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[smuttyandabsurd]

On the Cusp of Blooming (Netherlands x Indonesia)

Title: On the Cusp of Blooming Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia Character(s) or Pairing(s): Indonesia, Netherlands; Indonesia/Netherlands Rating: Explicit Additional tags: Flowers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Neck Kissing, Rough Kissing, Roughness, Tenderness, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Summary: Netherlands surprises Indonesia with an unannounced visit.

Heartfelt thanks to @eruverse for her support and ceaseless encouragements. I really enjoy our chats together about NedIndo ❤️

Read it on AO3.

“They said you would be here,” said the Netherlands. In his pale hand he held a bouquet of brightly coloured tulips, the buds on the cusp of blooming.

Indonesia closed the distance between them in two, three quick strides. He threw his arms over Netherlands’ (tall, lean, firm) shoulders and dragged him down for a kiss. Lips locked together, hands wrapped around one another, the two staggered in an ungainly tangle of limbs across the width of the garage until they bumped into the workbench set against the wall.

With lithe ease, Indonesia slid up onto the counter on his bum. Netherlands’ hands fumbled at the waistband of Indonesia’s tracksuit bottoms, his white long fingers hooking in and pulling down, cool against Indonesia’s heated flesh. Indonesia lifted his hips and shimmied eagerly out of his pants. His own hands, clad in work gloves, clawed at the collar of Netherlands’ shirt, wanting to tear it off.

“You’re getting motor oil all over me,” Netherlands murmured, his tone genial. Deftly, he caught Indonesia by his wrists and pulled them to one side. Indonesia writhed bodily as his hands snatched futilely at thin air.

“Want you… need you… to touch you…” he keened.

Netherlands’ lips twitched into a near imperceptible smile. Pinning Indonesia’s hands above his head, he leaned over and pressed their lips together in a deep kiss. He could feel Indonesia acquiescing underneath him, appeased, but his body still quivered like a tightly strung cord.

Reaching down with his free hand, Netherlands palmed at the growing erection in between Indonesia’s legs. A sharp gasp escaped Indonesia’s kiss-swollen lips.

“F-fuck!” he hissed. His eyes fluttered shut as he thrust desperately into Netherlands’ hand.

Matching his urgency, Netherlands wrapped his hand around Indonesia’s cock and squeezed, which incited a delicious whimper from the latter. He thumbed at the frenulum and swiped over the head of Indonesia’s glans, thinly spreading the pre-cum that was beading at the tip. Indonesia jerked at the touch and attempted to wrest his hands out of Netherlands’ grasp.

“Unhand me!” he snarled, his eyes black and wild.

Bucking bodily, he kicked out at the Netherlands – a move that was impeded by his pants scrunched around his feet. Netherlands simply held him down by his thigh. The sound Indonesia emitted at being thwarted was downright animalistic.

“Don't fight me,” Netherlands murmured, his tone still light, but there was an echo of the colonial master slipping in, unbidden and commanding.

And, in answer to a resurfacing habit, Indonesia fell limp, pliant.

Obedient.

“Good boy.”

Indonesia swallowed his shame as a stab of lust went straight to his groin.

Netherlands’ hand worked slowly, achingly slowly, to stoke his arousal. From the base to the tip, Netherlands massaged Indonesia’s length until it was practically weeping. A trickle of cum, thick and white and sticky, slid into Netherlands’ palm. He slicked it along Indonesia’s cock and began pumping in earnest.

Indonesia was trembling so hard that his breath came out in short, jerky, hitching gasps. He hung his head and let out a little whimper of want. A tight, coiling sensation was growing in the pit of his stomach… he was close… and it would have been easy, so perfectly wonderfully simple, to give in to Netherlands’ ministrations…

With a burst of determination, Indonesia wrenched his hands free of Netherlands’ grasp and, capitalising on Netherlands’ surprise, hooked his arms around his neck and pulled him down so their faces were mere inches apart.

“I want you too,” he said breathlessly. “Please, you too… you too, sayang…”

Netherlands’ jaw clenched. Suddenly, he pushed Indonesia down onto the counter. His hand paused mid-stroke on Indonesia’s dick, causing the latter to let out an unhappy whimpering protest. With his free hand, he undid the fly of his trousers and brought out his own achingly hard cock.

Indonesia watched with bated breath as Netherlands aligned their cocks together and resumed stroking.

The heat, the hardness, the sheer glorious velvety sensation… It was almost too much. Throwing back his head, Indonesia let out a low moan of uninhibited pleasure. As Netherlands dipped down and nipped at his bared throat, Indonesia’s clawing hands found purchase on the back of his shirt, his fingernails scratching uselessly within the confines of his gloves.

It wasn’t long before Indonesia came with a shuddering groan. His release spurted in small wet ropes that adorned the chest and torso of his grease-stained singlet – as well as the side of his chin. The sight of the stray cum on Indonesia’s face – pearly white on sun-kissed skin – pushed Netherlands to finish, and he came too with a muted grunt.

The two paused to catch their breaths as they climbed down from the giddying heights of their climax. Netherlands rested his forehead on Indonesia’s as they shared the sparse air between them. Then, Indonesia pulled away and flopped uncomfortably back onto the work counter. His chest heaved. He was hot and sticky all over with sweat and spend, and he yearned deeply for a cold bath.

Netherlands’ hand traced along the curve of Indonesia’s cheek and gently cupped the side of his face. Slowly, their lips met in a soft, languid kiss. A different kind of ache was blooming now inside of Indonesia. It almost hurt.

Indonesia held Netherlands’ hand on his cheek with his own and slowly interlocked their fingers together.

“Welcome back,” he whispered.

And tenderly, he kissed the palm of Netherlands’ hand.

[smuttyandabsurd]

Reblog this post if you are an ACTIVE HETALIA WRITER (2024)

[smuttyandabsurd]

i am taking your face in my hands, i am gently smooshing it, and I am saying lovingly, with every fiber of my being

please tell the creators of things you like that you like those things

[smuttyandabsurd]

Tons of love! Big fan of Rocket Man!

Thank you, anon (⸝⸝๑ ̫ ๑⸝⸝⸝)

[smuttyandabsurd]

Fanart by the super talented @jestermarotte! Thank you so much for bringing my fic to life with your amazing skills! The attention to detail is simply astounding—it’s everything I envisioned when writing and more! I am honoured and truly humbled to have my fic brought to life by your hand ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

A huge thanks as well to the lovely @one-more-mossman for commissioning this amazing piece! It was completely unexpected! You are so good to me, and I can never repay your kindness and generosity (｡Ó﹏Ò｡)

Rocket Man (America x Russia)

Title: Rocket Man Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, Russia; America/Russia Rating: Mature Warnings: Accents. Blow Jobs. Dubious Consent. Bribery. Corruption. Power Imbalance. Xenophobia. Summary: Ivan is stopped by a young blond (and not entirely unattractive) traffic cop, and foolishly attempts to bribe his way out of a ticket. Cop!AU.

I spent way too long writing this orz

Read it on AO3.

Keep reading

[smuttyandabsurd]

I wanted to come by and say I really like your writing! Do you have any ships you don't write? Actually, before I ask that do you take requests? Also I was curious how long have you been into hetalia? And how long have you been writing fanfiction (can be for any fandom)? Also what was the fandom like on LiveJournal? I joined after that time but I'll find random hetalia stuff on LJ and it really peeks my interest! Anyways, I hope you are having a good day! And know that you are amazing! -🪽 p. s. Sorry for all the questions I'm a curious person

Thank you, anon, I'm so glad you like my silly scribbles ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

I'm open to requests, but I can't guarantee if or when I will fulfil them, sorry! I struggle lately with writing and actually only recently came out of a 6-year long "hiatus" ( • ᴖ • ｡)

Every time I've said I won't write xyz pairing because I don't really ship them, I've gone and done just that and written them lol! I like to challenge myself so I guess anything goes.

I've been writing since the age of... 7 or 8, I want to say? Specifically fanfiction and posting online - since 12. Specifically specifically writing for Hetalia - since I was 16. I'm 33 now. Feel free to do the math ε-(´∀｀; )

I'm probably not the best person to describe the LJ scene with my sieve for a memory, but I remember it being really fun and involved and interactional. It's definitely different to modern fandom spaces.

Anyway thanks for stopping by, very happy to hear you enjoy my fics, and thanks for the message ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

[smuttyandabsurd]

I am a big fan of your rupru! Hope to see more in the future!

This was very unexpected and kind of you, thank you anon (ˊᗜˋ*) ♡

[smuttyandabsurd]

3x Book!Armand-centric fics

Shameless plug for the Vampire Chronicles fics written in my youth that are surprisingly Not Terrible TM. Book canon-verse, of course, but I hope they can be enjoyed by both book and show-only fans of Armand.

Blood Kiss [AO3] (Armand/Marius de Romanus) He lies in intoxicated sleep, a Fallen Angel. Why must I love his beauty, his insubordination? Marius consummates his love for Amadeo.

Simmering Poison [AO3] (Armand/Daniel Molloy) The things I touch, I see, I hear, smell, taste! – they serve to remind me of my mortality, the fragility of my human existence, that one day all around me would cease to be. And it maddens me to know that it need not be so! Daniel anguishes over his mortality.

The Saint Unmasked [AO3] (Armand/David Talbot) Beautiful and eternally young, the face of a Boticelli angel. Refined cheekbones betray his Slavic heritage, and those smouldering eyes hint at his calculated cunning. The Vampire Armand, dangerously seductive, a hunter and a blood drinker most capable of cruelty, in the deceptive form of a 17-year-old innocent. David Talbot admires Armand in all his beauty. Set to take place at the very end of The Vampire Armand.

If you enjoyed reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

[smuttyandabsurd]

That's really sweet of you, I'm glad my fics spoke to you so *hugs*

I'm always shocked to see my follower count on this blog considering how little and infrequently I update, especially after 2016 (depression is one hell of a drug).

Curious, but if you won't mind sharing:

How did you find this blog? And;

Why did you follow me?

[smuttyandabsurd]

I'm always shocked to see my follower count on this blog considering how little and infrequently I update, especially after 2016 (depression is one hell of a drug).

Curious, but if you won't mind sharing:

How did you find this blog? And;

Why did you follow me?

[smuttyandabsurd]

Still writing Hetalia fanfiction in the year of our lord 2024? Want to make fandom friends or just find that extra push to keep writing?

Then sign up to the HETALIA WRITERS’ ASSOCIATION today!

We are an active Discord server offering:

Writing: Fics, WIPs, headcanons, and review exchanges

Support: Stuck with plotting? Looking for a brainstorming buddy or reliable beta-reader? Need a hand with research? We gotchu!

Prompts: Take part in our word prompt challenges and flex your creativity – or don't! No pressure here :)

Get Featured: All members' fics are featured in our monthly round-up posts on our blog @aphfanficwriters

Gain new friends, fans and readers, and chat daily with seasoned fandom veterans who are still going strong (=ヮ=)೨

18+ members only. Antis & fanpols need not apply. This is an English-speaking group. Please reblog to spread the word, thanks!

[smuttyandabsurd]

I hope every writer who sees this writes LOADS the next few months. Like freetime opens up, no writers block, the ability to focus, etc etc you're able to write loads & make lots of progress <3

[smuttyandabsurd]

For Your Eyes Only (Japan x Netherlands)

Title: For Your Eyes Only Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia Character(s) or Pairing(s): Japan, Netherlands; Japan/Netherlands, minor Indonesia/Netherlands Rating: Mature Warnings: Jealousy, Possessive Behaviour Summary: Japan finds marks on Netherlands' body left by a most possessive lover.

This short fic was inspired by my talks with @eruverse about Indonesia-Netherlands relations. I have to defer to her for all things IndoNed, but I happen to be somewhat knowledgeable on Japan-Netherlands relations so... here it is.

Read it on AO3.

Japan blinked. Lightly, with the tip of his forefinger, he traced the angry red welts that littered Netherlands’ back. These were new, barely healed, and deep. Netherlands flinched under his touch.

“Does it hurt?” Japan asked softly.

Netherlands looked over his shoulder and met his eyes. “Mmn,” was all he emitted around the tobacco pipe clamped between his teeth.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Japan leaned down and gently kissed one of the raised welts. With his lips hovering over Netherlands’ skin, he asked, “What kind of a person is this, ah, koibito of yours?”

He had to repeat the word again – koibito. And he traced the kanji for koi on the palm of Netherlands’ hand. Ten little strokes representing love, yearning, romance. Netherlands’ face was still as a calm lake, but his green eyes were fixed with an intensity to the invisible character in his palm.

“Someone invaluable,” he finally said.

He turned away and removed the pipe from his mouth. Japan felt he was being dismissed. That he couldn’t stand. He kissed Netherlands’ back again, softly at first, then with pressure. His lips latched to Netherlands’ skin, and he sucked hard enough to leave his own mark.

In a thrice, Netherlands spun around and grabbed hold of Japan by the collar of his yukata, slamming him down onto the tatami. Japan’s breath expelled violently from his lungs as he landed on his back. He stared up at Netherlands’ face which rippled now with irritation. A lake disturbed from a small thrown pebble.

“Don’t do that,” Netherlands ground out tightly.

Japan raised his hand and gently cupped the side of Netherlands’ face. I’m sorry, was his unspoken plea, his eyes dropping in a display of contrition.

Netherlands’ frown slowly melted as his anger abated. He leaned into Japan’s palm, planting a small kiss to the inside of Japan’s wrist, over his pulse, in forgiveness.

They bridged the space between them easily as their lips met with a long-practised familiarity. Netherlands’ hands slid underneath Japan’s yukata, and gently, carefully, he unwrapped Japan from its confines, pulling it over his small shoulders and down to bunch around his obi. Japan’s foot slid up the tatami floor as he raised his knee and pressed it in between Netherlands’ legs.

“I want you,” Japan said softly, practically sighing in the sultry manner he knew to excite Netherlands. When Netherlands reached down, however, Japan caught his hand and held it still. “No, he whispered, and slowly he thumbed across Netherlands’ lips. “Sono kuchi dake desu.”

Netherlands’ mouth twitched in the corners with the faintest trace of a smile. Without hesitation, he descended on Japan and spread his legs apart, kissing the tip of Japan’s member which jumped to life at the touch of his lips. As he engulfed Japan’s length into the warmth of his mouth, Japan arched his back and sighed in pleasure. His hand fell to rest on Netherlands’ head, twirling his fingers into the straw of Netherlands’ hair, as the latter pleasured him thoroughly.

Tomorrow Netherlands would leave Dejima and sail back to the one he calls his kostbaarst sieraad. But in this moment, at least, in the balm of a late spring evening, they belonged only to one another.

-

Translations:

恋人 koibito = “lover”; “significant other”

その口だけです sono kuchi dake desu = “(use) only your mouth”

kostbaarst sieraad = “most precious jewel”

-

Historical contexts:

Japan-Netherlands relations Under the Tokugawa shogunate’s isolationist foreign policy of sakoku or “locked country”, the Dutch emerged as Japan’s sole link to the West. Despite being confined to Dejima, a man-made island off the coast of Nagasaki, Dutch traders facilitated the exchange of ideas between Japanese and Dutch scholars. This led to the establishment of rangaku or “Dutch studies” which enabled Japan to stay abreast of Western advancements.

Indonesia-Netherlands relations Kostbaarst sieraad is a reference to this Dutch print representing the Netherlands Empire holding its crown jewel, the colonial Dutch East Indies and present day Indonesia.

[smuttyandabsurd]

Thank you so much @cluster-bi ilu uwu

I'd like to give a shoutout to @smuttyandabsurd she's an awesome writer that makes so many fun scenarios with these blorbos.

♥♡∞:｡.｡ 　Positivity for @smuttyandabsurd ｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[smuttyandabsurd]

How did Alfred die?

Hi anon, I'm assuming you're referring to my latest fic Off Days? In which case Alfred was a soldier who died in war in the Middle East.

[smuttyandabsurd]

Off Days (England x Greece)

Title: Off Days Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, Greece; England/Greece, minor America/England Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Suicidal Thoughts Summary: After Alfred's death, Arthur is left with a void in his life, and he goes to Greece to relive the memories of their last holiday together. There he meets Herakles, a young Greek man who unexpectedly guides him to a path of healing.

This fic has been in WIP hell for 10 years, but I finally found the push to finish it. Originally written as a follow-up to an even older fic The Ghost of You.

Thank you @cluster-bi and @all-turns-to-moss for your help and insight.

Read it on AO3.

The phones were ringing all around, and Arthur kneaded his forehead as he weathered through a viciously abusive barrage from an irate customer.

“Sir, please lower your voice or I will be forced to terminate this call.”

When the customer screeched at him for being a stupid script-reading monkey (“Sir, please try to keep this conversation civil...”), told him to fuck off (“…this is your second warning…”), and finally, to go kill yourself, he ended the call with a tight-voiced, “I am terminating this call. Please call again when you can hold a professional conversation. Good day.”

He hung up and punched in an idle code before the phone could ring again, then rose to his feet. Fifteen minutes, he signalled to his harried-looking team leader who gave a terse nod.

It was not as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before. He had thought of it, repeatedly, but only as a shadow which he had never voiced aloud. He did not have to do it now that a customer had said it for him: Go kill yourself!

His walk in the bitter spitting cold brought him to his usual haunt, a pedestrian overpass stretched across a busy road at the back of the office building. He leaned against the railings, nursing a Styrofoam cup of milky tea from the vending machine. A tonne truck blared as it bounced along under the bridge. He wondered what it would feel like to fall under those wheels.

Vaguely, on an unconscious impulse, he stepped onto the bottom rung of the railings and leaned all his weight forward. All that stopped him from falling now was a thin sheet of rusting metal digging into his hips.

It felt… wrong. It felt very wrong, and a primal survival instinct screamed at him to step back!

No, no. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it right. He would do it on his own terms, which was most certainly not at the back of a dilapidated office building at the behest of some prick over the phone.

Ten minutes later, he was back at his desk filing for a two-week holiday request. His team leader would have to approve it; it was getting near the end of the business year, and holidays were not transferable over to the next.

He spent the rest of the day looking up cheap flights to Greece in between phone calls.

-

It was stiflingly hot when he landed in Heraklion International Airport. Mercifully, an air-conditioned coach had been arranged to shuttle him and other tourists to their lodgings for the week. They sped past brown scrubs and fields of olive trees with the sea looming to the left, lapping mutedly under a harsh afternoon sun.

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling a wave of nausea as the coach hurtled along. He imagined Alfred beside him, combing warm gentle fingers through his sweat-dampened hair and murmuring comforting endearments.

“You’re going to be alright, babe.”

There was no Alfred, but he did remember to bring his motion sickness medicine. He took them with a swallow of water before leaning back into his seat with a sigh.

-

After booking into his room, Arthur dumped his suitcase, stepped out of the compound, and went over to the corner shop he had spotted on the way in.

The shop was well-shaded inside from the sun and dust. He browsed a few souvenirs on display before collecting a fresh bottle of water, a Cornetto ice cream (mint-flavoured, which had been Alfred’s favourite), and a box of Paracetamol. He had to point at the last item through a glass case so the shop owner could retrieve it from behind the counter.

It took some time for the large-built and rather sleepy-eyed Greek to tot everything up on an old cash register before finally intoning, “8 euros 30 cents.”

A cat leapt onto the counter and stretched atop a stack of newspaper as Arthur peeled a tenner from his wallet and handed it over. “Keep the change,” he said.

He was leaving the shop, pulling the Cornetto out of the bag and gritting the tip in between his teeth, when he happened to glance back.

The Greek youth was picking up the cat and cradling it in the crook of a strong tanned arm.

-

A pleasant sea breeze picked up in the evening, but Arthur was forced to shut the windows against a cloud of mosquitoes.

He had just come out of the shower, the water tasting salty on his skin. Rubbing a towel into his hair, he padded over to the dresser and picked up a box of matches, striking one alight. He lit a few lemon-scented tea lights and spent a few minutes spacing them out around the room as further ward against the mosquitoes.

A tea light was left on the dresser, which sat with a long unflickering flame before a row of pill bottles. Most were painkillers or sleeping pills, but there was also a haphazard collection of cough and cold medicines in blister packs he had dug up from the bathroom cabinet back home. They were all over-the-counter medication he had bought from different drugstores over a period of time.

He took the box of Paracetamol from the corner shop and placed it with the rest. A grim satisfaction settled on his face as he studied the growing pile.

There was also a framed photograph of himself and Alfred leaning on the dresser which had been taken two years ago at the beach. Alfred was handsomely tanned, wearing a white shirt that clung tightly to a soldier’s physique, and his eyes were as blue as the hot Greek summer sky in the backdrop. He had his arm around Arthur as they posed, Arthur standing a little more stiffly but looking just as happy.

He picked up the frame and smiled faintly at the memory of that summer holiday, just before Alfred was dispatched. He gazed longingly at Alfred, wishing he could touch and kiss him and take in his scent – a mixture of fast-food grease and mint chewing gum, and some cheap dreadful deodorant he insisted on using.

“I love you,” Arthur whispered before he could stop himself, a verbal habit resurfacing now that he was back in Greece even though there was no Alfred to reciprocate his love.

-

He was seeing a lot of the young Greek man from the corner shop.

There were the morning visits for bottled waters and mosquito repellent, and lately he even took to dropping by in the afternoons for refreshments. Half a week flew past in this way. Today was a Thursday and, as evening approached, he found the youth working behind an open bar whilst he was out on a walk along the beach.

Their eyes met and lingered with a familiarity, forest into olive green. It was becoming difficult not to acknowledge him properly after all the times they have seen each other.

He went over to the bar and glanced along the row of beer pumps before deciding on one.

“I’ll have a pint, please,” he said, tapping on his choice.

The youth pulled out a fresh glass. “3 euros,” he said as he pulled him a draft.

“Cheers.”

One pint led to six as the sun dipped and extinguished itself in the ocean. A chill stole silently over the beach, and after two whiskeys and an ouzo shot (courtesy of a high-spirited bar owner), Arthur found himself doubled over a gutter at the front retching up his guts.

The vomiting had started with chunks of a half-digested fish dinner before turning into liquid bile. Shivering and heaving wretchedly, he took turns clinging to a man – young, handsome, firm muscles – and pushing him away, unable to make up his mind.

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with abuse, as the stranger caught him from tripping onto the pavement and into his own vomit.

“Come with me. We will go somewhere quieter.”

He was half-walked, half-dragged out of the bar and back onto the sand, led away from the thumping, pulsing music and partying undergraduates who were drinking themselves into oblivion.

The sea air breezed over Arthur, drying the perspiration that was sticking his clothes to his skin. His head was clearing and his roiling stomach was beginning to settle. After half a minute’s walk, he felt a lot better. He leaned into the stranger’s arms, trusting him a little more.

After some time, they stopped at a piece of driftwood log and sat down. The world was spinning, and Arthur dropped his head into his hands with a low moan.

“Drink this.”

He was offered a bottle of mineral water, ice cold and dripping with condensation with the cap already twisted off. He accepted it gratefully, rinsing out his mouth of vomit and bile before drinking his fill in big greedy gulps.

“Thanks!” he gasped after he had finished.

The stranger took the bottle from him, capped it, and placed it gently in the sand before him.

A cloud cleared from the moon, and Arthur could finally focus on the stranger’s face. It was none other than the Greek youth from the shop and bar. He was still in his bar uniform, smelling of dish soap water and stale cigarettes. He had on his usual stoic face that was not unfriendly.

“What’s your name?” he asked in a deep but youthful voice, his olive-green eyes taking on a soulful solemnity. Arthur felt his heart skip a beat.

“Arthur,” he said, feeling himself flush. “And yours?” he said hurriedly.

“Herakles.”

Like the demigod, Arthur thought to himself. Or he may have thought it out loud as Herakles cracked a soft rare smile, just for him.

They sat on the log together, staring out at the ocean and the slowly lightening sky, letting the gently lapping waves to fill the silence that had formed comfortably between them.

-

My darling, I am sorry. I do not have the courage. I miss you dreadfully. I love you.

Arthur stared blankly at the words he had written. He was sitting in the balcony of his room and the wind was picking up, causing the corners of his journal’s pages to flap. Sighing, he closed the book and smoothed his hand over the cover.

He had purchased the journal along with a cheap blue Biro for the trip with every intention of writing his will in it. An embarrassing sentiment, in retrospect, considering that he had nothing to his name and hardly anyone that he knew or cared to leave anything to. After a moment, he tossed the journal aside and reached for a tattered paperback. He flipped through the dog-eared pages to get to where he stopped last.

He hadn’t made much headway with the book, but he had every intention of giving a good go of it now that he wasn’t planning on dying anymore.

-

At some point Arthur must have fallen asleep, for the next moment he awoke with a jolt to find that evening had crept up on him.

He jumped up to his feet and stretched, his body stiff from having lain in the deckchair all afternoon. Stifling a yawn, he padded over to the edge of the balcony and leaned against the railing. The wind from the day had died to a gentle caressing breeze and it felt nice on his sunburnt skin.

Down in the courtyard was a lone figure in knee-length khakis and an unbuttoned shirt circling the swimming pool with a stick. On closer inspection, Arthur made out that the stick had a net at the end which the man was dragging across the surface of the pool to fish out any debris. He watched as the man worked, slightly mesmerised by the ripples forming in the water. Slowly, he recognised the man to be Herakles, the shopkeeper slash barman slash (he supposed?) hotel pool cleaner…

Arthur dashed into his room and straight out the door before he could realise what he was doing. He took the stairs two at a time, his sandals slapping loudly on the concrete steps as he clattered down to the ground floor. He almost slipped on the last stair, his arms windmilling wildly and rather comically to any errant observer, but he righted himself at the last moment, and he continued in the direction of the pool.

His heart beat tightly in his chest as he ran.

Herakles was emptying the net of leaves and twigs when Arthur, gasping and perspiring profusely, burst into the courtyard. The young man watched curiously as Arthur rounded the pool and came to a stop in front of him, his hands on his knees as he stood doubled over and panting.

“Last night, I… I…” Arthur gasped out in between frantic gulps of air.

Gradually, as he caught his breath, and Herakles showed every sign of waiting patiently for him, Arthur pushed himself from his knees and stood up straight.

“Thank you,” he said. “Last night, when you listened to me talk- I, uh… want to thank you. I hope I didn’t come across... well.” He cleared his throat. “I just wanted… to thank you. Yeah.”

He turned and made to slink away, suddenly overcome with embarrassment – god, the boy was only helping out a drunken old fool! – but Herakles grabbed hold of his arm and held him back.

“You are welcome,” Herakles said haltingly, smiling softly. Then a little more solemnly, “Alfred seemed to be a good man. I am sorry for your loss.”

Arthur felt his lips quiver. He sniffed, trying to stave off the prickling in his eyes, but the tears came unbidden and slid noiselessly down his cheeks. He hadn’t realised it, but it had been a long time since anybody had said Alfred’s name out loud to him.

The silent tears gave way to a low keening that seemed to rise from the very depths. His shoulders began to shake. A small sob bubbled up in his throat. Then, like a dam breaking, he was crying. He dropped to his knees, dropped his face into his palms, and began crying in earnest.

Herakles joined him on the ground, his hand rubbing Arthur’s back gently, reassuringly. It was warm and comforting.

[smuttyandabsurd]

(Never) Let Me Go (Prussia x Russia)

Title: (Never) Let Me Go Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia Character(s) or Pairing(s): Prussia, Russia; Prussia/Russia Rating: Mature Warnings: Dubious Consent Summary: Ivan is gently possessive of Gilbert.

Originally a request on Tumblr.

Read it on AO3.

No sooner had the door swung closed, swallowing the room in gloom, Ivan pushed Gilbert up against the wall and kissed him.

Gilbert was thin. His body hung like a sack of bones in Ivan’s hands. His skin was stretched tight like a drum, white and skull-like, over his gaunt face. All of it had stood in sharp relief under the glare of the white fluorescents, and it had hurt Ivan to see him so.

So frail, so brittle…

“Fuck, Braginsky, that hurts!” Gilbert hissed against his lips.

Suddenly conscious of how hard he was gripping, Ivan loosened his hold and Gilbert veritably shrunk, the heels of his boots landing with a dull clomp on the wooden floorboards.

“Sorry,” Ivan whispered.

They stood staring into one another, red into violet, their eyes adjusting to the dark and their breaths filling the space between them in place of words.

Then, slowly, Ivan leaned in and breathed, “Can I touch you?”

A shiver ran up Gilbert’s spine and his eyes fluttered close, acquiescent.

Taking off his peaked cap and smoothing back his hair, Ivan leaned in and captured Gilbert in another kiss. Gilbert’s lips were cold, scratchy, and winter-chapped, but pliant. They parted easily as Ivan deepened the kiss.

It was a long moment before Gilbert pulled away for air. The back of his head thumped into the wall, causing his own cap to slide askew, and his Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed. Ivan buried his nose into the crook of Gilbert’s neck and inhaled. Gilbert smelled of rain, cigarette smoke, and the acrid belch of diesel cars. He smelled of the city.

“Let me go,” Gilbert said dully.

Ivan ignored him. He plucked open the buttons of Gilbert’s great coat and slid his hands inside. Oh, but he was so thin…

He knelt in one smooth motion, propping his cap on the floor so his hands were free. He took Gilbert’s hands in his. They were red and raw from the cold and felt dry as paper. He circled his thumbs over the back of Gilbert’s hands in a gentle effort to warm him, comfort him.

Gilbert’s face hardened into steel as Ivan released his hands and undid the buckle of his belt.

There was no art to his ministrations. Ivan unbuttoned his trousers, opened his mouth, and took Gilbert into the cavern of his mouth. Gilbert’s hardening member slid in easily. Despite himself, a low pleasured sigh escaped Gilbert as Ivan began to suck in earnest. With his lips sheathing his teeth, Ivan bobbed his head shallowly, slowly taking in Gilbert’s length from tip to root.

“Braginsky…” Gilbert moaned. A plea.

It wasn’t long before Gilbert felt the beckoning of an orgasm which he fought to hold back, hoping against vain hope that Ivan would pull away, but he never did.

His white fingers carded themselves into Ivan’s hair and tugged. His nails dug into Ivan’s scalp, causing Ivan to let out a pained noise that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper, but the latter did not stop. Sensing that Gilbert was close, Ivan only quickened his pace.

Doubling over slightly, Gilbert managed to gasp out in between breathless pants, “I-I’m coming!”

Ivan tilted his head upwards as Gilbert’s release spurted thickly into his mouth. He swallowed greedily. It left a burning slimy-textured aftertaste as it slid down his throat, but he did not care. As Gilbert pulled away, he licked his lips.

Rising to his feet, he held Gilbert’s pale face in his large cold hands and kissed him softly, reverently.

Never, was his unspoken reply to Gilbert’s plea.

And Gilbert understood.