[APH] Wife but not housewife
Title: Wife but not housewife
Author: Kanon
Genre: Romance/Humour
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sweden x Finland
Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I’d own the entire world. I don’t.
Summary: There’s probably no one as desperate as Finland to do housework.
Spoilers: Umm… the relationship between Sealand and SuFin??
Warning: None
Author’s Note:
My second Hetalia fic and first fluff. I don’t write angst all the time XD and with this adorable couple, I couldn’t even think of any angst material XDD Just tooth-rotting fluff. And I didn’t have time to do proper research so I just made some assumption on Sealand’s relationship with other nations (of course, save England ‘cuz we all know what that’s like) based on what I know. Sorry!! I hadn’t even known that Sealand was sold off to Sweden in offline auction until the day before writing this… -_-;;;
Uh, I read that there was actually something cannon about Sweden buying Sealand ‘cuz Fin wanted a kid. Can anyone direct me to it…?? ^^;
:::::Wife but not housewife by Kanon:::::
Honestly, Finland is quite happy with doing the chores around the house he shares with Sweden. It’s not as if he does all of the work anyway; Sweden, for all the silence he abides by, always does what he can, unintentionally surprising Finland when he turns around and finds the tall man staring down at him with that ominous face. Then Sweden would grunt ‘Wh’t ya n’d d’ne?’ even before the poor boy has caught his breathing but Finland rarely has to answer the question. With just one look around the place, Sweden seems to catch the whiff, especially of the so-called ‘man’ jobs. Ever since he has started living with Sweden, Finland hasn’t touched a single tool of DIY or lifted anything heavier than a dining chair; not because he can’t but because Sweden won’t let him. If he so much as picks up a nail (a nail, Finland thinks in exasperation), Finland just knows without even having to turn around that Sweden is behind him, his face darkened and paled at the same time somehow.
But there is one thing that Finland actually does find difficult that Sweden hasn’t realised and that’s laundry. There are only the two of them living in the house and Hana Tamago has been toilet-trained so Finland rarely gets more than a few garments in a load, but when he sees the thick, long pants that obviously belong to the other man and T-shirts that would look more like a one-piece skirt on him, Finland cannot help but sigh, trepidation swimming in those large violet eyes.
He doesn’t blame Sweden though; it’s not the man’s fault that he is so tall and Finland, relatively small. It’s just…
“Fin?”
“Waaa!! Su-, Su-san!” Finland exclaims as he whirls around, tightly hugging the navy blue pants to his chest. The front of his apron grows darker from the wet garment but Finland doesn’t notice it in the frantic beating of his heart and Sweden looks down at him, trying not to look so intimidating (or so Finland thinks). “Y-yes, Su-san? Are you looking for something? I’ll be done soon, if it’s lunch you want…”
“…Ph’n’.”
“…Phone, Su-san?”
“C’ll. Fr’m Se’lan’.”
Translating it to ‘Call. From Sealand.’, Finland smiles brightly and puts the wet pants back down into the basket. But when he’s halfway across the garden, he realises that Sweden isn’t following him, which is an odd occurrence in itself, and turns around to find that the silent man hasn’t even taken a step from his place.
“Su-san?”
“T’lk’d t’ h’m ‘lre’dy,” Sweden simply states and Finland nods, accepting the explanation. Sweden’s not much of a talker (ha, what an understatement) so even though he was the one who bought the young ‘country’ off the auction, Finland is usually the one that ends up doing the more obvious part of the parenting.
When Finland goes in, he finds the phone receiver laid out on the table and smiles brightly as he picks it up and says, “Sealand!”
It’s the usual kind of call that they often get from Sealand, how England is a bastard and that estranged brother of the bastard is even worse a twat (Finland reprimands him for the language; really, brothers can be so alike in ways that they don’t have to be alike) and how he’s going to develop into a powerful, developed country and have the two idiots bowing down to him along with the rest of the nations. Then the boy hastily adds, “Ah, of course, not you two!” and mumbles quietly, “Sweden-san… is scary but… he was the only one who bid for me… and Finland,” says Sealand a bit more confidently, “you are really nice!!”
Finland just laughs with a nod that Sealand cannot see and asks what Sweden and he spoke about. As expected, there really isn’t much of an answer; the boy is yet to learn how to decipher the thick accent and with Sweden’s natural taciturnity, conversation is not exactly at the top of the list of fun things to do with his step-father yet. Comforting the boy that a bit more time is all he needs, Finland cuts the call short, remembering the laundries he had left outside; if he doesn’t hang them up soon, all the clothes will be wrinkled more than the ones England gets between his brows when he has to deal with America’s… exuberance.
“Okay, Sealand. I was in the middle of doing some housework so I’ll talk to you again later.”
“Yes, Fin! Say hi to Hana Tamago from me!”
Hana Tamago gives a little bark at the feet of Finland just then as if he can hear the conversation. It puts a content smile on the small face and with the cheery goodbye ringing in his ear, Finland puts the phone down and goes back out into the garden, picking up the small dog on his way. When he takes a glance at the clock in passing, he reads the big black digital letters saying 1:29 PM and his steps quicken; their lunch is normally around one and it’s going to take time to prepare the meal. Sweden, as usual, won’t complain about the delay or even about his hunger, Finland knows, but Finland does like the reticent man despite all the scares he has had (now, only if he would stop calling him ‘wife’) and when something like this happens, he feels like he’s taking the advantage of Sweden’s seemingly limitless patience and understanding and he doesn’t like that feeling at all.
So he almost jogs out of the house into the garden, frowning a little when the sunshine bombards his constricted pupils, and then as his eyes get used to the light, Finland lets out a small gasp of surprise at what he sees.
Across the garden, on the washing lines, are all of the laundries that he had left behind, dark blue and pale blue of varying lengths diffusing into the clear sky, along with some white shirts that sways like delicate wings with every gentle breeze. Sweden, with his hair so light-coloured and his shirt whiter than the clouds, blends into the picture so well that Finland almost doesn’t see him if not for the little shift from the long frame. When Sweden takes a step back, Finland realises that he has just hung up the last of the laundry; the long, thick blue pants that he had almost dreaded to shake out the excessive water and the creases.
“Su-san…”
There’s no way his quiet whisper would have been heard by Sweden but as if to prove him wrong, the blue eyes turn to him, the square glasses catching the light momentarily. Seeing Finland gaping at him at the doorway, Sweden crosses the distance between them with the empty laundry basket in his hand, and Finland doesn’t even bother wondering why he gets a feeling that he will never get to breathe in the scent of the washing powder from the wet laundries.
“Su-san, you didn’t have to. You already hoovered the house and…”
“‘s ‘k’y.”
“But Su-san, I feel bad for making you hang them up when it was my chore,” Finland says and Sweden stops for a moment to stare down at the unhappy violet eyes before turning away with dust of pink on his pale cheeks.
“‘s ‘k’y. D’n’t want m’wife breakin’ ‘s b’ck.”
Matching blush rises on Finland’s face and he hugs Hana Tamago tightly as Sweden walks past him into the house, murmuring into the white fur, “But I’m not your wife…” Then suddenly, he realises he has yet to say what he should have first, so chases after the tall man.
“Su-san!”
“Hnn.”
“I’m okay doing the laundry so you don’t have to worry about it,” Finland starts, staring at Sweden’s chest (it’s just at his eyelevel), then after a short pause, looks up into the bright oceanic eyes and smiles widely, “but thank you very much for doing it.”
Finland catches the wave of various shades of red colouring his housemate’s face before Sweden quickly turns away with a grunt, which he knows to mean ‘you’re welcome’. Then before Finland can say another word, Sweden puts the empty basket down and strides into the kitchen hurriedly, and Hana Tamago jumps out of Finland’s arms, running after the tall man. Although he cannot see Hana Tamago, Finland can hear its merry barks and the smile on his face grows wider.
Really, even if Sweden has a bit of a scary face, living with him is rather a pleasant warmth in his heart.
Then his ears catch the clangs of pans and utensils and the violet eyes widen as Finland rushes to the kitchen.
“Su-san, I’ll cook the lunch!”
“B’t…”
“Nothing to break my backbone over here, even you have to agree to that, right? Now, please, just take a seat, I’ll be quick.”
“…Nn.”
Finland lets out a relieved sigh as Sweden walks out of the kitchen and disappears into the living room. Turning back to the pans Sweden has already taken out, Finland wonders if there’s anyone who is as desperate as him to do the housework. Probably not.
Author: Kanon
Genre: Romance/Humour
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sweden x Finland
Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I’d own the entire world. I don’t.
Summary: There’s probably no one as desperate as Finland to do housework.
Spoilers: Umm… the relationship between Sealand and SuFin??
Warning: None
Author’s Note:
My second Hetalia fic and first fluff. I don’t write angst all the time XD and with this adorable couple, I couldn’t even think of any angst material XDD Just tooth-rotting fluff. And I didn’t have time to do proper research so I just made some assumption on Sealand’s relationship with other nations (of course, save England ‘cuz we all know what that’s like) based on what I know. Sorry!! I hadn’t even known that Sealand was sold off to Sweden in offline auction until the day before writing this… -_-;;;
Uh, I read that there was actually something cannon about Sweden buying Sealand ‘cuz Fin wanted a kid. Can anyone direct me to it…?? ^^;
:::::Wife but not housewife by Kanon:::::
Honestly, Finland is quite happy with doing the chores around the house he shares with Sweden. It’s not as if he does all of the work anyway; Sweden, for all the silence he abides by, always does what he can, unintentionally surprising Finland when he turns around and finds the tall man staring down at him with that ominous face. Then Sweden would grunt ‘Wh’t ya n’d d’ne?’ even before the poor boy has caught his breathing but Finland rarely has to answer the question. With just one look around the place, Sweden seems to catch the whiff, especially of the so-called ‘man’ jobs. Ever since he has started living with Sweden, Finland hasn’t touched a single tool of DIY or lifted anything heavier than a dining chair; not because he can’t but because Sweden won’t let him. If he so much as picks up a nail (a nail, Finland thinks in exasperation), Finland just knows without even having to turn around that Sweden is behind him, his face darkened and paled at the same time somehow.
But there is one thing that Finland actually does find difficult that Sweden hasn’t realised and that’s laundry. There are only the two of them living in the house and Hana Tamago has been toilet-trained so Finland rarely gets more than a few garments in a load, but when he sees the thick, long pants that obviously belong to the other man and T-shirts that would look more like a one-piece skirt on him, Finland cannot help but sigh, trepidation swimming in those large violet eyes.
He doesn’t blame Sweden though; it’s not the man’s fault that he is so tall and Finland, relatively small. It’s just…
“Fin?”
“Waaa!! Su-, Su-san!” Finland exclaims as he whirls around, tightly hugging the navy blue pants to his chest. The front of his apron grows darker from the wet garment but Finland doesn’t notice it in the frantic beating of his heart and Sweden looks down at him, trying not to look so intimidating (or so Finland thinks). “Y-yes, Su-san? Are you looking for something? I’ll be done soon, if it’s lunch you want…”
“…Ph’n’.”
“…Phone, Su-san?”
“C’ll. Fr’m Se’lan’.”
Translating it to ‘Call. From Sealand.’, Finland smiles brightly and puts the wet pants back down into the basket. But when he’s halfway across the garden, he realises that Sweden isn’t following him, which is an odd occurrence in itself, and turns around to find that the silent man hasn’t even taken a step from his place.
“Su-san?”
“T’lk’d t’ h’m ‘lre’dy,” Sweden simply states and Finland nods, accepting the explanation. Sweden’s not much of a talker (ha, what an understatement) so even though he was the one who bought the young ‘country’ off the auction, Finland is usually the one that ends up doing the more obvious part of the parenting.
When Finland goes in, he finds the phone receiver laid out on the table and smiles brightly as he picks it up and says, “Sealand!”
It’s the usual kind of call that they often get from Sealand, how England is a bastard and that estranged brother of the bastard is even worse a twat (Finland reprimands him for the language; really, brothers can be so alike in ways that they don’t have to be alike) and how he’s going to develop into a powerful, developed country and have the two idiots bowing down to him along with the rest of the nations. Then the boy hastily adds, “Ah, of course, not you two!” and mumbles quietly, “Sweden-san… is scary but… he was the only one who bid for me… and Finland,” says Sealand a bit more confidently, “you are really nice!!”
Finland just laughs with a nod that Sealand cannot see and asks what Sweden and he spoke about. As expected, there really isn’t much of an answer; the boy is yet to learn how to decipher the thick accent and with Sweden’s natural taciturnity, conversation is not exactly at the top of the list of fun things to do with his step-father yet. Comforting the boy that a bit more time is all he needs, Finland cuts the call short, remembering the laundries he had left outside; if he doesn’t hang them up soon, all the clothes will be wrinkled more than the ones England gets between his brows when he has to deal with America’s… exuberance.
“Okay, Sealand. I was in the middle of doing some housework so I’ll talk to you again later.”
“Yes, Fin! Say hi to Hana Tamago from me!”
Hana Tamago gives a little bark at the feet of Finland just then as if he can hear the conversation. It puts a content smile on the small face and with the cheery goodbye ringing in his ear, Finland puts the phone down and goes back out into the garden, picking up the small dog on his way. When he takes a glance at the clock in passing, he reads the big black digital letters saying 1:29 PM and his steps quicken; their lunch is normally around one and it’s going to take time to prepare the meal. Sweden, as usual, won’t complain about the delay or even about his hunger, Finland knows, but Finland does like the reticent man despite all the scares he has had (now, only if he would stop calling him ‘wife’) and when something like this happens, he feels like he’s taking the advantage of Sweden’s seemingly limitless patience and understanding and he doesn’t like that feeling at all.
So he almost jogs out of the house into the garden, frowning a little when the sunshine bombards his constricted pupils, and then as his eyes get used to the light, Finland lets out a small gasp of surprise at what he sees.
Across the garden, on the washing lines, are all of the laundries that he had left behind, dark blue and pale blue of varying lengths diffusing into the clear sky, along with some white shirts that sways like delicate wings with every gentle breeze. Sweden, with his hair so light-coloured and his shirt whiter than the clouds, blends into the picture so well that Finland almost doesn’t see him if not for the little shift from the long frame. When Sweden takes a step back, Finland realises that he has just hung up the last of the laundry; the long, thick blue pants that he had almost dreaded to shake out the excessive water and the creases.
“Su-san…”
There’s no way his quiet whisper would have been heard by Sweden but as if to prove him wrong, the blue eyes turn to him, the square glasses catching the light momentarily. Seeing Finland gaping at him at the doorway, Sweden crosses the distance between them with the empty laundry basket in his hand, and Finland doesn’t even bother wondering why he gets a feeling that he will never get to breathe in the scent of the washing powder from the wet laundries.
“Su-san, you didn’t have to. You already hoovered the house and…”
“‘s ‘k’y.”
“But Su-san, I feel bad for making you hang them up when it was my chore,” Finland says and Sweden stops for a moment to stare down at the unhappy violet eyes before turning away with dust of pink on his pale cheeks.
“‘s ‘k’y. D’n’t want m’wife breakin’ ‘s b’ck.”
Matching blush rises on Finland’s face and he hugs Hana Tamago tightly as Sweden walks past him into the house, murmuring into the white fur, “But I’m not your wife…” Then suddenly, he realises he has yet to say what he should have first, so chases after the tall man.
“Su-san!”
“Hnn.”
“I’m okay doing the laundry so you don’t have to worry about it,” Finland starts, staring at Sweden’s chest (it’s just at his eyelevel), then after a short pause, looks up into the bright oceanic eyes and smiles widely, “but thank you very much for doing it.”
Finland catches the wave of various shades of red colouring his housemate’s face before Sweden quickly turns away with a grunt, which he knows to mean ‘you’re welcome’. Then before Finland can say another word, Sweden puts the empty basket down and strides into the kitchen hurriedly, and Hana Tamago jumps out of Finland’s arms, running after the tall man. Although he cannot see Hana Tamago, Finland can hear its merry barks and the smile on his face grows wider.
Really, even if Sweden has a bit of a scary face, living with him is rather a pleasant warmth in his heart.
Then his ears catch the clangs of pans and utensils and the violet eyes widen as Finland rushes to the kitchen.
“Su-san, I’ll cook the lunch!”
“B’t…”
“Nothing to break my backbone over here, even you have to agree to that, right? Now, please, just take a seat, I’ll be quick.”
“…Nn.”
Finland lets out a relieved sigh as Sweden walks out of the kitchen and disappears into the living room. Turning back to the pans Sweden has already taken out, Finland wonders if there’s anyone who is as desperate as him to do the housework. Probably not.