#england x reader

[pxstelmxsings]

+ immortal characters x reader musing for anon. I deleted the ask by mistake.

They are old, inhumanily old. They can count on one hand how many other are the same age or older than themselves. Nations have raisen, fallen, and forgotten to the sands of time right before them. Ancient languages still thrive on their tongues. The knowledge they hold shall continue to fill libraries for centuries to come.

♡ Needless to say, age gaps within relationships no longer bother them. How can something unavoidable bother them? Anyone who they will love is simply human. They chose to focus on trying to spend as much time with you as possible.

♡ Zhongli, Alucard, Seteth, Kokushibo, England

✿ They hate falling in love. You will grow old and die. You will leave their side, and there is nothing they can do about it. Once you are gone, how long will your laugh haunt them? How long will they see you out of the corner of their eyes? Dreams will be torturous for decades to come.

But oh... they can't help it. You are a light they are powerless against.

✿ Xiao, Scaramouche/Wander, Flayn, Akaza, Prussia, Japan

✧ They see finding new love as a beautiful new adventure. Your love will be a story they will be carried within their stories for centuries to come. As time flies by, humans will see you are an old folklore, a love story to stand the test of time.

But they know you were real and that they loved you deeply.

✧ Tiki, Venti, Neuvillette, S.italy, France, China

[yawujin]

bwaaaah hetalia allies with s/o who's a virgin /// or, nsfw for their first time OUUUGGH!! also, what's ur limit for how many characters u write? I'd ask for both allies n axis but don't wanna bombard that many on u !! ^^

don't worry about that, i got youu ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) enjoy!! 🤍

hetalia allies & axis | first time 💭 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

type | nsfw , smut , they/them pronouns used , established relationship , light hearted , first time trope

author's note* part two is here 🤍

allies ♥︎

america/alfred f. jones

he's really excited and is prone to getting carried away.

it will take direct communication from his s/o to get him to calm down and take things slow. he can respect that, so he does.

he's making sure to be careful in everything he does, tracking his pace so he goes slow enough to not overwhelm them but fast enough to not bore them

he really really wants their approval...so he's doing the best he can (he wants that sweet praise after all is said and done)

england/arthur kirkland

he's like really anxious so if they're able to help him through that, that would be really great

he just has this fear that he'll hurt them so he is really gentle, it's an expectation that he's aware of so he just automatically does it

he's very encouraging and accepting towards mostly anything his s/o does during sex. he's the type to urge them to let it all out if they want to moan but are holding back. he also really wants them to grab onto anything of his, really. but only if they want to

he'll want to hurry and get them cleaned up as soon as they both finish, so they don't have to feel uncomfortable...especially after their first time

france/francis bonnefoy

he makes it very sweet, very loving, and makes sure that they feel comfortable before they even begin.

he'll give them words of affirmation, and letting them know they're free to back out at anytime. "if you want a break, just say the word and we'll have a break." france kisses their cheek

he's very vocal, complimenting them on their expressions, sounds and on their figure.

afterwards, he'll want to lie down and hold them. he'll tell them just how much he appreciates them and say what his favorite parts were. he'll ask them what theirs were, too.

canada/matthieu williams

he's shy but not anxious. being gentle is in his dna, so it comes to him automatically

"i never want you to feel uncomfortable..." he says. his voice is soft and sweet.

he's the type to guide them through it, putting his hand on theirs and placing it somewhere on his body. it's especially helpful if they're the type to not know where to touch.

i feel like he'd want to kiss them a lot, but he understands if they don't want to or get overwhelmed.

russia/ivan braginsky

first of all, he puts in effort to not look scary because he knows he can be intimidating

and since sex can be intimidating to some, he really tries to get them to have fun with it

he tries to do the same, and not take himself too seriously

he saves the sweet talk for after they both finish. for now, he wants to savor the moment with them and moan into their ear, watching how they react to all of it, all of him. he likes the fact that it's brand new to them, but he'll like it even more if he can please them...so he focuses on that.

china/yao wang

he's very well versed in helping people feel relaxed, especially during a moment that can be so overwhelming for some.

of course , it helps that he's experienced, too. that way he can reassure them and promise that he's going to make his s/o feel great

he's already prepared the essentials (i'll leave it up to the readers to guess what those are winkk)

he knows already that he's going to need to take things easy at first. it's really fortunate that he's good at tracking his pacing, and reading expressions. he keeps asking them if they feel alright, and if it's okay for him to continue. if they consent, he'll give them a quick kiss on the forehead before going back to what he was doing.

axis ♥︎

north italy/feliciano vargas

he's all smiles. he's just happy that he gets to be their first.

he's excited!! but he respects them completely, so he asks what exactly they want to happen.

italy is here to fufill their wishes. and that he does.

he can't help but hold them tightly in the heat of the moment, going in for a quick collection of kisses before pulling away for some air. he's getting desperate but he asks for permission before doing anything else.

germany/ludwig beilschmidt

he's nervous ngl but he knows what to do so he approaches this *situation* practically

he prolongs the foreplay just so he can give them a taste of what's to come also so he can get an idea of what they might like or dislike

he overthinks a lot of what people say and what their body language is so he takes that into account before they begin

he's the one to ask: "can i do this?" "is this okay with you?" before going any further. if they didn't know any better they'd think it's his first time with the hesistant way he goes about this (it's kind of sweet, since he's usually so direct)

japan/kiku honda

he's very sweet towards them, now more than ever

he says it's okay if they're nervous, but he really wants to know how they want to go about this

he urges them to talk about exactly what they want, so he can give it to them just as they prefer

he delivers; making them feel cared for from the very moment they start making out to the final moments where he's looking at them, even if they're too shy to maintain eye contact

prussia/gilbert beilschmidt

similar to his brother germany, prussia is direct and he uses this as a guide for them

he gently asks them if they can do a certain thing, letting them ease into it and letting them take the lead without so much pressure. he reminds them they can say no if he unknowingly asks too much of them

he does this because he'd rather not risk coming on too strong (he doesn't want to let his eccentricity get the better of him and overwhelm or scare his s/o ☹️)

he's happy with whatever they want to do and gives them a little bit of praise to encourage them further

south italy/lovino vargas

he tones down his usual blunt and outspoken demeanor just for them, reminding them that it's okay not to take themselves so seriously

he uses touch as a way to soothe their nerves, constantly holding any, and every part of them in one way or another

he goes ahead with touching them in the typical ways most people like, but tells them that they should let him know if they don't like something right away

as he gets accquainted with everything they do like though, he'll tell his s/o how amazing they feel, on almost every part of their body.

[stonesilhouette]

Feline Fiasco

Hetalia x Reader

This is written for a female reader but there isn't really anything specific that would suggest that besides a few references. If you want to read, I'm not going to stop you.

Also (Y/n) is completely uninterested in the countries for the majority of this, all she's interested in is the cats. This is way fluffier than anything else I've posted, which is two things, and this part is relatively America-centric because (Y/n) works for him. This is also way less quality work than those two posts but idk deal with it?

There is more to this but it's unfinished and I'll probably never post it. My friend also helped with the cat names so if you don't like them... uh assume that they chose them. One last note, I thought it would be funny to write the accents so you also have to deal with that.

As one of the many secretaries working in the White House, it was actually quite a surprise to you that you ended up as the main secretary to the human personification of the U.S.A.

Because of this, you had become quite close to Mr. F. Jones and more importantly: his cat.

You couldn't help but coo at the adorable and floofy feline. Sure, you should probably finish filing those papers, but national security can wait a few more minutes. Besides you couldn't resist the allure of the purr. It would be an understatement to say, when you learned that the other personifications also had furry friends of their own, you were excited.

America didn't want you interacting with the other countries, especially not Russia. But you honestly didn't care and you weren't the recording secretary for those meetings, so it's not like you were in attendance anyways. That somehow didn't stop you from having to tag along and meeting more nation cats; of which you weren't sure why they had brought them along in the first place. It's not like you were complaining.

Ball of fur after ball of fur. No cat went un-petted. Except for Germany's cat; he had evaded you time and time again. But no longer! For today was the last day and you were going to pet that cat if it was the last thing you did.

There it was. It's sleek black fur, the ribbon in Germany's signature colors around its neck, and that always alert look on its face. He would evade you no more. You crouched down in your very inflexible pencil skirt and prepared to pounce.

"Vhat are jou doing?" A voice thick with a German accent called out, startling you and the cat who decided to bound back towards him and into his arms.

"Uhhhh." You blanked.

"You're America's secretary right? Vat vere jou trying to do to my cat?" He questioned, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

You gulped and tried to explain your actions in a way that didn't sound absolutely ridiculous.

"I-uh. I wanted to pet your cat and… he kept evading me and I thought if I snuck up on him that I could pet him." You looked away and pitifully whispered, "Sorry."

"If jou vanted to pet him, all you had to do was ask."

"Really!?" Your eyes lit up and you looked up at the German with pure and unbridled excitement. He coughed and looked away with a slight blush resting on his cheeks.

"Of course." He held the cat out. You, with no hesitation whatsoever, immediately started to adore and love the cat, even shifting it from Germany's arms to your own.

As you continued to pet the cat, who despite his earlier refusal, seemed quite happy, you asked Germany a question. "My name's (Y/n). What's yours if you're willing to share? No pressure though."

His eyes widened a bit before he shook it off and gave you an answer. "Ludwig Beilschmidt." He responded, studying his cat. "Germouser seems to like jou."

You could barely stifle a laugh at the name he had given to the black cat. He sensed your amusement and gave an explanation.

"Feli- Italy named him. I vas going to name him Johann or something similar. Italy was zoroughly horrified by my suggestions and vould not rest until I vent vith his."

You smiled at the Italian's antics and shook your head with amusement. "Germouser is a fine name for an absolutely wonderful cat."

Germany seemed to get flustered again as he watched you coo at his cat, completely ignoring his presence. He would have just left him with you, but the meeting was starting soon and he didn't want to be late. Luckily for him, America decided to pop around the corner, demanding your attention. So you were forced to give up the precious kitty cat and return with Mr. Jones.

Alfred was annoyed. Not at you but at everyone else. Why did they have any right to be around you? You were an American citizen. His citizen. Sure, all you were really interested in was their cats. But what if you thought that they and their cats were so cool that you left him and went to live in a different country instead? He couldn't let that happen.

"So, (Y/n), dude, broette." He said on the way to the meeting room. "Here's the deal."

You gave him a look and raised an eyebrow.

"I need someone to watch Hero for me and my sitter flaked so you're gonna be watching him." He fingered-gunned at you and stars seemed to shine in the air around him. This, of course, was nothing new to you. It wasn’t like you would have rather been attending the meeting anyways.

So you stayed in a different unoccupied meeting room with a lovely, furry friend. It wasn't until he started hissing at a corner that you were in trouble.

"Hero, what's wrong?" You asked, concerned at the agitated cat. His tail bristled up and his ears flattened down as he took a defensive position. Out of nowhere another fluffy cat waltzed in from the very corner that Hero had been hissing at. It was Boris, a cat that belonged to Russia.

You hadn't actually gotten to pet him yet because to be honest, you were also scared of Russia. But… He wasn't around… and his cat was. And his cat was purring.

That was about all the reasoning that you needed to brush past Hero and scoop Boris up into your arms. The former started yowling for your attention and followed you as you went to sit down with the Russian cat.

You laid down on the plush carpeted floor and lifted the cat that you were holding up above you. Boris’ fluffy body was placed onto your chest and he immediately started purring louder once he got comfortable. He nuzzled his face into your neck, much to the annoyance of the American cat. Hero yowled at you and pawed at Boris, desperately trying to get him off.

Boris only gave him a smug look in return and kneaded into you, further solidifying his spot. Hero decided that it wasn’t worth the fight and that he was going to get his owner to remove the Russian cat and put him back into his mother’s lap: aka you.

The surprisingly smart and agile cat leapt around the room and pushed down the door handle, slipping out through the crack. You didn’t notice this as you were currently immersed in the bliss of a cat sitting on you and letting you pet it.

Eventually the purring lulled you into a peaceful and warm slumber, the two of you deciding to take a cat nap.

It would be Russia who found you first. Ivan realized that his cat had gone missing and he honestly didn’t care enough about the meeting to stay. It's not like anyone would try to stop him.

So as Hero bounded down the halls towards the meeting room, Mr. Ivan Braginsky came from the other direction; his sense of where his cat was at any one moment was completely uncanny.

The Russian gradually opened the wooden door and it quietly opened without any resistance. He turned his head towards where he heard purring and was met with a surprising sight. It was America’s secretary, with his cat, lying, with his cat.

You were breathing softly and the movements of your chest moving up and down also moved Boris. Ivan couldn’t help but faintly smile at the sight. Said cat opened a singular eye to acknowledge the new presence in the room. He flicked his tail and settled back into his spot. Not wanting to bother you or the cat, Ivan pulled out a chair and sat down. 

He pulled out some paperwork, seemingly from nowhere, and began to work on it. The sounds of your quiet breathing, combined with the light purr from Boris, made for a calming work environment. 

As the three of you remained in peaceful bliss, another kitty cat was running around the corner on the never ending search for food. Itabby trotted up and down the corridors looking for an open door that might lead to some food that didn’t come from England. Her golden fur glimmered as the sun shined through the many windows in the building. She looked over at a door that had opened slightly and was too blinded by the thought of food to notice the scarily familiar scent coming from the room.

Itabby scampered over to the door but screeched and meowed as she was sent flying by an American blonde and his equally irritated cat. She tentatively peered around the door at the scene forming.

“HEY!” Alfred yelled, startling both you and the cat. You shot up straight, Boris falling into your lap. “What are you doing with her?!” He yelled again, getting his face up into Ivan’s. The other man gave him an unamused look and stood up, towering over him. Alfred, despite this, did not back down and continued to stare angrily at him.

“Go away.” The white-haired male said, his accent heavy as he crossed his arms. “You have startled them with your unnecessary noise. You are just like the rest of your country.”

The air tensed and became heavier as the seconds went on. They began to size each other up as Hero, ironically, “heroically” walked proudly over to you and with his front paws, pushed Boris off of your lap. He quickly took his place and started purring. Boris’ fur began to puff up as he hunched down and prepared to pounce. His back legs flexed and he made the jump, sending both him and Hero flying towards their fighting owners, who were remarkably somehow not in a physical fight. Yet.

You very quickly realized that you did not want to be in the middle of  two superpowers fighting and quietly took your leave. (E/c) eyes met feline amber ones and you swept up the cat and made your escape, leaving behind the feuding men and cats.

Itabby snuggled into your arms as you finally slowed down to catch your breath. Her round tail whooshed back and forth as you tiredly walked through the long hallway. The two of you eventually ended up in the rose gardens of the meeting building. The area was well taken care of and beautiful if you did say so yourself. The meeting was taking place in England and Mr. Jones had told you about how the Brit enjoyed gardening, so it made sense as to why it was here.

Speaking of the British, you spotted a fluffy feline shape from the corner of your eye. It was deeper into the gardens and among the trees. Itabby finally decided that it was time to go and return to her owner. She gracefully leaped out of your arms and landed on all fours and trotted off to beg Italy for some pasta. You instead continued your approach to the cat, which at this point, you could tell was a Scottish Fold.

The left side of his face was brown and so was his tail. Alike to his owner, he seemed to have what you assumed were some kind of eyebrows and when he opened his eyes to look at you, his olive eyes stared into yours. He flicked his tail and layed back down onto the wall that he was laying on. His collar jingled as he moved and you quietly moved up to him. On the gold circle attached to the same olive color collar, was a name.

‘Scone’ You thought. ‘Oh my god. This is the most English cat name I have ever seen.’

You almost started laughing but the smoldering glare the cat gave you made you think otherwise. The stone wall was surprisingly cold for the summer sun and as you sat down, you took a look at Scone. He seemed to still be quite grumpy, but he knew you from earlier in the week, so he was not alarmed. You lifted up and moved your left arm forward to start petting him.

Scone was soft and clearly well-taken care of. His fur was clean and had no knots or dirt insight, despite laying around a garden for half a day. You continued your actions and the both of you started to fall back into slumber. Your hand hovered on the back of the feline and your head slumped alongside your body.

It was peaceful. With birds chirping and the wind lightly blowing. There was a river babbling somewhere in the background and it made for a serene scene. The only reason he had let you pet him was because you had fed him earlier in the week. He didn’t have his collar at that point so this was the first time you had gotten his name. Your eyes closed as you recalled the event from a couple of days prior.

The day after the plane landed you were on the hunt for felines. Armed with some cat food, a retractable mouse-on-a-stick and hope, you made your way around the building England had set aside for housing the rampant countries, and byproduct, their cats. France’s cat, Monsieur, was an absolute attention wh-. He really liked attention, and would rub himself against your leg anytime the two of you crossed paths. It’s not like France, or Francis, was much better.

It’s not like you minded petting him. He was adorable after all. The cat, not Francis. But you had wanted to meet as many other cats as you could and so you had to stop by Francis’ room multiple times to drop off Monsieur.

“Je suis désolé.” He said, taking Monsieur out of your arms. “He keeps getting out. But I guess he knows when there’s a lovely lady around.”

You ignored his attempts at flirting and instead scratched Monsieur’s chin one last time before leaving. He purred at you and while you felt bad about leaving him, you were on a mission! Besides, you had a certain Japanese cat to track down. Monsieur meowed at you as you walked down the hallway and if you didn’t know better you’d say so did Francis.

Either way, nothing was going to stop you from petting Tama, Japan’s cat. He was an adorable little black and white feline with the cutest little bob for a tail. You had actually spotted him earlier and was about to go up to him before Monsieur literally jumped into your arms, demanding attention. Of course you weren’t going to say no so Tama quickly left your sight as you went to return Monsieur. 

Wait, isn't Monsieur just sir in French? Oh well there was no time to think about questionable cat names, this building was full of them.

Monsieur wasn’t the only attention whore of a cat. Prussia’s cat, Purrussia, wasn’t much better. He would follow you down hallways and meow with his scratchy meow at you while Austria’s cat, Allegro, whined behind him. He literally tried to jump up at you a few times.

Of course both of them were interrupted when Hero ran straight at you and tackled you like a professional linebacker. You had thought that it was mostly fluff, but no, apparently Hero could pack a punch. He knocked the wind out of you as you fell backwards onto the tiled floor. The cat sat proudly on you and looked around like he was waiting for something or someone. Whoever he was waiting for, however, wouldn’t show up fast enough to see Purrussia return the favor and tackle Hero off of you, much to Allegro’s horror. 

The white cat had a German ribbon as well but it looked like it was fraying at the edges. The reason you were bringing this up was because Hero was currently using one of the edges to try to choke Purrussia and Allegro was using the other to try to pull Purrussia away from Hero. Neither was really working and all it was really doing was making Purrussia more and more agitated.

“PURRUSSIA!!!” A shrill voice yelled out from down the hallway.

The cats stopped their roughhousing to see two of the countries barrelling down towards them. Well Prussia was. Austria was slowly walking over, looking more inconvenienced than anything else.

“Purrussia! Purrussia!” Prussia reiterated, pulling his cat up by its arms. “Did jou vin?!”

Everyone but the two Prussians stared in disbelief at his statement. The albino feline furiously nodded his head and if he could have talked you would have imagined that he would have been saying, ‘I’m awesome!’

Hero angrily meowed down below, as if to oppose Purrussia’s non-verbal statement. Allegro just haughtily licked his paw and stuck his nose up as if to pretend that he was disgusted with their fighting as if he hadn’t just been a part of it. Austria picked up his in-denial cat and you picked up Hero who calmed down as soon as you did. 

“Sorry about him.” You said, brushing his unruly fur down with your hand. “He gets a little competitive.”

“Ja. It’s fine.” Austria said, petting his own cat. “Purrussia is not much better.”

“HEY!” Prussia yelled. “My awesome Purrussia is doing his best! And besides, at least he actually does something!”

“Jour cat picked a fight vith a vall (wall) Gilbert.” Austria sassed.

“Vell jour cat’s piano playing is trash!”

Austria gave a gasp of horror before inching closer to the Prussian.

“Jou take zat back, RIGHT NOW!”

Prussia just laughed, still letting Purrussia’s back paws dangle as he held him like one would a toddler. He got in close to the Austrian’s face, smiling deviously at him.

“Nein.”

He suddenly, while still holding Purrussia, took off, running away from Austria. He wasn’t far behind though and you could hear the man yelling in German all the way down the far corridor.

“Well Hero.” You said, looking down at the cat who had made himself very comfortable. “That was weird.”

He just snuggled closer to you and you sighed. You scratched him once more before heading down the opposite hallway. The destination was clear, before you could continue your cat quest, you’d have to get this one safely back to its owner.

You suddenly snapped back to reality, still sitting on the wall. The sun was now high in the sky and the spot underneath you was no longer cold. You were especially warm as you now had a Scottish Fold sitting comfortably upon your lap. Quietly cooing at the cat, you looked to see if there was any way to escape your furry prison. The most important rule of cats: once a cat sits on you, you’re not moving until they do.

You sighed, legs uncomfortably stiff. Scone was far more content and his bushy tail occasionally brushed against your leg. It was incredibly cute but it didn’t make your back stop hurting from being hunched over for the last half hour.

Voices came from farther within the garden. There were two people currently engaged in a soft conversation. You caught bits and pieces of it; there was a man with a British accent and a man with what you thought was American until you heard him say ‘aboot.’ You couldn’t help but snicker at your own observation, disturbing Scone in the process.

He scornfully meowed at you and you offered pets in an apology. Around the corner turned Scone’s owner and a man who looked incredibly similar to America. They both turned to look at you when the Scottish Fold you were fondling stretched out to impossible lengths and complained like a cat while he did it. England looked down at your lap to see his cat very happily cushioned on your thighs. The man next to him was also holding a cat who again looked very similar to America’s.

They were clearly different though. This man’s hair was more auburn and his eyes were a shade of impossible purple. There was also more of a wave to it whereas America’s hair was as straight as hair comes. Familiarity lit up in your eyes, not for the man however.

“Maple!” You exclaimed, wanting to go to the cat but also not willing to disturb the one on you. “How have you been?”

The men stared at you, wondering if you were talking to them or the cat. Of course Maple himself answered this as he jumped out of his owner’s arms and darted over to you. He gracefully climbed up the small wall and placed himself down by you. Scone was on your lap and he was nicer than Hero so as to not push him off. You moved one of your arms to pet Maple and kept the other on Scone. They were so cute you felt like you were going to explode.

“Oh.” A quiet voice spoke out. It came from the man behind England. “You’re Alfred’s secretary right?”

You smiled and nodded at the man. “And I assume that means you’re Canada, right?”

He looked a tad taken aback before nodding himself. “Yeah…” He trailed off and England instead picked up the conversation.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching his furrball cat, Hero.” He walked over and leaned against the wall.

“I was. But then he and Boris got into a catfight… and then America and Russia got into a catfight.”

Canada laughed in the background but quickly covered it up. England stared at Scone, looking to see if there was anyway to get him off of you without being scratched himself. He had enough injuries, that should have scarred had he not been a country, from the cat. He shivered a bit, though also began to pet the feline, scratching his under the chin.

“That sounds like those two.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing your affections. Canada also came over to pet his own cat who ironically did smell like maple syrup. 

“Can I make you the villain of this story?” You asked England, gesturing to Scone. “I do actually have somewhere I need to be.”

“Oh I suppose I can assume that role.” He mused, carefully picking up his cat. He was not happy to be moved but England just shushed him.

Canada also picked up his cat who was slightly nicer about the whole thing. He fidgeted with Maple’s ear as he held him.

“I’m Matthew.” He said, carefully shifting Maple so he could put one arm out to shake your hand.

You finished the formal greeting. “I’m (Y/n).”

The other blonde butted in from the background. “I’m Arthur, love.”

“It’s very nice to formally meet both of you. Seeing you from across a meeting room doesn’t really count.” You smiled and gave a small pat to each of the feline’s heads. “Well I wasn’t kidding about needing to get somewhere. I really didn’t mean to get stopped as long as I did.” 

You playfully glared at the Scottish Fold sitting comfortably in his owner's arms. He promptly ignored you, instead turning around cutely. England apologized but you told him it was fine. You were at least 50% sure that Mr. Jones was probably still fighting with Russia. Those two really were like angry cats. You waved the two men off and went on your way to find out the answer to that question.

Instead of coming across two feuding superpowers, you came across two of the Asian nations’ cats. You had already met them both but this was the first time you were seeing them together. Tama was sitting up high on a shelf while China’s cat, Meowzedong, was angrily meowing at him from down below. Everytime he tried to climb up, Tama would use a paw and swipe a book or other object down at him.

You flinched as a very breakable, very expensive-looking, vase crashed down. It was this movement that alerted the two cats to your presence and Meowzedong wasted no time at all to come over to you and complain. Now you couldn’t exactly speak cat but you got the jist.

Bending down, you carefully picked up the cat. Meowzedong always had a weird clump of fur that looked almost like a ponytail that, no matter how much China cut it, always grew back. He yowled at you and pointed a furry paw in Tama’s direction. The other cat had already loafed on top of the high shelf and you looked at him, back at Meowzedong, back at Tama, and then back at Meowzedong again.

“I don’t know how tall you think I am but I’m not that tall.”

Meowzedong just narrowed his eyes and meowed at you again. You sighed, looking back at Tama. If he had a long enough tail to flick it at you he would’ve. Sensing the futility of his quest, Meowzedong instead spread himself out in your arms and if you didn’t know better you would have said that he was mocking Tama. And if you really didn’t know better you’d say that it was working and that the bobtail was getting more irritated by the second. The personifications might have had to act cordial but their cats had no such qualms.

Finally, Tama de-loafed himself and gracefully hopped down a few other layers before reaching the bottom. He gracefully walked over to you and sat on your foot… Well shoot. What were you supposed to do now?

So here you were, from one cat prison to the next. Standing in the middle of some random, out-of-the-way hallway because the nations’ cats were all attention-hogging, though very adorable, brats.

You didn’t know how much time had actually passed. There was no clock in the hallway, you didn’t wear a watch, and both of your hands were occupied so you couldn’t check your phone. As cute as they were, your legs felt like they were about to collapse in on themselves. You couldn’t even shift how you were standing because Tama had taken it upon himself to lay across both of your shoes. Your arms also felt like they were going to fall off at any second. Meowzedong wasn’t a particularly heavy cat but try holding anything over five pounds for longer than five minutes.

You were desperately hoping that either they would finally get bored and leave or someone would come to save you. Wow you guessed you really did need a “Hero” right about now… Dammit you thought that referencing needing a hero in your head would magically summon America or his equally hotheaded cat.

“Tama. Meowzedong.” You murmured. “Can you please get off?” You hoped to whatever god or gods were out there that they didn’t hear the desperation in your voice. Never show weakness to a cat.

The two cats made eye contact with each other for a moment and seemed to come to an agreement. Meowzedong stretched his body out before jumping onto the ground. Tama did the same but instead greeted Meowzedong when he landed.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration if you said that you collapsed onto the wooden floor below. You quickly got up however as you didn’t want them to see it as another chance to sit on you. At least not right now. You pulled out your phone to see all of the messages and calls you missed. You had put it on silent while watching Hero and forgot to turn it back to vibrate.

‘Oh my god Mr. Jones called me twenty-three times.’ You thought, frantic. ‘I’m gonna be in so much trouble!’

You raced down the hallway, startling a group of micronations as you went. There was no time to apologize! You had to keep your job! If not for you then for the cats!

Not even thinking to knock you burst open the door where America was staying, side note why wasn’t it locked? And were greeted with the sight of!... Mr. Jones… crying? His cat looked pretty dejected too and was currently hanging himself off the side of the bed like a rug.

“Sir?” His head shot up to look at you.

He quickly snapped his head back away, mushing at his face in an attempt to try to make it seem like he wasn’t crying.

“(Y-Y/n)” He stuttered for a second, before immediately going back to the hero persona. “Where’ve you been!?”

“Are you okay?” You ignore him, instead asking your own question.

You titiled your body to look at what he was looking at… Was that a framed picture of you?!

It didn’t matter because he was very quickly all in your face again. You could see what seemed to be a rapidly healing black eye and a tooth that hadn’t fully regrown in yet as he smiled at you. Just how long was he fighting with Russia for?

You sat him down on his bed, considering if you should even bother getting a medkit for him. Either way you ended up spending the rest of the day with him, watching movies and sitting what you considered a good ways away from each other on the plush couch. He apparently had a nicer room in all of England’s properties from when he used to live there during parts of the year.

Hero filled the gap in-between you of which America was mildly annoyed about. He kept trying to get you to use ‘Alfred’ but you insisted that it was unprofessional. He’d close the gap one day.

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

Cooking Together - (W/ America, England, Canada, Russia, France) x GN!Reader

Summary: Cute little scenarios where you cook together with some of the nations. 💕

Contents/Possible Warnings: A lot of food mentions, fluff, like a ton of fluff, slightly suggestive/flirty dialogue and implications (nothing outright not sfw), major emphasis on how England cannot cook

America (Alfred F. Jones)

There were both pros and cons to the situation you found yourself in. The pros were that the kitchen smelled nicely of apples and cinnamon, but the cons were that the flour had only been out for a few minutes and it was already everywhere. Still, the smell of cinnamon was nice; so you had that going for you.

Despite the state of the room around you, your boyfriend was not deterred in the slightest. In fact, he was practically bursting with excitement, humming a song as he formed the dough that the flour had been used for into a pie crust. A fresh apple pie was the end goal, and he couldn't be more thrilled. The way those handsome, baby blue eyes of his were shining with pure glee had you melting.

"I haven't baked in so long!" He exclaimed, grinning at you while you worked on the pie filling in the bowl in front of you, the scent of nutmeg in the air now joining the smell of cinnamon. "Hold on," He told you suddenly, reaching out to cup your face in his hands. "You've got something on your lips." With that, he kissed you sweetly, smiling into the kiss as his lips moved against yours.

"There we go," He spoke, pulling away once he was done, looking satisfied with himself. "All taken care of." You chuckled, your cheeks a light shade of red. "Did I really have something on my lips, or did you just want to kiss me, Alfred?"

"Both. You tasted like sugar, literally." He laughed, kissing you again, much quicker this time. "It isn't even done yet, but you might be sweeter than the apple pie is, babe." He teased with a small smirk.

"If we hurry up you can have both, you know."

You didn't need to say that twice. He did go fast when he was motivated, after all, especially with an awesome two-for-one deal. Needless to say, you both shared a lot of kisses that tasted like sugary, cinnamony apples that day.

England (Arthur Kirkland)

As much as you didn't want to admit it because it sounded harsh, Arthur Kirkland could not cook or bake anything without it going horribly wrong, even when it came to the dishes he had been 'perfecting' for years now. Fish and chips? That would burn. Beef wellington? Overcooked and inedible. His infamous scones? Ash. If you weren't used to it by now, the results of his cooking would scare you.

Speaking of scones, he tried to make them at least once every month or two, and surprisingly, nothing had yet to catch on fire. It made your heart break without fail every time you saw him look at his failed attempts, though.

"Arthur? Love?" You approached him one night, having already gone out to the store and bought every ingredient you'd need from the scone recipe you'd found online (you weren't going to risk using his. It might very well have been cursed.) "Do you want to bake with me? It could be an unplanned date night." You smiled at him warmly. You were his biggest soft spot, and he always gave in to those smiles of yours.

"Of course, dear." He smiled back, placing the book he had been reading down. "Oh! We should bake scones, I haven't made any in a while, and you love my scones, don't you?" You nodded, your smile faltering a bit as you remember the last time you tried his scones. They were burnt, of course, but you still managed to put on a smile and tell him how good it was in a little white lie.

"I was thinking the same thing." You responded, leading him to the kitchen to show him that you had already prepared everything. Every measurement was made and ready, all he had to do now was put it in a bowl, mix, and then bake. Easy as that. Or you hoped.

"This must've taken you a while, love." He observed, smile widening at the sight. You were so sweet to him! He never liked the whole measuring part, and here you had done it all for him. He could swoon over just how much he loved you. "Let's get started!" He exclaimed, overflowing with excitement.

With you guiding him along, things came out more than edible, they looked delicious! Instead of a hardened, blackened mess, the scones looked almost exactly like the picture in the recipe as you pulled them out of the oven.

"Look, Arthur!" You grinned, showing him the tray before setting it down. "You did it! These look bakery-worthy—" You let out a surprised gasp as he pulled you into a celebratory kiss, soon melting into it.

"Aha! Now France can't say I don't know how to cook!" He beamed, causing you to begin laughing. If he was happy, then so were you.

Canada (Matthew Williams)

Mornings with Matthew were always something you looked forward to. Waking up in his arms, combing your fingers through his soft, messy blond hair, and giving him his well-deserved 'good morning' kisses. It was a pure domestic bliss that you wouldn't trade for anything else in the world.

"What do you want for breakfast, hon?" He asked softly, still cuddled up next to you in bed. Another great thing about mornings with him was his cooking. Every day without fail he made you something mouth-watering good. Whether it was something simple or more complex, everything he made showed his love for you, even if cooking seemed to be a bit mundane to some people.

"Pancakes? Ooh! Blueberry pancakes." You replied happily, a small laugh leaving him in response. He blushed slightly, finding your enthusiasm both endearing and adorably cute. "Let me help you make 'em," you insisted with a grin. He laughed again before leaning into you, unable to resist kissing you when you were this adorable.

It didn't take long for you to find yourselves in the kitchen, hugging him from the side as you watched him cook. The blueberry-filled batter you had made turned out amazingly, and you were eager to see the results of your work in the form of masterly crafted pancakes.

When they were all done and covered in Matthew's favorite maple syrup you both sat down to eat, talking about whatever crossed your minds as you ate your breakfasts and sipped your coffee. It was moments like this why you savored and enjoyed your mornings with him, these moments where you two engaged in quality time and you were reminded just why you had fallen in love with him.

Oh, not to mention you also liked how his lips tasted like maple syrup when you were kissing him afterward, too.

Russia (Ivan Braginsky)

Before he met you he was used to doing everything alone, including having meals. He had no one to share his favorite dishes with, and eating was always a lonely activity when the seat next to him at the dinner table was empty. When you came along things weren't so isolating anymore.

Cooking dinner together had become a staple in your relationship early on, the act being used as a way to spend some quality time together in a simpler fashion. It was something that you two used to bond when you were still getting used to each other. Cooking wasn't just making a meal for you, it was a display of priceless non-physical intimacy.

"That tickles, Ivan," you giggled, feeling him nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as you sauteed the meat and stirred the sauce you'd need for the meal you were making, the tall Russian towering over you from behind as he held you gently. "You're really affectionate today, дорогой."

He let out a happy hum in reply, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. "You're cute today, мое солнышко. How could I not be?" You smiled at his compliment before grabbing a spoon and scooping a bit of the sauce inside of the pot in front of you, turning around to face him. "Open up," you said, moving the spoonful toward his mouth and letting him taste what you had made.

"Very good," He told you after tasting the sauce. "You're starting to cook like a professional, дорогой. I don't think I've ever had a better beef stroganoff sauce." You blushed, tilting your head to the side. "Really?" It really must've been good if he hadn't tasted a better version of a dish he had eaten countless times over the decades.

"You're being cute again," He chuckled, a warmth growing in his chest at the sight of you. He loved you and these moments together so, so much.

France (Francis Bonnefoy)

French cuisine wasn't known for being regarded as some of the best in the world for no reason. Living in Paris with your boyfriend who was fond of dinner dates led you to witness firsthand why France was seen as a leader in the culinary arts. As much as you loved going to a fancy restaurant and sipping wine while you ate with Francis, you wanted tonight's date to be a bit less extravagant.

All you wanted was to cook with him at home and share a simple night over a home-cooked meal. Luckily, your boyfriend wasn't opposed to the idea in the slightest.

"This is romantic, oui?" He questioned with a pleased smile as he poured you a glass of wine (nothing too expensive, per your own request). "A night in with mon amour. What could be better?" He smiled, handing you your glass. "I'm a chef magnifique, so you'll be served food better than any restaurant can offer."

He wasn't exaggerating, either. As your date commenced, you were pleasantly surprised to see how talented he was when it came to both cooking the main course and baking the dessert of raspberry macarons. The only downside was that the macarons were harder to make than they looked.

"Mine look weird compared to yours," you observed, looking over to see his work. "I think I keep piping in too much jam..." He looked over at yours, nodding in agreement. "Oui. But they'll still taste good, non?" His gaze then traveled to your lips, and he smirked. "You have jam on your face, mon amour."

He leaned in, kissing you lovingly, making sure to get rid of that raspberry jam he was talking about. You tasted beyond sweet, and that wasn't just because of the macaron filling. "You know, I wouldn't mind tasting something else tonight other than the food we made, chérie~"

"Let's eat first, Francis," you replied with a playful roll of your eyes. He was a flirt, but he was still yours.

[worldheadcanons]

Stalker AU ask!!!! How about the object of their obsession affection just flat out ignoring them for a while, like to the point of making them uncomfortable...

☆ stalkertalia: you ignoring them!

requested by @yandere-dark-cupid! gender neutral reader. starring . . . america, canada, england, & italy. warning for stalking, minor nsfw in alfred’s part, & general violence. fandom masterlist found here.

📌 . . . author notes: using this as a way to introduce a new character to the cast :). i have big plans for mr italy ngl. him & arthur are currently the only ones who also actively interact with reader outside of stalking. enjoy! also, i want to do a sort of game — can anyone guess how reader & italy know each other outside of stalking? i’d love to hear any guesses!

alfred f. jones!

— you’re ignoring him. why? is it because alfred kept whining over the phone, pretending to be present when really he was holding his dick in his hands, thinking of you bent over? he can’t help his sex drive, babe, he’s just a guy. it’s not his fault, especially when you were looking so good through your bedroom window. just pick up the phone. c’mon… pick it up. pick up.

— he doesn’t do well with you denying him attention. really, he likes to think he’s in control but he’s not. whenever you take away your attention, your voice on the other end of the phone, it’s a brutal reality check for him. jones first blames you. you’re being irrational, you’re being unfair! but then he blames himself. he’s overwhelmed you, he’s scared you off. he doesn’t know what to do, how to “win you back”.

— he eventually leaves you a long voicemail with something surprising inside: an apology. his voice is more genuine, more sincere as he half-pleads for forgiveness. alfred goes on about how he misses the blessing of your voice, how he’ll be less perverted, he promises. just pick up his calls soon, please. “i really, really do love you. it kills me not to talk to you. i’m sorry — just consider picking up, next time. i’ll behave, i will. okay, um. i love you, please pick up. bye.”

— you listen to it a couple days after he leaves it. partly because you were trying to ignore him and partly because you forgot about your voicemails. your head tells you to keep ignoring him but his desperate pleas pull at your heartstrings… when he calls that same day (as he’s done multiple times everyday since you’ve started ignoring him) you decide to finally answer.

— “oh, baby,” he coos softly as soon as you pick up, “god how i’ve missed your voice..” it’s almost cute, how his words comes out with a soft, tender affection woven into them. he apologizes once again before giving a light sigh of relief. “i thought i’d lost you,” he admits with a sort of empty laugh.

— you may think of it as a sweet line but really it’s heavily veiled threat. you’re lucky he didn’t take more drastic measures for your attention. trust me, he definitely thought about it — apologizing was not his first idea. and to think all you did was ignore him for a good week or two…

matthew williams!

— williams figures you’re just pulling one of your little stunts. every now and then you’d block his numbers (the ones you knew) and pretend to be either unbothered by or disinterested in him. it’s annoying when you do this but not at all a roadblock for him. phone calls are just one of the many methods he uses to feel close to you.

— he still watches you, still follows you to and from work when he can… he’s always so close to you, the phone calls don’t even matter. they’re just a nice addition to his life. his stalking you didn’t start with the phone calls and it won’t end with it either. he’s got enough photos, recordings, etc etc.. matthew lives off of a stockpile of material he keeps close to the sort of shrine in his house that’s dedicated to you.

— he still calls, of course, waiting for you to pick up again. you always give in after a while, which lets williams know that you’re curious about him at least (though he gets the feeling you’re interested in him and just bratty). your phone rings just as much as it did before. no more, no less. he’s cool, calm, and content while waiting.

— one day, you seem to come to your senses and respond to his call. he smiles to himself. it’s almost funny how predictable you could be. he has half a mind to tease you about your sorry return to him but he opts to be kind this time.

— “i knew you’d be back,” matthew murmurs, “you need me. you know you do. but i need you too. let’s not do this again, okay? now, how was your day?”

— he wasn’t lying — he does need you. just not as much as you need him. you’d managed to ignore him for only a month before you came back to him. he’ll have to figure out a way to get you back faster, though. like i said, it’s annoying when you ignore him. william’s only doing what’s best for you, watching over you like this.

arthur kirkland!

— why are you ignoring him? did he come on too strong, was he too sappy? did he creep you out? overwhelm you? he doesn’t have a schedule, sure, so maybe you’re just busy… but, he knows you’re not busy with work since he works with you. so what could you be busy with? a boyfriend, maybe? god, he hopes not.

— the more you ignore his calls, the more often he calls. he even calls you from the men’s bathroom once or twice, nervously biting his lip and then the tips of his nails until he hears the sound of you sending his call to voicemail — “fuck!” his voice is heard throughout the room but your office is a floor lower. you haven’t a single clue your stalker’s so close. arthur’s insecure; he thinks you’re moving on or something similar. can you blame him for feeling possessive, feeling needy? look at you! you’re everything. he wants to be something to you, he really does.

— since you won’t respond to his calls, he’ll just have watch you... to and from work, the grocery store, and even as you carried boxes out of a stranger’s house (how odd). he’s watching as much as he can. and suddenly, he takes a lot more photos, too. if your presence is as fleeting as your voice… he’ll need the photos. not for anything crass, of course. he’s a gentleman at heart. your presence brings comfort, though, and without your voice he needs a substitute to help ease the ache in his chest.

— finally, by the grace of god, you pick up on one of his calls. he lets out a gasp, thanking you over and over for finally picking up. he apologizes again and again until you interrupt him with some explanation — you were busy helping a close friend move out — fuck! how did he not think of that? he’d even watched you moving boxes the other day!

— “ah.. well... i missed you,” he says quietly, “i really did miss you… i was worried about you. maybe next time you could give me a warning, when you’re going to be busy. of course, you don’t have to, love. but i’d really, really appreciate it…”

— it was barely even a week without your voice, and look how needy you’ve made him. it’s definitely for the best that you don’t ignore him again. if he’s this clingy now, imagine him after a month!

feliciano vargas!

— he’s only just started to call you. of course, you wouldn’t pick up the first time. or the third or.. sixth… or even the fifteenth! vargas knew it wouldn’t be easy for him; you’re a smart cookie, after all. it’s part of why he likes you so much. you’re almost like a challenge for him to win. a spirit for him to break, a sort of beauty that he feels he must conquer.

— he’s not patient, though. in fact, he’s quite needy. but he tries to be patient for you. isn’t that romantic? he tries his best not to throw his phone at the ground as you ignore his call for the umpteenth time. sometimes, however, feliciano gives in to his own immaturity, smashing his phone to bits while crying. you’re just so damn stubborn, it’s frustrating!

— don’t worry, he’s back soon enough with a brand new phone and a brand new number. vargas has got enough money to several new phones. really, he’s got enough to build you a house right beside his own. he would, if you wanted it. he would, if you picked up the damn phone.

— eventually, you pick up. that’s the thing feliciano does well, if nothing else: wearing people down. not to mention the fact that when you complain to him about the mysterous calls, he encourages you to respond. he bats his eyelashes, suggesting that maybe it’s an old friend or a relative with a new number. you should answer, just once. just for the hell of it, he says, pushing you to answer the calls. live a little, he adds, knowing you haven’t a clue that he’s the one behind them.

— “ah, i knew you’d answer one day,” vargas almost sings into the phone. finally. “it’s nice to hear your voice, tesoro. who am i? your soulmate… oh, you want to know my name?.. i’ll be keeping that a secret, for now, okay? how about.. you pick up my next call… and i’ll send you those new books you’ve been eyeing, hm? i promise i’m good for it, mio bellissimo amore*.*”

— great, now you’ve got a stalker. but it isn’t all bad, really. you shift positions on your small bed, humming. if you play your cards right, you could get some free books out of the guy.

☆ TRANSLATIONS.

— *”tesoro” means darling. i used the masculine form because that’s more gender neutral.

— *”mio belissimo amore” should translate to “my beautiful love.” again, masculine form because it’s more gender neutral.

[merbear25]

cw nsfw

haiiii i forgot if i asked this but maybe e ame with breeding kink :3

an d england too ofc ofc

Hey, hey! I can't deny that I'm a sucker for a breeding kink, so I was happy to write this for you. I went with headcanons, so I hope you like it 💜💜

America and England with a breeding kink

CW: NSFW!! MDNI!! fem!reader, headcanons, mentions of impregnating reader, vaginal creampies

America

He didn't realize he had this kink before meeting you, but when he sees how good you are around children, something in him just cllicks.

He's a bit embarrassed about talking to you about it mostly due to the fact he has no idea how to bring it up.

Not only did you never discuss wanting to have kids, but you were also extremely careful when having sex: using condoms and birth control were a must. However, the desire to fill you completely with his cum was gnawing at him.

When he asks you about exploring this option, he's fairly surprised that you're willing to indulge him in his fantasies. He's not complaining, though!

Before trying it, you two had a discussion about what you'd do if you got pregnant. You pushed this discussion more than he did.

During your first time having sex without a condom, you're both nervous about the 'what if' situation.

That being said, the chemistry between the two of you overpowered your doubts. Soon you're both lost in the midst of passion and the euphoria.

When he releases in you, shivers are sent down your spine, leaving goosebumps in the wake of your lovemaking.

After the first time, it was hard to go back to using condoms. The more you let him creampie you, the less you wanted to keep to your birth control.

Knowing you are off the pill excites him, and leaves him wanting to see you carry his child.

The thought of his cum dripping out of you, then leading to your swollen belly only makes him want to keep himself between your legs until he makes it a reality.

England

He comes off as a very prim and proper man and to be fair, he is...to an extent.

He may not flaunt it, but he's got a fair amount of experience under his belt. He's had a lot of time to realize his sexual interests and kinks, and he's more than happy to help you explore yours.

He's raised a few countries, so he's not exactly jumping at the opportunity to get back to parenting.

That being said, when you come to him with that sweet face and doe eyes, he finds it hard not to listen to you wanting to explore your kink to have him breed you.

Now, the thought of him cumming in you so recklessly does send thrills throughout his body, but he's a bit apprehensive. He wants to talk about the possibility of you getting pregnant and if the both of you are ready for it.

After discussing the options, he's happy to satisfy your desires.

Everything leading up to the main event was perfect, leaving you craving for more.

While having your first time throwing caution to the wind, you couldn't get enough of it. The energy you're bringing gives him a massive confidence boost.

You've unleashed a primal urge within him, and he's fully committed to cumming in you as deep as he can.

Watching everything he pulsated into you drip out is one of the most satisfying things for him. Knowing how much you love the feel of it makes it even better.

If you decide that you want children, he's now happy to take that next step with you. He comes across as very gentlemanly when you bring it up.

But, when you're in the bedroom, his true feelings towards it come out. He's clearly on a mission to impregnate you, chasing a fantasy of his he'd kept burried.

[writing-for-love]

Hello ^.^ I love your blog! And also how adorable and somewhat awkward you write Arthur to be. Do you have any hcs for how he'd be as a boyfriend?

England as a Boyfriend

Fandom: Hetalia

Characters: England

Reader: Gender Neutral

Warnings: None

Note: Thank you, love! England is one of my favorites. He's just so cute.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

England suffers heavily from crushes. He's fallen for many people over the years, but dated very few of them.

The thing is, England daydreams about how a relationship with someone will look, but people are more complicated than daydreams. For a relationship with him to work, he needs to feel understood, which most of his partners haven't been able to do.

England likes the idea of being adventurous with someone or having a very passionate relationship, but he just can't keep up with it in practice. He likes both of those things in moderation, but he can't support a relationship built around them.

At the end of the day, England is a domestic person. He'll make you both tea and read the newspaper, or take you on a walk around London. He has moments of spontaneity and adventure, but they are surrounded by long spans of quiet evenings and tired mornings.

He'll want you to move in pretty quickly once he realizes he can see a future with you. Once you do, his more sentimental side will come out.

He's the kind of guy to hug you from behind as you make breakfast. He'll give you a goodbye kiss before he has to leave everyday, even if you're asleep when he does. It's more for him than you.

He'll buy you flowers now and again, or he'll come home with a book he'd think you'd like. Things like that.

Every once in a while, he'll plan a romantic dinner or take you on a getaway somewhere.

Overall: 10/10, as you would expect. Also, if you are observant, you'll notice him admiring you all the time. You'll be sorting through mail or something, and he'll be looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. He really does love so deeply.

[scribbles-and-sprinkles]

hii, i would love to see your take of a fem aroace!reader with the allies 🙏🙏

yandere! allies x aro/ace! reader - england & america

─── notes ➤ reader is implied to have disability for realism purposes, being late teenager / young adult + for ease of enjoyment -- ‘luna’ is placeholder for the reader’s name ;w; thank you so much for such lovely request! remaining allies are coming in the following days! long post ahead! ─── warnings ➤ abuse of political power / manipulation / questionable power dynamics / darker sensuality / controlling behaviour / isolation amongst others.

arthur o'neil kirkland / england

Arthur deemed himself as someone proud – man of the culture, wisdom and fixed values. As a reverent kingdom and empire of the past – certain notions never left his heart. Oh, you were his favourite, apple of the eye – even if did not dare to admit such reverence out loud. If circumstances should be different – of course, without hesitation, he would find himself steering away from any closer, more intimate relationships with mortals. Their lifetime was bound by fixed laws and mechanics, while land transcended centuries to behold. It was simply easier to avoid entertaining the heart-ache; sorrow – by circumventing such situations at all. But… how could he resist?

ᯓ★

Porcelain tea-cup clicked smoothly against the table, adorned with intricate, vintage floral patterns – from much older, chaotic times. By kindness of his truly. Faded, green eyes fixated for a brief on thoughtful expression etched into her gentle features. Something was going on – unspoken tension lingering for weeks now. Irony laid open – hoping that maybe, in a way – his sweetheart could trust him enough to reveal… specifics. ‘Arthur, darling… it is just I’ve been terribly unlucky with people around me… well…’ – oh, how her heart yearned to find enough bravery to gather thoughts fully into something comprehensible, but, alas. Her friend was much better at such a state of affairs than she could ever be. ‘Luna, what is going on? I am worried for you, and it deeply saddens me’ ‘It is just… people around me find themselves very happy in romantics, so easily. As if it was somehow universally understood, I don’t know…’ – dainty fingers trembled under the weight of never-ending accusations of mind; steady hands wrapping around shakiness as if to provide the slightest bit of comfort. ‘I really tried my best! I did! – and he seemed really kind, or I thought so… how could I have been so blind? Arthur, he merely entertained his own needs, physical ones–’ ‘Y-you warned me… I should’ve listened, I-I–’ – thought wavered over silence; tiny hiccups filling up the space with peculiar sorrow. Pure, unbridled vermillion blossomed in sight, reality spinning. Good heavens, help his soul. He was too old for this. Knuckles tightened until whites over the poor edge of the table, almost tipping it over – the girl ushered into a hug immediately. There were traditional, fixed ideals of what constituted a good and proper image of human interaction – especially, between opposite genders. Femininity consisted of warmth, grace – and fragility, intertwined with the need of masculine notions to protect, cherish, love its' existence. Such values, deeply ingrained in margins of consciousness, never wavered – and this went against everything Arthur could hold dear. That is, his darling. And if others would not conform to this – he would. However, this little… the issue would have to be solved quietly. No inference was necessary. Few days passed – the soul disappearing into silence; under charges of treason and conspiracy against the United kingdom and surrounding territories. He was ended switfly after. ᯓ★ headcanons! Darling, sweetheart, apple of his eye – you were absolutely his favourite – through and through. outside, arthur would be an ideal image of gentleman – from tactful behaviour to the very last word – all orchestrated, calculated, measured. Millenia of existence gave enough tools and time to perfect the art. That is not to misunderstand, he loved her – truly. Maybe in a more sentimental way – finding comfort in the very traditional dynamic of being the provider, the pillar of the home. Any attempt to carry more weight than the subtle role provided would be met with sweet-honey words of manipulation – immediately stopping any possibility of rebellion. Physical manifestation of darling’s disability would become the greatest tool of social isolation – were people not staring enough, talking behind your back in the study halls, speaking rumoured whispers – so… why should Luna entertain such ruckus, if she could be perfectly content with being his sweetheart? The queerplatonic relationship concept in itself – was not something old, reverent ways ought to be understood, but as long this dynamic remained – he would be more than happy to entertain such an idea. You had no idea what sort of sweet-honey trap you have gotten yourself into.

alfred franklin jones / america Soft, hazy lights filled up cozy space – Alfred shifting to be slightly closer, ghosting hand above small of the waist, not daring… to hold on, yet. Just yet. Every single conversation like this grated at the very last remnants of already frayed nerves. ‘Pfft, again? People have nothing better to do nowadays, really’ – he merely snickered, pinching the edge of his nose out of new-found frustration. These stories were starting to get hold of his psyche. ‘So, wait, what happened between Gabriel and Samantha?’ ‘As I was saying, Alfie – it was very sudden! One second they were in love in our class, another – screaming at once, another as the switch flipped over. As I was a friend of his – just a good acquaintance, you know – he asked for a favour, obviously’ – soft laugh filled the room, girl swatting imaginary nargles; expression full of sincerity. Way-too-happy girl was picked up with such ease, him merely nuzzling close, getting a few more giggles out. As affection could infer into deeper sources of the mind; dragging hidden, secluded parts into light. ‘Oh, you’re too sweet, ahahah!’ ‘It is the least I can do, darlin’, go on, I'm listening! You gotta tell me! Your little legs, careful!’ What favour? Nothing about this entirety of story played to be good-willing act of service. Pathetic, to say the least – eye twitching, jaw tensing up until teeth grated against each other in disastrous symphony; slender fingers digging just a little too much into the softness of her hip. Smiling until cheeks bled dry with falsified semblance. ‘Oh, yeah, thaaat! So, there was this kind of silly party last weekend, which we went together because he asked to get this revenge thingy going on, you see?’ ‘That’s great! How did it go? Must’ve been a blast!’ – plentitude of soft kisses peppered across rosy cheeks, as the girl swaddled him away in the most tender fashion; feeling… how pliant form became under hold, finding himself… just a bit closer. ‘Totally! Yeah, we might have gotten a bit… drunk, but it was all in good fun!’ ‘Yeah, sweets, in good fun’ – all it took – a few moments – Luna toppled over with such ease; his wrists holding his sunshine down – even if ache gnawed between arches of ribs through guilt. ‘What’s that? Huh? I thought I meant something for you?’ – with calculated, gentle touch fingertip ghosted above the collarbone, over faint marks. This entire situation blossomed into full circus with additional flair to follow… and it shall not be entertained any longer. ‘Do you even remember anything, mm?’ – little prefix as if flaunting clear mockery. ‘We just crashed at his place, nothing happened, Al! You know how clumsy I can be with my cane, you’re being ridiculous!’ “I dunno, angel, bruises on neck don’t kinda magically happen overnight… and we’re very sure you don’t recall shit. So… this leaves only one conclusion’ – starry, ocean blue eyes. These eyes, impossibly livid, entrancing with hypnotic dance of reverent hues. Glittering, sparkling, floating. ‘I-I- I’ve been–’ – Luna choked, world dizzyingly nauseous too suddenly, tears simmering in waterfalls over honest accusation of truth, entire frame wracked by sobs – enveloped in dizzyingly addicting warmth. Unconsciously, instinctively the entire form arched for him, for him only so prettily – as always meant to be – mere intention making his head spin with desire, want, need – to end this theatrics there and now – to claim, to devour, to make his sunshine happy. ‘Shh, I’ve got you…’

ᯓ★ headcanons!

Brighter than the sun – burning brighter than stars above heavens – america himself, independent and fierce– this is who alfred represented – force, larger than life itself; reflected from golden strands shimmering in the light until boundless positivity, seeping from every hug – every little affection he was entitled, privileged to give. You were his sunshine, his beloved! With beautiful energy and softness, meant only for him to indulge in – it was a life worth living! His beloved was a blessing from the gods, even if her love expression, or affection ways were different – yet, unspoken naivety, trust – it was a steep price to pay. It was impossible to understand – where friendship bounds ended or dark, obsessive devotion began. Of course, humans needed one another – it was an essential part of our being, ingrained into very core, into bones and narrows of the flesh – isolating fragility beyond promises could not be optional, but it could be beautifully contained. Nothing… nothing few nights of forgetful sleep, with skillful essence blossoming under hazy, sweet tea – and pliant, gentle form could not fix. There was no need to poison essences of mind with CIA agents, reverberating screams across walls or legal procedures, after all. Everything was provided, handed on the golden platter – most gorgeous of dresses, art supplies, position in the best of the universities – best healthcare – all hidden between gentlest hugs, softest cuddles and lingering kisses on the forehead. His sunshine looked incredibly beautiful as a little bird in a golden cage.

[mercurycft]

𝐑𝐔’𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✧.*

*·˚ !! requests are currently: open!

love, always — RGx

@excpeii - ALT ACC! <3

✧ - 𝐚𝐰𝐟𝐜 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ruiner (angst) - part 1

— r gets sick of biting her tongue around jonas & the other girls. when things blow up, she threatens to leave the club behind forever. what happens when she actually does?

let me go (angst) READ WARNINGS! - part 1

— r has been struggling with their mental health for years, and the team has always been there. a particularly bad relapse takes a turn for the worst and puts the team in a situation they will never forget.

✧ - 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬

leah williamson : a team effort - read it here!

leah williamson : two blue lines - coming soon

leah williamson : motherhood - coming soon

leah williamson / beth mead : you're still the one - read it here!

✧ - 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐳𝐞

captain's sister (18+) - part 1

— a night of celebrations lead to lucy and r carrying leah back to her room, like usual. leah, an overprotective older sister, had set clear boundaries. but what happens when the right-back is left alone with her captain’s sister..

jealousy & invites (18+) - part 1

— lucy was an easy jealous - overly protective and overly agitated. after r and leah have a particularly handsy dance, a very exciting idea springs to lucy’s mind.

is it over now? (angst) - part 1

— keira and lucy had been having problems for a while. no fighting, no arguing. silent problems. after lucy up left unannounced, then shows up uninvited two weeks later. what was keira supposed to do?

three strikes (18+) - part 1 , part 2

— friends, maybe? attracted to each other, absolutely. three strikes is enough to have r right in the palm of her hand. it was just a matter of time.

✧ - 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐞

saint (18+) - part 1

— best friends can flirt, can post pictures that make fan’s head spin. but when they find themselves locked in a cubicle after an act of jealousy, can they be just best friends..

too sweet (18+) - part 1

— after katie gets a tattoo from r, a friendship blossoms. until one day they, for some reason, just stop talking. but when katie turns up at r’s house on a random friday. how will they resolve what happened?

✧ - 𝐤𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐡

is it over now? (angst) - part 1

— keira and lucy had been having problems for a while. no fighting, no arguing. silent problems. after lucy up left unannounced, then shows up uninvited two weeks later. what was keira supposed to do?

grown - part 1

— keira, georgia and leah. the story of their friendship. the ups, the downs, the fights and the laughs. the three best friends…. and maybe lucy.

✧ - 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧

grown - part 1

— keira, georgia and leah. the story of their friendship. the ups, the downs, the fights and the laughs. the three best friends…. and maybe lucy.

ugh (18+) - part 1

— r & leah’s friendship took a turn for the worst after her acl injury, r gave up trying to support someone who was convinced they didn’t need it. r finally snaps and leah’s reaction is… confusing.

'tis the season - part 1

— r & leah have been friends for years, since they were 10. not just friends, best friends. but when life, parents and family got in the way forcing r to move away they lost contact. now r is back, and just in time for christmas.

✧ - 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐲

grown - part 1

— keira, georgia and leah. the story of their friendship. the ups, the downs, the fights and the laughs. the three best friends…. and maybe lucy.

𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 ✧.*

a collection of little social media fics/ficlets for player x reader !!

✧ - 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐞

soft launch - read it here! - behind the posts

— this is how i imagine soft launching your relationship with katie would go, and obviously it would have to be whilst you were both on holiday! featuring the awfc girls!

hard launch - read it here! - behind the posts

— you and katie have been dating secretly (not really) for an entire year, and you decide that your anniversary is the perfect time to tell the world! featuring the awfc girls!

✧ - 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐨𝐧

soft launch - read it here! - behind the posts

— leah's birthday posts before and after a team and friend trip to Ibiza get fans stirring up the rumours of a relationship. do they play into it? probably!

graduation - read it here! - behind the posts

— after graduating, you and leah think it’s time the world got to know the news about your relationship, in the form of a little instagram soft launch! featuring the awfc girls & lionesses!

✧ - 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐳𝐞

unlikely pair - read it here! - behind the posts

— after going to see a show on the west end whilst back in london for international duty, lucy meets r and an unlikely romance blossoms between the two!

[hwsing]

more nsfw for england please (i dont really need anything specific i just wanna know ur take on him) 🙏

what the brit’s like in bed

notes: 18+, reader is afab and gender neutral. includes: england (arthur kirkland) as always, reblogs are appreciated!

cw: this is more blabbing than a coherent fic; discussion of arthur present and past. reader is described like they’re mortal for the majority of this. arthur is perverted; both soft and hard sex mentioned, very light bondage, blowjobs and cunninglings, mostly dom!arthur, phone sex, panty stealing, voice kink, roleplay, mention of spanking, daddy kink, body worship, praise. wc: about 1.6k. not proof read

in the modern day, arthur is… old. even if you hc him to still look like a twink, (cant say i agree but moving on,) spiritually and mentally he is old. he’s seen many many things — including quite a bit of sex. he’s by no means a stranger to it; don’t let his prudish attitude these days fool you. he’s gone through quite a few eras of his life where he viewed sex far more carelessly than he does now. although, even know, i dont think he’s quite uptight about it as one would think.. it’s just that he has standards now. he’d probably put it like that. whereas, back in the day, he probably viewed sex as something of a conquest. now, he sees it more as a connection between two (or more — although i do think he’s monogamous) people. that connection doesn’t have to be love — sometimes, it’s just a need for another body. arthur is a romantic deep down, though. likely because there’s been so many eras in his life when he was anything but romantic, he can’t help but crave it nowadays.

that being said, arthur now 100% believes in making love. i’m talking the whole 10 yards; he’ll hold your hands as he rocks his hips into yours, meticulous about fucking you deep and slow, even cooing at you. his heart feels heavier than it ever has before when you look up at him so sweetly; he almost always makes you cum at least once or twice before you even have sex with his fingers and mouth — both to tease you a bit and to prep you to be easier to fuck. as much as arthur often treats you like glass, he can’t help but take advantage of your dependence on him during times like this.

maybe it’s something left over from his olden days. something in him that craves ego and control; but……. how is he supposed to not get a bit of a power treat as he coaxes you onto your knees, having tied your wrists together with his belt, leaving you to sit obediently looking up at him? his face always feels so hot as he gets so much attention, but you’ll hardly see a peak of a blush as you suck him off. he especially likes when he’s still in his office wear clothes. the suits and all that, you know, the sleek shoes… really sets in the mood for him. if he’s feeling particularly mean that day, he’ll even suggest you get yourself off on his shoe as you sit there. watching you shyly try to grind yourself on his shoe, only to start pathetically rutting when you finally get close; he almost forgets his cock is shoved down your throat as he cums, his hards keeping your head there for a moment as you whine, forcing you to swallow his load. i already wrote about how he likes to go down on his partner here, so go read that if you havent yet <3

arthur is a pretty busy guy. he’s more involved in his country’s politics than some of the other nations, which leads to him working a lot… sometimes overseas. or, worse, you guys are already a long distance couple as it is (don’t worry, though. regardless, he’ll want you to move in by year three, and that’s the long guess; when arthur is in love, he’s in love.) basically, there’s bound to be times when you’re away from each other quite a bit. arthur would probably rather die than show himself as clingy — ugh, even thinking about it makes his brow furrow. and so, he may or may not have discreetly taken a pair of used underwear with him… just for when he really needs it! he’s not some perverted demon, okay? he can use his own imagination… it’s just… it’s so much easier with your used panties wrapped around his cock as he pumps… of course he took a sniff first to help him really picture the scene — stop, he’s not weird! the next night, though, he’s likely to call you up. first, it’s a pretty normal call, but he transitions the conversation to what he wants with a surprising amount of smoothness. maybe it’s just his voice that can easily coax you to do as he wants — oh, right. if you have a thing for his voice at all — and i meant at all, he will pick up on it and 100% use it against you.

he’s bigger on dirty talk than he’d like to admit. he just can’t help it — especially over the phone, what else is he supposed to do?!! his usually stable voice is almost breathy as he tells you what to do; he’s guiding you through the entire thing. if you whine at all about how you can’t do it like he can, he’s so quick to encourage you. various petnames like love, darling, and good girl/boy/etc are falling off his tongue as he coos you. it makes his heart flutter and dick twitch when you’re the needy one.

he’s always going to tease you about it a bit, especially if you’re shy about it. he’ll show faux sympathy for the way you blush and look away, grasping your face back to look at him; “what ever could have you so worked up like this, i wonder?” he’ll ask, tilting his head as he looks at you with a knowing, smug smile tugging at his thin lips. when you murmur about how he shouldn’t tease, he’ll claim that he was only asking an honest question. he’ll encourage you, saying that if there’s you want, you’ll have to use your words. when you inevitably say you want him to fuck you, or that you want his cock, he’ll chuckle, the cheekiest blush dusting lightly over his cheeks. “oh, that’s what you’re after, is it?” he muses, unbuckling his belt. “ask for it properly, then.”

as you can imagine, arthur quite like titles. he doesn’t think it’s something he really needs, but when you whimper for daddy or even sir, perhaps master if the situation calls for it, he almost cums every time. arthur tries pretty hard to stay as the one in control, but you make it awfully hard for him to not bend you over the kitchen table and take you when you start to use the term so causally. in private, of course. he’d probably die if you ever called him that in public. he definitely thinks its a very… intimate matter, so it would catch him quite off guard for you to say it outside of the bedroom but still inside the comfort of your own home. he’ll look over at you, jaw clenching as he sees your pretend innocence, smiling at him as if you only called him dear. what a tease — he can’t have that, of course. seems like you’ll need some discipline.

on a lighter note, arthur really does love your body, whatever that may look like. at his age, any sense of a physical type has sort of faded, anyways. he’ll take his time to kiss all over you, groping you ad sweetly as one can as he tells you how beautiful you are. he can find it a bit difficult to express how much he loves you sometimes, but he’s adamant on making sure you can feel how much he cherishes you during such intimate moments. he finds himself quite flustered if you ever do it back; kissing along his neck as you unbutton his shirt, whispering about how much you need him while palming his cock, telling him how good he makes you feel; he thinks about it for weeks after, though. totally worth it.

i almost forgot! arthur is a very creative and imaginative person. while he does always imagine you as you, some of the sexual power dynamics that develop in the relationship can’t help but make him wonder… what if you were his servant? he’ll get you a maid or butler outfit or whatever you want — it’ll be a slightly more skimpy version, of course, but still realistic enough for him to have his fantasy. the scene would probably go something like; you’re his new servant, who’s a bit of a mess but means well. he comes home from a particularly stressful day at work, and after you spill the tea you were going to serve him, he spanks you as punishment. he gets really into it — of course, lots of aftercare, don’t even worry about that. he’ll be a bit apologetic about the marks lingering on the flesh of your ass for the days to come, but he also definitely feels a certain type of way about it. he doesn’t love any obvious marks — not today, anyways. punk arthur and pirate arthur were probably more into hickies littering their partners neck, but modern arthur thinks it’s trashy… so secret marks like this, that no one else but him can see? when you sit down and wince a little, and he’s the only one that knows why? woo!

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Mary Earps x Reader

Flatmates & Handshakes

Part of the Beth McCarthy mini song series

Friendship Bracelet

I'm not bitter

I'm happy you're happy, it's just

I loved you first

And it's not like it was easy

But we had each other

Now you have another

And I hate it, I hate it

So go ahead and burn my friendship bracelet

Your eyes were locked in, eyebrows furrowed and squinting slightly to assert dominance as you sauntered up to the penalty spot opposite Mary. She had that dirty smirk on her face that she does when she’s trying to intimidate people but that doesn’t work on you - she knew that so you wondered why she’s even trying! You’d been friends for years and became roommates after you both joined Man U but since moving to Barcelona, you’re now on the opposite side of the field. As the ref tried to sort out a ruckus between the players behind, you cemented the spot as yours. Nobody knows you like Mary.. but nobody knows Mary like you either. Endless days of practicing penalties against her probably makes her think she can read you like a book. But you know her tactics too; how she reads body language and positioning, studies every member of a team before a game and has player stats on her water bottle. You noticed she didn’t check it for you though, clearly thinking she had this one in the bag. Since leaving the country for Spain you hadn’t kept in contact at all, she’d unfollowed you on social media and blocked your number. It’s sad but it’s not your fault, she’s the one that ruined the friendship.

From teenagers you’d grown into women together, spending nights holding each other’s hair back over a toilet is where your friendship blossomed after your under 19 games. She was a liability but she was your liability and equally you were hers - always taking it in turns to be the sensible one. As you grew up, both of you realised you wanted to take football more seriously and those nights became few and far between… probably for the best really! Your late nights turned into bleary eyed car rides and sitting on the boot analysing the stars. Sometimes you would catch yourself missing it when you were driving home in the dark by yourself, wondering if she looks at the stars and thinks of you too. Those were the days when days were simple. You had plans to grow old together in the same care home causing havoc everyday but moving in together you soon realised you weren’t compatible as roommates. Well.. it wasn’t Mary that was the problem, she was your platonic soulmate, it was her boyfriend that caused the breakdown in your friendship. Mary’s boyfriend took great offence to the different people you bought home most weekends, he didn’t want Mary around that and for someone who never had a problem with it, she soon took his side over yours. You were young and single, what else was there to do? She used to be like that too until she wanted something better.

You’re not bitter, you just hate the way things were left. It was a huge row fuelled by her boyfriend being home one night when you bought yet another person back to the flat. He lit the spark, making one simple comment then sat back and watched Mary implode; throwing you out along with all of your belongings in the middle of the night. Ripping her friendship bracelet off like you would a wedding ring and throwing it as she slammed the door in your face. Luckily, that’s when Barca approached and just in time to get you out of the WSL and out of the country.

Unfortunately for you though Man U had qualified for the Champion’s League this season which meant playing them and her in the quarter final. There’s nothing you would have loved more than to be benched for this game but you’d really come on leaps and bounds since being at Barca. They’d developed your game into something you could have only dreamed about when you were little and was now a firm starter on the team. Unluckily for Mary, you were their star penalty taker too.

After one misplaced and badly timed tackle caused Geyse to fall to the floor inside the box, a penalty was immediately awarded. The score was currently 1-1 and with not a lot of time left on the clock, this was your time to shine. Mary had the longest clean sheet streak in the WSL and was only a few games away from making women’s football history. You know how much keeping her clean sheet means to her which meant you had to break it. There’s nothing you want more than to rip her streak away from her and rub that smug look off of her face.

You knew she would never expect you to shoot with your left foot, but that’s just one skill you’d picked up in Spain that she didn’t know about yet. Yeah, it’s your weaker foot but it’s your highest chance of getting it past the best goalie in the world - as much as you hated her winning that award, you knew she deserved it. The ref’s whistle hurtled through your ears as you started your run up. Making sure you didn’t give her any inkling of what way you were going until the last possible second. Watching her dive left as you shot right -

GOOOOOAAAAALLLLL!!!!!

Not waiting for the ball to hit the back of the net you ran to the fans, knee sliding into the corner as you were bundled from behind by your teammates. One by one the bodies plucked themselves from you just as they were replaying the goal on the big screen. Looking up to see Mary’s pissed off face projected onto it made you the happiest you’d been in ages, revenge certainly feels sweet!

Confidently taking your time strolling to the middle of the pitch to restart, nothing could wipe the happy little smirk off your face. Touching the ball a few times before the final whistle blew and cementing your team into the championship final. Shaking hands with your old teammates who passed you and chatting to the few who stopped to catch up, you didn’t see Mary approach from behind. Gloved hands grabbed your shoulders and turned your body around to face her, “when did you learn to shoot with your left foot?” her voice sounding annoyed and a little impressed at the same time. “Few months ago, been saving it for a special occasion” you shrugged, not knowing what the reaction would be to your response. “Oh and you thought ruining my streak was a special occasion aih?” her voice animated as she nudged your ribs. “It was the only way I’d get it past the best goalie in the world” a hint of sarcasm in your sentence raised a small one sided smile from your ex best friend. “If anyone was going to ruin it, I’m glad it was you” taking your hand in hers and pulling your chests into each other. Disentangling your limbs you sensed a slight glimmer in both your eyes, wondering if the other remembered your old handshake. A few seconds passed as the situation was assessed by both of you before bursting into amateur dramatics and performing the handshake that was created on your 17th birthday.

Laughing together in the middle of the pitch you stopped suddenly, tilting your head to one side and sighing. “I’ve missed you” taking the first step of admitting the truth about the estranged friendship. Throwing her arm around your shoulders as you walked towards the dugouts, “me too, we’ve got lots to catch up on” Mary smiled disappearing up the tunnel together, loud giggling echoing off the metal walls.

[brianlesshetaliawritings]

England with a boy s/o who is insomniac and can only fall sleep while hugging him... so he waits England to come home to sleep in his lap while he finishes work

England x male s/o who can only sleep hugging him

yeeehaw!! so sorry for the wait anon i tried but i kept feeling like i got something wrong💔(character wise) side note btw,, i wrote this while making a j.ai bot for him since working on it suddenly reminded me of this and i was in a writing mood!! (sorry if there's any errors in grammar too btw i am ZOINKED AS FUCK rn. THIS UNSATISFACTORY ENDING SECTION IS PISSING ME OFF.)

IM SORRY IF THIS DOESNT FEEL LIKE X MALE READER I DIDNT REALLY HAVE A WAY TO FIX IT UP SO I COULD IMPLY THAT :(

England

England honestly isn't the most huggy-kissy type, but this is a major exception. Plus, it makes him feel rather good knowing he's the one you go to for such a thing. Makes him feel loved. Plus it's something nice for him to go home to!

Though, admittedly, he does worry a bit. Sometimes he has to go for a week or so, world meetings and the alike.. And he can't always bring you, even if he'd like to. Might want to try and get you hooked onto something else too? Like a stuffed animal, or maybe get you a cat if really needed.. Honestly whatever you can latch onto that's around your height/bigger and prefferably something that can be warm.

Ignoring such issues though.. He's definitely the type to idly mess with you hair, or just pet the top of your head while doing this. Such repetitive motions are rather calming in his book, something akin to the gentle motion you may experience in a rocking chair.

Honestly though, about the first section. He really misses the sensation of having somebody cling onto him. It brings him back, in a way that's sort of bittersweet to him. He tries his very hardest to be of comfort to you so he won't repeat any past mistakes, he wants you to be happy with him, and to stay.

Probably would try out giving you tea, see if that helps you at all. He's a hard believer in chamomile tea before bed, even if it doesn't give any notable amount of repair. It helped him before, so he felt it was a good, safe, choice. Goes for getting you sleeping medication too, even if, again, it doesn't do anything.

Odd detail: he'd probably read his work papers to you while working since it puts you right to sleep (and though he thinks it helps you due to the noise, it's actually due to how boring it is). Probably wakes you up when he's done though, since he is OLD and doesn't want to carry you to bed like you deserve. Honestly not the worst thoug, he's trying his hardest.

[yawujin]

uggh i genuinely can't remember if you've done this already (ignore if so!) buuuut could i req with allies and axis seeing their s/o wear their clothes? i absolutely love these type of scenarios i could never get tired of em lol

heyy !! i really love these scenarios too! i think they're adorable, so thanks for the request 🤍

{ request } allies & axis | wearing their clothes ♥︎

type • established relationship , romantic relationship , cute , light hearted , scenarios , imagines , china is RICHH , england is a little intimidated(?)

❥ allies

america/alfred f. jones

he takes one look at them and smiles. who knew that his bomber jacket could look so cute─and stylish ─on his love?

a thought pops into his mind; he should get them a matching jacket! now wouldn't that look nice?

"stay right there!" he exclaims, going on to grab his phone to take a quick photo. "...and pose!" he jokes. he needed to capture how darling they looked in his clothing <3

england/arthur kirkland

they call his name, to which he just replies with a "yes?"

barely looking up from an article in the papers that has caught his attention, england sees his love wearing his very own forest green uniform blazer. he takes a double take and just stares.

he wants to say they look fantastic, elegant, stunning, distinguished. all those wonderful discriptors of how great they look in this moment.

he blinks, looking away. england is clearing his throat and swallows hard before speaking: "you look nice," he kicks himself for not speaking up. "come sit." which is subtle wording for 'oh god, come sit next to me so i can be in your presense for a little while longer'

france/francis bonnefoy

france is not one to hide his feelings. he lets them manifest however he sees fit, which usually is on his face.

his eyes go wide when he sees that his love is wearing his clothes, rushing towards them to get a better look.

france give them compliment after compliment , admiring how it looks while they're wearing it, to commenting how the colors bring out their eyes.

"you already look good in whatever you wear, so it's only natural you look good in my clothes."

canada/matthieu williams

when they joke around with the idea of them "stealing" his clothes, canada welcomes them to dig through his closet anytime to find more clothes that they think will fit and/or look good on themselves

he didn't know what he was expecting them to find, but he didn't expect them to look this adorable while wearing them

"maybe you should wear sweatshirts more often, eh?"

russia/ivan braginski

he's confused on why they would want to wear his clothes since they are so big they'll just end up not fitting them.

"if you need to be warmer, just come to me for hugs, yes?"

he's not going to admit how much he adores seeing them wear clothes that big in size 🫢 nope

china/yao wang

he takes one look at them and figures 'no, this won't do' and takes them shopping immediately

they want to tell him that they weren't implying that they wanted a new wardrobe 😭 but all the beautiful expensive clothing inside the store was so captivating

"there, see? now you don't have to wear mine"

they kind of just wanted to see if china would think they were cute or not, but new clothes works too ദ്ദി´▽`)

❥ axis

n. italy/feliciano vargas

"ve...since when do you look so stylish?" italy flirts with them

he thinks they look really cute in his clothes, although they are only slightly bigger on them

nevertheless, he invites them to borrow any of his clothes from his closet anytime <3

germany/ludwig beilschmidt

he's kind of just staring in awe. he hadn't realized that his clothes could look that big on somebody else.

in typical germany fashion, he asks for them to fold his clothing neatly after they are done wearing them

he steps away for a while with the image of them in his clothes stuck in his head. he can feel his own heartbeat speed up. verdammt. he thinks to himself. that was so cute. they're so cute...

japan/kiku honda

similar to china, japan sees this act as a subtle hint that his love wants to buy clothing just like his

"if you wanted to match shirts with me , you could have just asked..."

he thinks about it a second more and a visible flush of pale red appears on his face. japan begins to blush at the thought of you two wearing matching clothes/pyjamas 🫣

prussia/gilbert beilschmidt

doesn't think much of it other than the fact that of course they would want to wear his clothes...they're awesome, he's awesome

"are they comfy?"

he asks half jokingly. when they say yes, his smile widens and he tells them that they're welcome to wear his clothes all they want. maybe his awesomeness will rub off on them too

s. italy/lovino vargas

he wants to tell them that they look funny, dorky, and just outright ridiculous while wearing his clothes

oh, but he can't...he thinks that them wearing his own clothes is actually pretty adorable

"yeah, you're cute. now give them back." he huffs

that image of them will now replay in his head for the rest of the week day

[stonesilhouette]

Affections of an Apparition

Yandere Ghost England x GN. Reader

TW: Yandere Behavior | Character Death | England tries to kill (Y/n) more than a few times but then he becomes a simp | Magical Kidnapping | Imprisonment | Magical Induced Forgetting | idk if I forgor something

Uhhhhh I wrote this in literally a day, I don't want to talk about it okay :(

(There is technically one use of the world 'she' by another character but I'm pretty sure that's it. This was originally fem. reader and I don't want it to differ from my other publications so I'm gonna leave it)

Word Count: 5916

Perhaps you should have thought a little harder and dug a little deeper inside of yourself when deciding to buy a haunted house… But it was just so cheap!

Sure the shutters creaked during the frequent storms like a man in unpeaceful rest and the wind howled past the house, desperate to invade, but the view was beautiful… When it wasn’t completely enshrouded by a heavy mist so thick that you could get lost and find yourself in another realm altogether. But inside!... wasn’t much better; with winding corridors that created an inescapable maze and sharp corners filled with shadows. Every eave and crevice hid strange noises and eyes; some days you could swear that you heard the whisperings of a man rush by your ear, stiffening your hair to stand on end. You never found any evidence of rodents or even spiders, only a thin layer of dust that blanketed the entirety of the house.

Though there had been an attempt to add electricity to the estate, power surges and complete blackouts rendered it useless. All wiring would alight until it was charred and unusable and bulbs burnt out within days. Things often overloaded and it was a gamble whether or not the outlet you were using would choose to spark. There was a backup generator but it was in worse condition than the wiring and often didn’t work.

That meant that on nights like tonight, where the storm had knocked out your power –again– you had to rely on candles lit around the large manor. You were half sure that you contributed to most of the candle market in the small town.

The ancient Victorian home had belonged to an old noble family whose only surviving member had been assassinated. It had floated through many hands over the years, including yours. The house overlooked the nearby town, of course, that depended upon if the fog would break. The town itself was small and quaint, only a few hundred people and a few large families. Gossip spread fast and you did your best to click with the ‘in’ group. When your wi-fi wasn’t feeling spotty, you often texted with a few local people. They were in their twenties like you and were positively bored of the small amount of people that their hometown had to offer.

It was from them that you learned that the townspeople wholeheartedly believed that the restless spirit of the old manor lord haunted his home with a vengeance. At first you took it as a small town’s superstitions, nothing more than a fantasy or a spiraled rumor. You had lived there for about nine months but it was starting to get ridiculous.

Can you punch a ghost? Because if you can, you were totally going to. All you wanted was toast and tea. You were drinking tea because the ghost absolutely abhorred coffee and would spill your coffee grounds all over the hardwood floor. It didn’t matter where you put it or how tightly you secured it. Every morning you would come downstairs and find the brown powder spilled all over the floor like a crackhead had rifled through your cabinets. You thought, at first, that it might be the brand of coffee. But no, alas, it was the coffee itself. So you were now a tea drinker. Thanks, ghost.

Anyway back to the current toast issue. You had jumped back a split second before the sparks from the outlet would have reached your skin. Eyes blown wide, you could feel your entire body shaking. A second longer and you could have been dealing with multiple-degree burns. Unconsciously, you rubbed your bare arms over where the injury would have been. Suddenly the lights went out, encasing you in total darkness, save for the low silver light filtering through the windows, bathing what it touched in a blue tone.

You and this stupid ghost were going to have to have a chat.

Stomping angrily down the long hallway, you did your best not to huff the dust you were kicking up. You passed by countless amounts of old Victorian furniture, all in the same place they had been since being placed there over a hundred years ago. It was entirely in vain to try to move the furniture as any time you or any other previous owners had tried, you would just find it straight back in its spot the next morning. Save for the times that pieces would be moved just slightly so you would run into them or stub your toe.

A large portrait caught your eye even through your mad march. It was a painting of the lord of the house. Your current tormentor: Lord Arthur Kirkland. His toxic emerald eyes burrowed into your soul, curling inside and freezing you from the inside out. His shaggy blond hair framed his face, carved into a permanent scowl. Above his eyes lay two thick eyebrows. Oh great, the bane of your existence had caterpillars for eyebrows. He was wearing the ruffles and coats of the period but the tightness of the clothing had you gasping for air just looking at it.

Wait… Nothing filled your lungs when you tried to inhale. Fear struck itself across your face and you thrashed violently, scratching at the air in a desperate attempt to remove the block to your airflow. Finally, like sweet nectar, air rushed into your body and you collapsed to your knees. Tears had formed in the corner of your eyes and a single droplet fell down your soft cheek. Your face erected a scowl of your own as a strand of hair fell down in front. Okay, ghost. Now this was personal.

If this assholic spirit wanted to make your life a living hell, then you’d make its death a living hell.

“Oh it is on.” The fight had begun.

Clearly, he had a very strong hate for any change being done to his home. The constant destruction of cables and any other foreign objects made this clear. So you thought about it. What would a Victorian ghost hate more than anything to have in its house? Most of the decoration was already intricate and ornate to a slightly tacky degree. Then it hit you.

Grabbing your car keys, though quickly stopping to get dressed, you raced out the door towards the only home improvement and building store in town. It was run by a local family, as most things in town were, and you happened to be friends with the oldest son. Dashing through the front door, the brunet looked up at the sound of a jingle. He smiled and stepped out from behind the counter.

“Hey (Y/n),” he said, waving as you bounded over. “What brings you here?”

“Revenge,” you answered simply, stretching the upper half of your body to look at the wallpapers set up past him.

“Against who?” he asked, clearly not sure if he wanted to know.

“The ghost,” you responded, bouncing over to the racks of paper. “He tried to kill me and so I’m going to ruin his precious house.”

“He what!?” Ben’s face dropped. He spun you around and grabbed you tightly by the shoulders. “(Y/n) you can’t stay there anymore. If he’s actually trying to kill you…”

“Sure I can,” you reassured him, prying his arms off and patting him on the shoulder. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

He sighed, exasperated. “(Y/n) you can’t win this fight with house decor. Also if he’s hurting you...”

You ignored him and continued your perusing. “I’m hearing a lot of can’t and not a lot of can and that’s just not a growth mindset my dear Ben.”

“(Y/n) you are dealing with an angry and vengeful ghost who has now expressed interest in murdering you.” You felt the texture of an especially pink wallpaper between your thumb and index finger. “(Y/n) don’t ignore me.”

You sighed, turning back to look at the man. “If you’re really that worried” –he rapidly nodded his head like a dog– “then I guess you could come with me to put the wallpaper up.”

After a few moments of contemplation, he spoke in a defeated tone, “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

You opened one of the double doors in a wide, exaggerated movement and it skidded into position with a thud. Humming, you trotted inside with Ben a few paces behind you carrying the roll of wallpaper and the bucket… and the brushes and everything else needed for this little makeover. The door slammed shut loudly after the two of you had reached the inside with no input from either of you. Though you were unbothered, Ben jumped and stood petrified like a deer for a moment. His eyes were wide but he reluctantly took another step, then another, then another and then quickly followed after you.

Hopping up the wide grand stairs, you watched as Ben struggled up the twin staircase with all of the materials. Once he reached the top, you were waiting for him and grabbed a singular paint brush daintily and then scampered into a large room.

Ben’s honey eyes went wide as he took in the grandeur of the room. The ceiling was inlaid with swirls of gold depicting handcrafted patterns that framed a large crystal chandelier. Heavy curtains hung above the imposing windows, filtering the little light that came through. Similar gold patterns continued on the wall, outlining the four walls bathed in a shade of dark, luxurious blue. That was a good word to describe the room: luxurious.

“Do you– Do you sleep in here?” Ben asked, astounded.

“Nah. I think it’s the ghost’s room and I’ve already had enough of him.”

“Then why are we doing it in here?!” You just gave him a smug look. “Right. Revenge.”

You snapped your fingers, having remembered something. “I forgot the glitter!” you exclaimed, leaping over towards the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t have too much fun lovebirds!”

Snickering at your own teasing, you quickly hiked down the stairs and out towards your car. Left behind, Ben twiddled his thumbs, too nervous to sit down on anything for fear of offending the ghost. He chuckled nervously and swayed from one foot to the other. There was something in the room, he could feel it.

“So…” He paused, unsure of what to say. “That’s (Y/n) for you. Always running around with no sense of self-preservation.” He sighed, this wasn’t making him feel any better. “She’s like a little gremlin sometimes… an adorable little gremlin.”

You burst into the room, shouting at him, “Ben, I’m back!” He froze with fear for a second and you waved your hand in front of his face as he blue-screened. You spoke with a wispy and falsely ethereal voice, “Earth to Ben. We have revenge to do. And lunch. Definitely lunch.”

Once you got your things set up and prepared, you started to work right away. You made Ben take the high spots. He was like 6 '3, it would be a waste to have yourself do it. Standing back, you took a moment to admire your half-finished handiwork. It would be so ugly when finished. It was perfect.

“I don’t suppose I’m getting paid for this?” Ben asked, and you looked towards him.

You looked back at your masterpiece. “No.”

There it was. A full room covered entirely in four different wallpapers. On one wall, the first contender: leopard print. On the second: pink flamingos with googly eyes. On the third: something that could only be described as Picasso meets impressionism. And the fourth and final contender, the most ugly of all: banana leaf print that doesn’t match any of the other decorations in the room. Not to mention they’re all covered with glitter so no matter how much the ghost cleans, he’s never getting rid of the memory.

You snickered evilly in the background, rubbing your hands together like an old-timey villain. Suddenly, you snapped back to normal.

“You wanna get lunch?"

The two of you sat at a table outside, happily basking in the sunlight. Behind you was the dumbass manor you owned. It was surrounded by fog and looked cartoonishly evil. You were starting to understand why the townspeople disliked it so much. It interrupted the view.

“So–” You took a moment to ravenously take a bite and swallow it. “Why did your parents stock that hideous wallpaper anyway?”

“For people like you, (Y/n). People like you.”

Because you felt bad, only a little, you decided to pay for lunch. Ben still tried to insist upon paying but every time he got close to the check, you would swat his hand away. He drove you back up to your house and the two of you ended up sitting on a porch swing. It wasn’t original to the house but it was one of the only additions the ghost seemed to approve of.

“You know,” you started, swinging the bench. Ben lifted his legs up so it could move. “I think I figured out the ghost’s problem.”

“Really?” Ben questioned, humoring you. “What is it?”

“Well, he never got married, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Given the time period, that probably means he never… you know, too.”

“(Y/n), really?” Ben face-palmed.

You argued back with impassioned earnestness, “No, no, no, no. Hear me out on this. He’s like all mad and angry and stuff because he’s a bitch loser virgin boy.”

Something cracked in the background.

Ben tried his best to stifle his laughter and push down the smile threatening to stretch itself across his face. “I’m– pfft– pretty sure that the ghost– pfft– is not upset because he’s a–” He stopped for a moment to center himself. “–a ‘bitch loser virgin boy.’” He airquoted your words and you harrumphed, crossing your arms.

“Fine. What do you think then?”

He blinked at you, almost as if asking ‘are you serious?’ “He got murdered, (Y/n). My guess would probably be that.”

“Orrrr.” You dragged out your ‘r.’ “Maybe we’re both right.”

Ben sighed, agreeing with you if not to just end the conversation before the ghost decided to kill you both. You waved him off about a half hour later and headed back inside. Though you wanted to check in on your ‘artwork,’ you didn’t really want to run directly into the spirit again.

Walking through the manor, you found yourself in front of another portrait of the man. He looked as judgemental as ever, his lime green eyes piercing even as an inanimate photo. You don’t know why you talked to it, or even why you stopped. But you did.

“You know…” you started, hugging yourself tight. “For a bitch loser virgin boy” –A ghastly hand illuminated in a cold blue glow stretched out for your neck– “You’re actually pretty cute.”

The hand froze in place. You blew a strand of hair out of your face, readjusting to take another look at the portrait.

“And for how ridiculous that clothing is, you kind of pull it off.” The hand backed away, the light dimming. “I know I keep making fun of your house but I wouldn’t have bought it if I thought it was ugly.” It was barely visible at all now. “I mean, sunshine and a working heater beyond a centuries-old fireplace might be nice but otherwise it’s actually a very nice home.”

You blinked up at the portrait. Somehow, the expression the lord was wearing seemed softer now. There was less disdain and more of a quiet loathing on his face. Nothing could fix those caterpillar eyebrows though.

“The coffee thing was annoying but I guess I’m healthier now because of it. I was really tired that first week though. Anyway…” you trailed off. “Thanks, I guess.” You sighed at what you thought was only yourself. “What am I doing? I should… take a nap.”

Soft breathing filled the room; it was utterly quiet besides the faint sound. Your face contorted into uncomfortable expressions from the rapidly dropping temperature and you curled into the heavy blankets of the large bed. Only your head remained above the covers, the rest below like a figure bobbing in the waves on the open sea. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, a low orange light just barely slipping through the mist. The copper colored light spread across the wooden floor and stopped at the edge of glowing, blue feet, creating a soft purple.

They stepped out of the light and into the shadow, the illumination of the azure color growing brighter with each passing step. A face appeared from the foot of the bed, slowly coming into view. Unkempt hair cut in every direction floated lightly, encapsulating the face of Arthur Kirkland, last lord of the Kirkland manor. He watched with calculating yet curious eyes, looking for any sign of guilt or deceptiveness. He found none.

Though the man walked to your side, it would better be described as gliding. The tailcoat pieces of his jacket hovered to the same slow rhythm as the rest of the loose articles on his body. He brought a gloved hand to your face, lightly brushing his fingers across your cheek. Your face contorted from the biting cold and he quickly drew his hand back.

A low thought crossed his mind. If he hovered his lips above yours, could he suck the warmth and life out of you? To make you like him? Arthur stopped himself. Those were improper thoughts. No matter the time period, he shouldn’t think that way, especially of a lady he was not in courtship with.

Still… No!

He suddenly faded out of existence, his presence slipping out of the crevices and with it, the freezing cold. The warmth had returned to the room and in response, you had pulled the covers back down to adjust to the temperature change. Thank goodness he left when he did, you were wearing a tank top. Shoulders, scandalous!

Ben called you the next day, worried about what might have befallen you and your tricks.

“So, is it still there?” he asked, voice scratchy over the phone.

“No. He took it down.” 

Ben sighed. “All that work for nothing.”

“Not nothing,” you said, sitting comfortably on the couch. “I think we finally called a truce.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. I guess I’m just too wonderful to hate.”

“Who are you talking to?” A third voice interjected.

“Oh I’m talking to Be–”

You dropped the phone.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n) are you there? (Y/–”

You weren’t listening, instead, you had slowly turned behind you, eyes wide as saucers and body as stiff as a board. There, in glowing blue glory, was the man from the paintings, bushy eyebrows and all. Blinking a few times, you kept expecting the visage to disappear every time you opened your eyes again. But he never did.

“Well don’t look so shocked now, love,” he huffed, crossing his arms and carrying that signature scowl.

“I– I– I–” It was your turn to bluescreen and the ghost rolled his green eyes, tapping his arm impatiently.

“I say, with how chuffed you were over that last stunt, I’d thought you’d have more to say than that,” he insulted, drifting through the couch and watching as you astonishedly followed him.

“(Y/n)?! (Y/n)?!” Ben implored through the phone.

“Oh, I recognize that voice,” Arthur answered his own question. “You can continue on with your nonsense conversation later.”

With a wave of his cerulean hand, you watched in horror as your phone short-circuited, sparked and then burst into flames. It was the threat of fire that knocked you out of your stupor and you quickly ran to the kitchen to grab the nearest fire extinguisher. The white foam drowned your phone but also safely put out the fire. You dug through the froth to find the piece of metal and silicon, uncaring for whether or not it got on you.

As soon as you got it, you dropped it again, the heat from the searing flames had left the metal as hot as if it had been outside on a summer’s day. The ghost seemed oblivious to your plight and as you shook your hands off, he waved one of his own and the floor returned to how it had been before. He looked towards you, cradling your steaming phone with a pair of oven mitts you had grabbed. You felt like crying and clearly the blond could tell.

“Oh don’t cry over spilled milk. You can just get another one.”

No. He was wrong. You couldn’t just get another one. Sure you could get another phone but you hadn’t backed up any of your pictures or videos or documents and there was no way in hell you possibly remembered all of those contacts. From the sorry state the melted rectangle was in, you could pretty much guess that the SIM card would be unsavable. Years worth of memories; gone.

The spirit looked down at you in slight curiosity; you weren’t usually this quiet. He watched as you silently stood up, solemnly placed the phone into the sink, removed and put away the mitts, and then quietly walked up the stairs and back to your claimed room.

You didn’t come back out for dinner. Or for breakfast the next morning. He hadn’t even blown out a fuse this time. By lunchtime, he could feel himself starting to get worried. Well not worried, because he couldn’t possibly be worried about you but simply concerned what your mental state might mean for the physical state of his house. You had lasted the longest out of his tenants because that's all you were: tenants. You didn’t own the house after all, he did. And he was quite sick of people thinking otherwise.

Suppertime rolled around and he still hadn’t seen you. Usually, you’d be trying to figure out how to make the microwave not explode or trying to watch the ‘television’ while you ate. He always knocked out the power when you did that. Dinner should be eaten at the table. He looked towards the kitchen. The one you had chosen as your primary was a servant’s kitchen and so was relatively smaller. It happened to house one of the few things he allowed to work in his house: the refrigerator. Even he could see the usefulness of such an advancement.

Arthur impatiently tapped his foot, it was now eight p.m. and this was around the time you liked to watch a movie or a television show. He didn’t enjoy having the loud television in his home but the drawing room you had chosen for it was far enough from the main foyer. Besides, sometimes you watched this ‘Dr Who’ story and he quite liked those nights. 

There was no one present to change the candles and it's not like the lights were in working condition so Arthur sat in darkness. He forgot how empty this felt. At nine, someone knocked on the door. He –invisible– watched as you slowly trudged down the stairs. You were wearing the same clothes as when he had last seen you and your hair was a mess. There were bags under your eyes but it was the kind from sleeping too much. You pulled open the door and looked up at Ben. The concerned look on his face became even worse as he watched you blink out of sync.

“(Y/n), are you okay?” he asked frantically, pulling you into a hug.

The front porch light flickered in and out.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling the empty lightness of your stomach now that you were awake. Ben pulled apart from you, grabbing your face to look into your eyes. He rubbed his thumb over your eyebags and pulled you inside, uncaring for the ghostly apparition. After placing you on the couch and throwing a blanket over you, Ben ran to the kitchen to find some kind of food. His eye was temporarily caught on the burnt sockets all over the room but refocused on his mission. Though he wanted to make you something, he’d heard tales of the terror of the appliances in this place. Instead, he rifled through your cabinets and eventually just brought you a bag of marshmallows. He watched as you slowly chewed on the sugary fluff, stopping to take a sip out of the iced tea he brought you.

“What happened?” he finally asked, scooting closer. “I heard a voice and then you cut out.”

Instead of speaking properly, you pointed to the kitchen and mumbled out, “Sink.” 

Then you continued to gnaw on a marshmallow. Ben walked over, took a look inside the sink, stared with wide eyes for a moment, and then walked back to sit beside you again. The two of you stared ahead, not saying a word.

“Ghost did that?”

“... yeah”

“(Y/n) I think you should come live with me.”

You looked up at him with tired eyes.

“I–I mean.” He sighed. “I just really don’t think it’s safe for you here. And besides” –His cheeks were alight with a pink glow– “Would staying with me be so bad?”

A picture frame crashed down from the wall. 

Your heads snapped toward it and Ben pulled you closer unconsciously.

“I… I think you’re right,” you agreed with him, standing up to pack your things.

“I told you; this house is a lost cause,” Ben said, moving to help you.

The crystal chandelier high above glinted threateningly.

The two of you walked close together and as you walked under the hanging tree of diamonds, the strange shaking suddenly stopped. You didn’t take much so it didn’t take very long to pack. You insisted that you would be back after you gave the ghost time to ‘cool off’ but Ben seemed hesitant. The door closed with a creak and with it, the light.

From the shadows glowed a brilliant blue, forming into a humanoid shape. There, in all of his ghastly glory was Lord Arthur Kirkland. Alone again. A window cracked and he fixed it using magic with little thought.

As soon as you were gone the lord sank down. Past the servant’s quarters, past the locked doors and into the passageway that not even any of the other supposed ‘owners’ of the house had the key to. That’s because this door didn’t unlock with a key. Whisperings of Latin slipped out of his mouth and the runes in the door glowed and spun, turning until they clicked into place and the door slowly opened.

His magic may not have been as strong as it had been when he was alive but that didn’t mean that he didn’t still have deep and rooted connections to the ley lines that had been passed down through his family heritage. Books and papers flew open and danced around the room as he rushed through. He searched through ancient tomes until he found a heavy book covered in a thick layer of dust. His ghostly breath blew the grime away, revealing a brilliant ruby-red cover.

Arthur had never seen the point to attempt this before but now you had given him a reason. He was going to perform a resurrection spell.

On himself.

You couldn’t say that you hated the last couple of days. It was nice to be able to use modern appliances without the fear of them blowing up on you. Ben had taken time off of work to take care of you and you could feel the guilt piling up. You didn’t deserve him. Not to mention you were pulling possible profits away from his family’s store. They just gave you cheeky grins before poking and teasing you about a wedding. Small towns are just like that.

After literal hours of begging, Ben finally agreed to let you work with him in the shop. It allowed him to keep an eye on you and for you to feel less bad. Many of your friends stopped by and they were almost as bad as Ben’s family. It was still far more relaxing and less stressful than fearing that your phone charger would suddenly spark and electrocute you. You hadn’t gotten a new phone yet. You knew you needed one but it wasn’t exactly on the top of your priority list.

At the end of the week, you had been reorganized and shelving a collection of nails. Your ‘shift’ was almost over, which meant that Ben’s shift was almost over and you were positively buzzing with excitement for movie night. The bell jingled and you leaned over to shout ‘coming’ before shoving the last box of nails in and racing over.

Putting on your best customer service face, you spoke to the person who had come in, “Hi! Welcome in! What are you looking for–”

You stopped. Standing right there. In front of you. In the flesh was Arthur Kirkland. It couldn’t have been him, but it was. Who else would have that shaggy blond hair? Those horribly maintained eyebrows? Those piercing green eyes? You stuttered and buffered and the man just smiled amusedly at your short-circuiting.

“Why I’m looking for you of course,” he answered, taking a step forward.

You took a step backward. “You– you’re– you’re alive…” you gasped out, staring at him, completely stunned.

He wasn’t wearing the period clothing anymore, though what he was wearing still looked quite old. Instead, he had on just a dress shirt, black pants and similarly black shoes. When he grasped his hand around your wrist, you visibly shuddered from the cold but could not break free. You were locked in a staring match until Ben came to find you.

“Hey (Y/n)–” He froze.

“Oh good. I was looking for your dimwitted friend too,” he admitted, pulling you closer.

“Are you–” Ben stopped, looking on in disbelief.

“Goodness, you peasant people are just as slow as a hundred years ago,” Arthur huffed, rolling his emerald eyes.

Somehow, the next time you blinked you were back in the manor house. Ben was there too but he was knocked out and you couldn’t move to reach him. Arthur looked towards you, somewhat surprised to see you awake.

‘I guess my magic is still weak. It won’t matter after this,’ he thought, walking towards you.

More than anything, you wanted to struggle, you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream. But all you could do was watch. The blond snapped his fingers and you unfroze, becoming limp. Your limbs were still useless and Arthur seemed well aware of this as he carried you up the stairs. The two of you went past many rooms, including your own until you reached the site of your former masterpiece.

The door swung open and he waltzed in. The deep blue walls had returned to their normal extravagantness and there wasn’t a speck of glitter in sight. He gingerly placed you down on his bed, the soft mattress bending to your weight. You could do nothing but have your eyes reflect terror as the man manually tied your limbs to the bed. Finally, he placed a soft gag in your mouth and with it, you could feel the strange enchantment break. It wasn’t like your struggling could do anything anymore.

“Sorry, love.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and ran a hand through your loose hair. “I’ll need all the power I can get, so I can’t be expending it here.”

He walked away from your struggling form and quietly closed the door. None of your screams would make it through the walls of that room anyway. Arthur regally walked down the stairs to find his other captive missing. Instead of searching, he chose to stand completely still, hands crossed behind his back.

From the shadows, snuck a disoriented Ben, carrying the only chair he could lift. He smashed it into Arthur’s head, the impact shattering the wooden chair. The brunet expected to see blood and bits of gore. Instead, he came face to face with glowing green eyes, full of rage and jealousy. His jaw was slacked the wrong way but a simple movement clicked it back into place.

Ben dropped the remaining chair legs he had been holding onto and began to back up like a frightened deer. Arthur followed, slinking after him like the apex predator he was.

“You see,” Arthur started, stepping closer. “I’m not exactly alive per se. At least not yet. I’m on borrowed time, unfortunately.” He cornered the man. “Lucky for me, so are you.”

The next time you saw Arthur he looked different. He looked alive. His chest moved up and down, he blinked at regular intervals and you could see blood flushing through his body. Most of all, he was warm. So comfortingly warm.

Eventually, those thoughts faded and you laughed internally at ever thinking that Arthur could have been dead. He looked like a distant relative who had once owned the manor and shared a name. But he wasn’t. He was a different Arthur Kirkland, one who had come from London to learn that he should have been entitled to the estate. That’s when he found you, the person who had recently bought the house. That’s when you fell in love and… there’s something you feel like you’re forgetting.

There was always someone you felt like you were forgetting. No one in the town knew either so you had always assumed it to be a bad dream that stayed with you. Arthur had always encouraged you to forget and move on, but it always stuck with you.

Arthur had helped you properly install appliances and electricity in the house that wouldn't almost kill you and/or burn down the house. Well, he hired someone to make that happen but it was close enough. It always felt so nice to be able to flip a light switch and watch the room light up in a comforting yellow glow, though there were some days where the blond man did insist upon candles. You didn’t know why you flinched when the lights flickered or when the fire on the stove got too hot but Arthur was always just around the corner to watch you. He seemed to enjoy doing that.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the sounds of his heartbeat and feeling the movement of his chest. The constant fog that surrounded the manor finally dissipated and the two of you were peacefully watching the sunset on the porch swing. Arthur was rocking the bench lightly and the gentle swaying movement threatened to put you to sleep.

“Don’t fall asleep now on me, love,” he laughed lightly, lifting your head to look at him.

Grumbles came out of your mouth instead of words and you burrowed yourself back into his warm chest. He just shook his head and looked towards the fading light.

“Do you still think I’m a ‘bitch loser virgin boy?’” he asked in a teasing tone, running his hand through your hair.

Stretching, you readjusted yourself to situate your head higher, closer to his shoulder. He took in a deep breath, smelling the (smell) shampoo you had used. After yawning, you gave him an answer.

“Hmm... Yes,” you answered tauntingly, closing your eyes again.

He chuckled, continuing his brushing motions through your hair. “Not for very long, love. Not for very long.”

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

Giving Him Head - (W/ America, England, Canada) x GN!Reader SMUT

Summary: Smutty little scenarios where you go down on some (America, England, Canada) of the nations. Yup. 💕

Contents/Possible Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), Hair Pulling, praise kink (kinda), implication of multiple orgasms, SMUT, MDNI

America (Alfred F. Jones)

Alfred had always been fond of throwing large parties, a firm believer in "go big, or go home." The biggest one he threw each year had to be his birthday party. He could go all out with fireworks, cookouts, and every red-white-and-blue-colored food he could ever ask for or dream of having. The presents were a nice thing to get too, but you always gave him his favorites.

Usually, he'd receive it after everyone had left and gone home, leaving only the two of you, but today he wanted one a bit earlier, leading you to sneak off with him to a secluded area of the house while everyone remained outside.

"Fuckfuckfuck," he groaned, tugging at the locks of your hair while you sucked on his cock, stroking what you couldn't fit with your hand. He had been pent up all day, especially after seeing you dressed in the stars and stripes of his nation's flag. You looked irresistible to him for the entire day, so much so that he didn't think he'd make it this long without either of you touching each other.

"That's it, you're doing such a good fucking job," He praised, throwing his head back with a loud moan as you paid extra attention to the tip, swirling your tongue around it as the salty taste of pre-cum filled your mouth. He was being loud like he always did. It was his day today, and he'd be damned if he didn't enjoy every last bit of it.

He began to lightly thrust upwards, hips meeting the up-and-down bobbing of your head. You looked so beautiful like this, lips wrapped around his thick length while you looked up at him with half-lidded eyes filled with wanton desire. Oh, he was going to wreck you later after all the guests outside had returned home. You were his favorite birthday present, after all.

England (Arthur Kirkland)

Arthur was a composed man who did his best to act like a true gentleman to those around him, especially to you. He kept his words and actions proper, but no one can maintain their composure every moment of their life. Especially not when they have their partner on their knees for them and ready to please.

"Fuck," He cursed, the sound drawn-out and a lewd cross between a moan and a whine. He was rarely ever this vocal, but with your lips wrapped perfectly around his cock as you managed to take the whole of it inside your warm, wet mouth, he thinks he could forgive himself for being a little too loud. When you look up at him through eyes that look too innocent for the act you're doing, his composure slips even more.

"Just like that, love," he manages to get out shakily, already close from how well you're taking him. "You're going to make me cum." He moans, hands finding themselves buried in your hair, light pulling at your soft locks as you manage to take him in even deeper, your bobbing up and down with an increased speed.

The delicious, almost pathetic noise that escapes him makes something click inside if you, and you know things aren't finished here until he's a broken, babbling mess of the gentleman he portrays himself as. He was yours to ruin, after all.

Canada (Matthew Williams)

Matthew had always been a people-pleaser, more ready to do things for others than he was for others to do for him. He was a sweet man in every aspect, and you believed that type of good needed to be paid back double, even if he insisted that it didn't. It took a decent amount of coaxing and reassurance to get him in the position you were in now.

"P-Please–" He stuttered out, only to let out a loud gasp that turned into a whiny moan as you swallowed his cock whole. He didn't know what he was begging for; was it more? Was it less? He didn't know anything other than that the warm wetness of your mouth around him felt overwhelmingly good. He had already cum once, but you showed no intent on stopping.

He was already close again; the sight of you on your knees in front of him, combined with the way you were taking him, was growing to be too much for him to handle. His hands found themselves grabbing at the bedsheets below as he tried to delay what was to come and enjoy the moment a little longer, but you grabbed them, moving them to your hair.

"Pull it, be as rough as you want, I won't break." You told him quickly before your mouth returned back to his cock. He let out a soft moan, experimentally tugging on your locks, pleasantly surprised when a moan of your own left you while you continued to bring your head up and down. Maybe, just maybe, getting rewarded for his good deeds wasn't so bad after all.

[worldheadcanons]

☆ a brush with death!

requested by anon! gender neutral, death!reader. starring . . . england, france, & hungary. warning for violence in england’s part & suggestive material in france + hungary’s. fandom masterlist found here. 📌 . . . author notes: i imagine reader is the personification of death in a sort of grim reaper way; they escort certain souls to the land of the dead and catch any souls who happened to escape their fate. also, similarly to nanno from girl from nowhere or tomie, they’re kind of everywhere and nowhere. england’s section is admittedly not romantic but trust me i’m setting up something neat. i think i’ll expand on this concept more in the future, esp if ppl request more death!reader prompts.

arthur kirkland!

— you’ve seen each other many times. over and over and over since his conception as a nation. after the first couple of centuries you realized he was more than just a common face. this was the same person, each time. he was somehow cheating the system, staying alive for years longer than warranted. he was cheating you, death. it felt oddly personal. he had to go.

— it was only during the midst of the revolutionary war that you actually found yourself speaking with him. emotional reasoning led to him fighting alongside the rest of the red coats. he made a slip up, falling to the muddy ground of a foreign land. his company abandoned him and suddenly the end of your musket was in his face. “you’ve lived long enough,” you muttered, contempt filling your tone. then you pulled the trigger. problem solved.

— or… not, you realize years later. who knew you’d be seeing him again here of all places, in the trenches of the great war. he looks the exact same, more or less, save for a slight scar on his forehead. you’re almost sure the scar matches the spot where you first shot him. your eyebrows furrow as you make your way through the trench, stepping over bodies among other things. most of his fellow men were already dead from enemy fire or from your own fire. it had long since been determined that this whole infantry would fall; you were merely here to pick off any survivors of fate. “you,” you hiss.

— the disgust in your voice was all too familiar to him. “you,” he mimics, his face morphing into a similar sort of look. anger, hatred, surprise, and subtle curiosity. with no one living around, he dares to speak freely. “here to shoot me in the face again?”

— “precisely,” you reply, reaching for your rifle. you figured you could shoot him down now and find out how to actuallykill him later.

— before you can draw your gun, however, he’s already got his own pointed at your forehead. “i don’t think so, love.” he almost smirks, glad to have the upper hand for once.

— his advantage doesn’t last long, though, as you deliver a harsh kick to his legs. he stumbles, and in seconds you have him pinned on the ground with your boot on his sternum. you press down. “how’d you survive a blow to your head?”

— he wheezes out a sort of laugh. frustrated, you press further on his chest. this earns a gasp from him — “i can’t die by human means, though it does hurt when you,” he pauses a moment, gasping, “press on my chest — do you mind?”

— you lift your boot by an inch. your gaze is cold and calculating, boring into his eyes and maybe even through them, to his skull. “what are you then?”

— he hesitates at first. he knows he’s been bested, though. the smell of death and infection, trademarks of the trenches, fill his nostrils as he takes a deep breath. “i’m a country. i am literally england in all it’s glory.” he watches you take in the information. your eyebrows raise as you reappraise him. no wonder he was still alive. he was to england what you were to death; an embodiment of it. you, a concept and him, a country. “and what are you, if i may ask?”

— you stare at him a moment before aiming your rifle. country or not, you’ve got a job to do. if it wouldn’t kill him, he’d at least look dead for a while, which means no one would question why he was the only survivor among the rest of the troops. “i am death,” you murmur before pulling the trigger. he drops to the ground with a dull thud, like a deer. still, you’re sure you’ll be seeing him again. you almost look forward to seeing that angry expression of his again.

francis bonnefoy!

— “i take it you’re no stranger to fatal blows,” you murmur, running a gentle finger over the scar along his neck. you were in his bed after a one night stand (because even death likes to have fun from time to time). you’d both seen each other throughout time, sleeping together every now and then without truly understanding what the other was. you were.. immortals with benefits. something along those lines.

— francis just chuckles. “you could say i’ve flirted with death.” he shifts, brushing some blonde strands out of his face so he can admire you some more. the morning light shines through the window, illuminating his face and hair in a way that was.. heavenly.

— you smile. if only he knew. you’d decided long ago that out of all the flings and trysts you’d had over the years, he was one of your favorites. “mm. death seems to look kindly upon you, then. since you’ve survived so far, i mean.”

— “i’m supposing so, mon cheri*. i hope you look as kindly upon me as death does.”

— you don’t reply verbally, merely moving your body closer to his, almost touching. you’d seen and appreciated all of him from head to toe.. yet you still didn’t know what he was, how he managed to live for centuries just like you. you’re sure that the tension of not knowing is what led to you two continuously ending up in bed together. even so, every bubble has to pop eventually. silence, accompanied by mutual intrigue, briefly fills the room.

— “i have never managed to catch your name,” he muses softly. it’s only a moment or two more before he turns to face you completely, looking you over with relaxed but intensely curious eyes. “i know i’ve seen you before, mon coeur*. not just on the street. but in wars, in times of sickness. you’re like me, aren’t you?”

— “i am,” you murmur, looking into his violet eyes. “i know why i’m still roaming this earth. but what about you?”

— he leans in, starting to kiss the lobe of your ear down to your neck. his hands hold your waist, bringing you even closer. “i will admit to you, because you are so lovely, the obvious: i am immortal like you. well, immortal as long as the beautiful country of france continues to thrive. i am the embodiment of the mighty country, mon cheri. and you are?”

— you hum in consideration at his words. the mighty country of france… it was almost too fantastical to believe. if you weren’t equally fantastical, you likely wouldn’t have believed him. you resign to open up to him after some thought. he had shared his secret, so you might as well share yours. “i am… death.”

— he pauses his orchestrations, pulling back so he can look you in the eye. in the same way you considered his words, he ponders over yours. how such a beautiful creature could be in charge of the deceased is beyond him. you were death. you were tragedy. your existence alone fascinates him... finally, his lips curl into a small smile. “give me your kiss of death then, mon cheri. i promise i’m not scared.”

elizabeta héderváry!

— you’re not entirely sure how you got into this situation, holding onto her waist, riding with her across the hungarian landscape. the air was crisp today, though not so cold as to hurt your nose when the winds blew by you. you were supposed to have killed her today and yet…

— you’ve known elizabeta for many years. you’ve seen her over and over… she even admitted to you that she’s a country, many years ago. still, you’ve given little to her other than the occasional night of attention and affection. you’ve managed to keep her close to your heart while holding her far away from your true purpose. perhaps she coaxed you into this horse ride to find answers.

— eventually, she speaks up against the trotting of her black mare. “you’ll be leaving me again, soon, won’t you?”

— you tongue darts out to wet your lips. it’s a nervous habit that you yourself never could understand. what does death have to be nervous about? “it’s likely.”

— “szívem*, you don’t tell me anything about you.” her tone is sad, almost. héderváry faces forward, holding the reigns tight. “i want to know you.”

— “you do know me, elizabeta,” you begin, only to be cut off.

— “i know your body. i know how much you like me on top, making you scream —“ you pinch her sides gently, which causes her to laugh. “fine. you know what i mean. but i don’t know you. i want to know you. what you are, who you are. you know who i am. if you just stayed with me….”

— a small scoff leaves your lips. “i can’t stay.”

— her head turns so she can glare at you. her eyebrows are furrowed, her lips fixed into a frown. she gets that annoyed glint in her eye, the one you wish wasn’t so attractive. “why not? we’ve done this dance for decades, i swear!”

— “control your horse, elizabeta.” your voice is calm, a stark contrast to her own. the brunette woman huffs but regains control of the mare carrying you both. héderváry pets her horse a few times over and things go quiet, save for the steady sounds of careful trotting. the silence offers you time to think. she’s right, really. decades have passed and you still haven’t opened up to her…

— you lean closer to her. she’s warm, comforting. always has been, really. beautiful in and out of her gear. she’s home, if you could ever have one. hesitantly, you begin to speak to her from over her shoulder. “what you are to hungary, i am to death, elizabeta. i embody it. and when people happen to ignore what fate has in store for them…. i handle it. it’s why i leave often.”

— she processes your words in full before mumbling, “oh.” her horse’s speed slows as héderváry thinks. “i’ve been courting death, then.” it’s hard to tell exactly how she feels about it, at first. “well,” she says, taking a deep breath, “you’re still my édesem*. and you’re staying with me. at least for dinner. no buts.” ah, that was more like her.

— you snuggled into her shoulder, kissing her neck. it felt good to share yourself with her. “i’ll stay, then.” you could go back to reaping souls tomorrow.

☆ TRANSLATIONS. — *”mon cheri” means my sweetheart or my darling. i used the masculine form because that’s more gender neutral.

— *”mon coeur” means my heart.

— *”szívem” should translate to my darling or darling.

— *”édesem” should translate to sweetheart or honey.