, yeah! Here, lemme put it on speakerphone.”
Hours away, quite comfortably pajama’d in bed, England facepalmed.
“England,” came Netherlands’ bored greeting.
“Er, hello. Is that you, Netherlands?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Hey,” Denmark cut in, “I was tellin’ Netherlands about that curse you put on me -”
“I wouldn’t say it was a curse, exactly -”
“Point is, he doesn’t believe me.”
“Well, I certainly don’t know why you would be calling me about it.”
“You’re the one who did it!”
England sighed. Why did he pick up the phone, again?
“Is this true?” Netherlands asked, still sounding very bored.
Another sigh from England. “Yes. If you don’t believe me, ask Norway. He’s the one who figured out that, ah, well -”
“That you fucked up an impotence spell and made me more fertile,” Denmark smirked into the phone.
“Ah, that.”
Netherlands’ snort. “So he might be pregnant then.”
“Wait - what?!” England yelped. “That is why you two are calling me at this hour?”
“Yep,” Denmark drawled, kicking his feet back and forth through the air and almost catching Netherlands in the chin. “Told ya he didn’t believe me, so thanks for clearing that up.”
England heard Denmark speak to Netherlands over the phone - “I’ll bet our kid’ll be totally adorable” - followed by Netherlands’ low agreement. He still sounded bored.
“You do know - I mean, really, this is a child we are talking about here,” England insisted, hurriedly, into the phone.
“Yeah? We’ll be the best dads ever,” Denmark chirped.
“You two aren’t even...”
“Hm?”
“You aren’t even, er, official.”
“Hm. Guess we could be,” Netherlands said.
Denmark let out one laugh before he said “Psh, of course. Gotta have a stable living environment or whatever. Official boyfriends?” England heard a smack of flesh on flesh - “Awesome!”
The only thing England could get out was a strangled sound, right into the mouthpiece.
“Something wrong, England?” Netherlands asked. England could hear the smirk in that voice.
“You’re - it’s - that is absolutely no way to go about having a child!” he cried. “This whole situation is just entirely improper. You haven’t even planned for it! What do you know about children?”
A snort, probably from Netherlands. “We’re centuries old, I guess it’s about time one of us had a kid around. I can teach it how to kick your ass in football.”
England heard Denmark’s snarl and a “Hey!” followed by the sounds of the phone jostling around in what was presumably a scuffle between the two. “You two!” he tried, “this isn’t a matter to be taken lightly! A child is a huge responsibility.”
“What, you think we’re dumb or something?” Denmark retorted. England didn’t say anything to that.
“We can handle it,” Netherlands said after a moment, monotone.
“But you aren’t even in a committed relationship -”
“Are you deaf?” Netherlands’ cutting voice interrupted.
“We just made it one,” Denmark laughed.
England groaned. “And how are you - no, you know what, never mind - well, all of this - you two are both nutters.”
“You worry too much,” was Denmark’s flippant response. Netherlands hummed an agreement. “All of you are gonna be so jealous because our kid’ll be the best kid ever.”
“I -” England cleared his throat. Obviously logic had no place with these two; he felt bad for the child-who-might-be. “Yes, well. Good luck with that, then.”
Denmark laughed, loud and long, and even Netherlands’ chuckle was audible beneath it. “We don’t even know if it’ll happen, but we’ll keep ya updated.”
England shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please do,” he groaned.
“No problem. Okay, thanks again.”
“Goodnight.”
“Bye!”
England hung up and laid back down, staring at the ceiling. Those two, having a kid. That thing would be a hellion, he was sure of it - Denmark’s wild Viking tendencies and Netherlands’ don’t-give-a-fuck depravity? Lord help them all.
---
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---
I’m not into mpreg, so I decided to just leave it there and let the readers pick their own ending.
I am also 90% sure that someone is putting crack in my city’s water supply.
QUICK, I NEED TO WRITE SOMETHING REDEEMING D: