#hetalia prussia imagines

[royaltea000]

he could not control the class 😔

[renonv]

okay but like the way you draw him and write him, roma has kind of perfect dad energy so now I'm picturing an au where he adopts a broke college student or smth lmao

ANONNN YOU DOG YOU POSSESSED ME and for the past few days I’ve been thinking and rotating this in my head… Romano adopting a broke college student au…. WORD VOMIT AHEAD HELP:

An 18 year old Elise who just lost everything as soon as she arrived in Rome, is about to give up and somehow go home, only to have her life change as a 30 something year old Romano tripped over her while taking out trash from the family restaurant he co-runs with his brother (who lately has been too busy w his personal life to truly help him!!).

After, Romano offers Elise to stay in Feliciano’s old room, and a job as a server at the restaurant. She happily agrees to stay until she gets back up on her feet.

The only thing is… Elise is not broke 😭 at this moment of time, yes she is, but she’s actually a recent runaway… she comes from a very wealthy Swiss family that only consists of her loving, yet overly protective brother. She wanted to experience life, and in order to do so, she had to run away because asking Basch didn’t work out 🤼‍♂️ many times

So now Elise’s adventure truly begins as she finally gets to live out a normal life, working her first job, making friends, and learning important life lessons from her new dad Mr. Romano (as he also learns a few new things from her as well 🫵)

Oh, and the entire time she’s in Rome, she unknowingly has to avoid being found by a team of private investigators that her Brother hired to find her (they are doing a shit job) ((having her phone stolen really saved her)).

[sunnylolli]

What now?

[yawujin]

Hii, do you think you could do smut headcannons for russia, prussia, America, and japan maybe? Please :3

you asked and now you shall receive ‧₊˚  ⋅ ☆

request | nsfw headcanons for russia , prussia , america & japan

type | nsfw , smut , head canon format

russia/ivan braginsky ♡

size kink c'mon we all know this

a sub leaning switch, but amazing at being a dom

likes to tease, hates being teased. he also prefers when his partner is straightforward and almost aggressive in communicating with what they want from him

is into temperature play, specifically with ice or cold water.

isn't the type to scream or moan loud, but more of the type to curse under his breath a lot, or grunt lowly.

prussia/gilbert beilschmidt ♡

the type to have music playing while fucking someone but it's actually really nice music so it's all good

he usually is the top with every partner he has, but will occasionally bottom for the other person if he feels like he can be vulnerable with them

likes to close his eyes and be in the moment (also bc he gets to rest his sensitive eyes)

likes to pretend he's annoyed that his partner is teasing him while he's trying to work/write in his journal...but he actually loves it.

the guy absolutely loves cockwarming, especially if his partner kinda just starts to grind on him a little bit...

he starts to lose focus on what he was doing before almost completely, struggling to keep his train of thought on track LOL

america/alfred f. jones ♡

the man loves food, so if his partner is letting him lick a line of whipped cream off of them, he's going to do it no questions asked.

he can be so pathetic sometimes; begging for attention, wanting to be held...if he really likes the person he's fucking he'll become so clingy 🥺

praise is his favorite. he loves it when his partner makes it personal and puts a 'my' in front of the petnames. (ie "my good boy")

loves when his partner rides him, loves it even more when he's the one riding.

i can see the foreplay being his favorite part of having sex...he likes the build up

japan/kiku honda ♡

if his partner happened to have a hand kink, then being with him would be like winning the lottery

i headcanon him as having some nice, slim fingers and soft hands that feel really nice when he's touching his partner all over.

he has slightly long yet well manicured finger nails that could leave some scratchmarks on his partner's back if they fucked him in missionary

has a thing for getting his ears licked during sex (it feels good fight me)

the way he looks kind of vanilla but would probably write the most horrific and degrading words on his partner's body in marker 🙀

[merbear25]

Hi, can you make Russia, Germany and Prussia with a reader who's also a total simp for them? (Like in previous ask✨️)

Hello, hello! So much love for the Hetalia men, I love it! Thank you for sending in your request. I hope you like what I've written for you 💜💜

pt 1, pt 2

CW: gn!reader, fluff, headcanons

Meeting a simp reader (Russia, Germany, Prussia)

Russia

At first, he was a bit shocked, then that shifted into doubt before he eventually realized you were genuinely head over heels for him.

The more time you spent around each other, the more comfortable he became, eventually looking around for you when you weren’t by his side.

He’d adore cuddling with you, especially on cold nights when the winter wind was howling loudly. Whenever you drifted off to sleep in his arms, he melted and allowed himself to fall asleep soon after. Waking up to you still wrapped up in his embrace gave him the confirmation that you were there because you wanted to be.

He’d want to strengthen your bond by exploring your common interests. I’d even go as far to say he’d get out of his comfort zone: giving things a try that he may not have prior to meeting you. A deep and meaningful connection was all that he’d really want at the end of the day and if you were willing to give that to him, he’d never complain.

Germany

He’d be fairly hesitant to accept your praise and affection. He was far from the romantic or touchy-feely type and you always wanting to be around him was making him…flustered. 

Despite that, you appeared to be hard-working, dedicated to your ambitions, and an overall respectable person, eventually earning his good graces.

With you seeming more than one dimensional to him now, someone he felt like he might enjoy having around, he’d invite you to training sessions and maybe small outings with the others if he thought you’d like it. Affection would undoubtedly start out small, mostly through acts of service and sometimes words of affirmation.

The progression in your relationship would be slow yet gradual, leaving room for you to both explore who the other truly was. Quality time would increase the more comfortable he became around you, wanting to share peaceful moments with you or enjoying a nice walk in the park. Looking at you, he’d have a subtle smile pertaining to his gratitude for you.

Prussia

Everyone knew just how highly he thought of himself, so when you came into his life fawning over him, he couldn’t help but agree with you. He was the amazing Prussia afterall.

When your praise and adoration didn’t wear off the more time you spent with him and you expressed genuine interest in him, he started to wonder what your deal was—what you were all about.

You piqued his interest and now he wanted to know more about you. Inviting you out for drinks would be the easiest option for him. Getting more one-on-one time with you made everything easier for the two of you to bond properly. He came to really like you and suddenly your praise made him feel a bit differently—more affectionate.

Once you two got past the first hump with getting to know each other, he’d match your eagerness to see each other. He'd want to be around you all the time. Despite the chaotic energy he brought, he enjoyed the softer moments too. Whenever he got you smiling and laughing were times that he cherished, never wanting that feeling to fade.

[forsoobado137]

Seeing Hetalia and singing terminology in the same post has me literally jumping for joy. My brand!! My brand!! My thing!! Ecstatic. Thank you kind enabler.

Yes I love musicccc. I was in choir so I have a bit of background knowledge. I love thinking about how their voices work lol. Infact, here are some more voice/ choral singing headcanons!

Romano is an opera god. He has the range of Pavarotti, and literally sounds like an angel on earth. I love that this is canon.

Italy has the same classical theatre type of voice as his brother (but not at his level). He's an expert at reading sheet music (a lot of Italian terms).

America has a really powerful tenor voice + amazing breath control. The problem is he's sometimes a bit sharp. Also he loves improvising, which means he'll sometimes shout lyrics instead of singing or he'll experiment with a riff. It doesn't always land. Also, he doesn't really enunciate his consonants.

England sounds American when he sings. His voice is a kind of a generic baritone, though he can reach high notes with a decent falsetto. His strength is that he's always on tempo. He hates when other people clap at concerts because they're always off-beat.

France has a very seductive baritone voice. It's deep and elegant. He knows the differences between the dynamics. He's makes dramatic expressions when singing, which might make some roll their eyes. His range isn't really anything special, and he's annoyed that he gets stuck with the boring baritone melodies. He holds onto the long notes for just a liiiiiittle too long.

Switzerland is a tenor and has very good vocal control. This man can yodel.

Germany is kind of a bland singer. It's like he's never heard of vibrato. He is a bass/baritone who cannot hit the high notes to save his life. Very on tempo.

Prussia CANNOT SING. His voice is raspy, he's tone deaf, and has no sense of dynamics. Don't tell him though...

[goldenstarprincesses]

Hear me out, all nations have beautiful and enchanting voices

But only when they are singing their own peoples folk songs

[generational-atrophy]

Nice blog! You wouldn't mind if I took a little chomp out of it yeah? :D

Mmmmm can I request France,Germany,England, Prussia and Russia with an s/o who really likes there accent and voice. S/o would listen to them talk all day just to hear there voice/accent? There just mesmerized by it.

Much appreciated partner and have a great day🙏🙏‼️‼️🔥🔥⁉️⁉️🪑🪑🪑🪑

(France, Germany, England, Prussia & Russia x Reader) S/O that loves their accent!

(Gender Neutral) Headcanons ~ A/N have fun eating my blog but beware. Theres poison sometimes :)

Trigger Warning: None, just fluff!

Oh, you do not need to tell him that. He knows. And he adores how obsessed you are with just his voice. Don’t worry, he won’t tease you too bad

But expect to be woken up a couple of times by him reading you love poems in French. Actually, he’s doing that all the time. Anytime that he can speak to you in French, he’s doing it.

“My beautiful language for a beautiful person, no?”

It’s also pretty obvious that he exaggerates his accent for you. Sure, he’s been speaking English for centuries, but you’d never guess that from how he talks to you. It’s a little childish, but he just can’t get enough of your face whenever he says anything even remotely romantic in that silky voice of his.

Whenever he catches you staring, he can’t do anything but grin, promising himself that he’ll spoil you sometime soon for being so cute.

Ludwig has never really liked his own voice that much, so at least someone does for him. He always complains it’s too harsh and too loud. And years of people judging him for his accent didn’t help that…

But he trusts you completely. If you say you want to hear him, he’ll talk as much as you want. But since you’re not giving him a prompt, you’re hearing about 1870s train logistics. He doesn’t make the rules.

He would try to be all affectionate and sweet like you want him to… but that is really not his forte. He tries! But you’ll just both end up blushing and stuttering and getting nothing done then. If it’s just his handsome accent you want though, you’re all good. He can make a manual on building an IKEA chair sound hot.

He’d rather hear YOU ramble than do so himself. Even if he does love how adorable you are when you’re so infatuated with him.

No surprise there. You’re not the first partner of his to love his voice, and you won’t be the last. Luckily that means he’s got a whole lot of experience, so he knows exactly what to say to melt your heart.

“Come on, Darling, don’t look at me like that.  Why don’t we get out of here, just me and you? How about that, Love?”

He’s not much for rambling, much less talking about himself, but he can absolutely fulfil your need for his voice elsewhere. A lot of your nights spent together will be him reading some ancient novel to you, his voice soothing as ever, until you inevitably fall asleep cuddled up next to him.

He must admit, he loves having that power over you. Being able to make you fall in love with him using nothing but his words? You’re just so cute, he can’t resist flustering you on purpose.

Well, of course you do! He’s spent centuries making sure he sounds hot as hell! But… you’re being serious right? You aren’t annoyed by how high-pitched he can get? Ok, thank god.

He is so excited once you tell him that. It’s hard to stop himself from immediately teasing you about it. After all, there isn’t a single sight that’s cuter to him than your pretty face all lost in love for him.

If you’re ever feeling down, he tries to distract you by simply telling you a long, overly complicated story from his past. Which, with those purple eyes fixed on you and a goofy smile plastered across his face, all the while his voice drips with accent, it’s hard to not get distracted.

He loves talking about himself anyway. It’s a good thing you like hearing him. Most people don’t. But that’s just what makes you two meant to be <3

Oh, you like his voice? He’s confused. You’re being serious? … why?

The poor guy is really insecure about his voice. He worries his accent is too strong, too ugly, and his voice is way too high-pitched. It seems like no one likes when he talks… they say he’s rude and weird. So… your adoration for him and how he speaks is a real shock.

Whenever you ask him to talk more, he gets all embarrassed and doesn’t know what to say! Especially if you compliment his accent, then he just freezes up and dismisses you. Anywhere you are, he’ll start talking all quietly and cover his face with his hands. But you can still see him blushing underneath them…

But once he’s used to it, he loves just narrating the things he’s doing. Sometimes you’ll wake up and come downstairs to see him coming up with some silly song about the breakfast he’s cooking you. Learning that you like hearing him has definitely made him include stuff like that in his daily routine. 

Plus, now when he wants a reaction out of you… he’ll lean into it. Rolling his r’s dramatically, whispering to you in Russian… when he wants to be, he’s quite a tease.

[crimson-kisses]

Hi hello good evening!! I have been lurking about for quite some time and i honestly love your writing!!

If it's not too much, could you give us a crumb of yandere romano?? 👀 some general headcanons or whatever you're in the mood for??

Have a lovely day!!

Piccolo regalo

Characters/Fandoms/Pairings: Yandere! Lovino Vargas || Romano [Hetalia] x Fem!reader

Warning: This story will contain xplicit yandere themes, proceed with caution [includes non consensual acts, toxic relationship, the like]

Author's notes: Lovino has definitely been in my mind lately, so have this little snippet I wrote up in a hurry. This was inspired by this piece by @yanderehetaliadrabbles 🌻🐝~~~♡

Also, remember that lot has been going around the world lately, try to educate yourself and contribute as much as you can.

The kitchen was infused with the enticing aroma of sizzling eggplant as you carefully fried the golden slices in a pan, observing as they reached the perfect balance of tenderness and crispiness.

On any other day, you would have joyfully taken a few bites, turned on the radio to sway to some tunes, and effortlessly navigated the kitchen to gather ingredients and clean up. However, today, sombre thoughts preoccupied your mind, leaving you focused solely on the task at hand.

A slight frown took on your lips as you adjusted the ribbon, holding back your hair. Yeah, you weren't really in the mood for swaying around and being carefree.

An almost alarming smell caught your attention as you instinctively set the fried eggplant slices aside on a plate lined with paper towels to drain. Slightly burnt but not too much to be concerned about.

Mistakes happen, and nothing is too perfect. It was the bitter truth, and one you accepted as you continued with the preparation of the dish.

Nothing is too perfect. Mistakes were human. You almost vividly recalled the countless times you'd watched your nonna prepare this beloved dish. She seemed to be so perfectly superior in her skills, but you remember her laughing about her own mistakes in her childhood when it was your time to take on the kitchen.

People weren't perfect, and no matter how superior or skilled they seemed, they were bound to slip up. That was being human. Humans weren't perfect, and neither were relationships.

Wiping your hands on your apron, you turned your attention to the tomato sauce, a crucial component that would add depth and richness to the dish. You tried not to think, think, and think. But you were always such a feisty smart ass for your own good.

Perhaps that extended to everything else as well. Ah, were you so blindsided by love that you couldn't see the signs any sooner? The cracks in your lover until it was too late? Maybe it was because he seemed so perfect. Someone who could love you despite the edges you had and cherish all your faults. He was too perfect to be human.

Trying to suppress the shaking of your hand, you sautéed onions and garlic in a seperate pot until translucent, then added canned tomatoes, letting the mixture simmer and thicken to perfection.

But he wasn't even human, and neither was he perfect. Nothing can be too perfect for everyone.

You tightened the apron around your waist, opening the curtains wider, allowing a strong beam of sunlight to flood the kitchen. The golden rays illuminated the room, casting a warm glow on the countertops and appliances. Outside, the gentle rustling of olive trees could be heard and seen, their branches heavy with ripe olives ready for harvest.

To Romano though, you were perfect. Too perfect maybe, your confident suave nature resonated well with him, balancing his fiery intense attitude. Mostly what pulled you both together though was pure passion for things you both loved. Both of you were so supportive and protective of each other, even embracing the faults.

With the eggplant fried and the tomato sauce ready, it was time to assemble the layers. You reached for a baking dish and spooned a layer of the tomato sauce onto the bottom, spreading it evenly to coat the surface.

You still loved him, despite all his issues, insecurities, and stubbornness. Your sly antics countered his flirty attempts, coolly challenging him and keeping him on his toes. The tango you initiated with him was a dance of passion and tension, French kisses after deep arguments were common, a way to your love amidst the conflicts. To you, he was perfect, but maybe that love still wasn't enough for him.

Next came a layer of the fried eggplant slices, their golden-brown hue a testament to their perfect crispiness. You sprinkled a generous amount of grated Parmesan cheese over the eggplant, the sharpness of the cheese promising to balance the sweetness of the tomatoes.

Your thoughts raced as you continued with the cooking. Memories of family gatherings, moments with your nonna, and times with friends seemed distant, almost as if they belonged to another lifetime. Ever since you were told, forced to stay in this secluded house in the Southern countryside, those memories felt even more remote.

The layering process continued, each addition of eggplant, tomato sauce, and cheese building upon the last, creating a beautiful and delicious mosaic of flavors and textures. You added the final layer of tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese to your favorite traditional dish.

The setting was undeniably idyllic, the kind that would make your mamma gush over its charm, and your zie would nod approvingly, pleased that you had finally settled down. Despite its beauty, you couldn't shake off the feeling of complete isolation, the sense of being disconnected from the world you once knew.

With the assembled dish in the oven, the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of baked cheese and tomatoes. As you waited, your thoughts drifted once again to Lovino. He was the kind of man who would eat anything if you made it. Not that you would not threaten to poison his food if he didn't learn to appreciate what you cooked.

Nonetheless, you prepared some Caponata as a side dish knowing that's what Lovino preferred. Perhaps the sweet and sour taste resonated well with his personality.

You snorted in amusement. Asshole.

Setting the dining table, you poured some homemade Limoncello into a chilled glass. Placing it on a tray, you carefully set it on the dining table, beside the plated Caponata. Moments later, you retrieved the fragrant Melanzane alla Parmigiana from the oven, its baked cheese and tomato aroma filling the kitchen.

With oven mitts protecting your hands, you placed the hot dish on a trivet and proudly set it on the table, completing the meal for you and Lovino.

Placing your hands on your waist, you apprehensively glanced at the clock. He had said he would be coming home early today during the phone call, and judging by his tone, you assumed his mood was sour. Lately, this had become quite common, and it always made you tense when he seemed to be brimming with anger. The anticipation of his arrival weighed on you, adding an underlying tension to the otherwise peaceful atmosphere in the house.

There was a reason, you were trapped in the house he had bought for the both of you. Could you escape? Quite easily, but only physically for a short amount of time. Being a family woman, with close ties with other people, it put everything and everyone you loved at a dangerous risk.

You loved too deep, too passionately, too traditionally, and that love of yours kept you in shackles. That love which Lovino was possessive of. Lovino would easily find you, and he had already proved that your family and friends would pay the price if you stepped out of line. Heavily, and you couldn't bear that.

After all, how could you escape the grasps of a man who had been here for centuries? He knew every nook and corner, had legal and illegal ties which would be fatal.

The door opens with a thud, causing you to rise on your toes in startlement. You see your lover stumble in, clearly heavily intoxicated. His unsteady gait and slurred speech confirm your suspicions. Soon after, the sound of a car starting up can be heard, gradually fading as it drives away from the house, leaving behind an uneasy silence.

You wished you were in that car, far away from this isolated place. Perhaps, you could ask Lovino to take you out, once he is stable enough of course.

Nonetheless, pulling up your dress slightly to hasten your steps, you briskly walk towards him in concern. Your hands instinctively reach out to steady the stumbling man as he gives you a lopsided smirk, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

Lovino places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to his intoxicated form. His shirt is disheveled, and you tug on it to help balance him properly, feeling the warmth of his breath and the weight of his body leaning against you.

Both of you stumble awkwardly after hastily closing the door. Before you can react further, Lovino pushes you up against the counter, causing your breath to hitch in surprise. You give him a level-headed stare, trying to convey your concern and irritation. However, he places a finger on your lips as you attempt to speak, effectively silencing you and adding to the tension between you two.

"Lovi, this—" your tone biting, you gesture sharply with your hands, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, "is enough. Dinner is ready, and you are beyond drunk." Your eyes dart around, searching his face for answers.

All you find is overflowing love and a sense of lust swimming around his eyes. "Where have you been? Didn't you have some work today?" You finish with a sigh, placing a hand on his arm, furrowing your brows in concern.

God, you cared for this man so deeply. How could you not? You doubted you could ever stop caring for him, but sometimes you just didn't know what to do with him.

A flinch escapes you when you feel his fingers trace your jawline, skimming through the strands of your hair. His touch lingers for a moment, a slight frown forming on his lips. You wondered what was he thinking of.

"What's the matter, darling? Didn't you miss me, huh?" he mumbles incoherently, the furrows between his brows deepening along with his frown.

His eyes narrow as he bends closer to your neck, taking in your scent slowly. His hands, initially tentative, find their place around your shoulders, gripping slightly as he breathes deeply for a moment. He seems to be seeking comfort, trying to find solace in your presence.

But you can't seem to give him that, something in you doesn't know where to even start. Your fingers start to grip his shoulders as you let out a shudder, your lips almost ghost over his, hesitant and unsure.

"Mio amore, you have no idea how much I wanted to be with you today," Lovino starts, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. He grimaces disdainfully as he recalls his day, "After such a long day with a room full of idiotic bastards."

You couldn't help but grow more concerned, but chose to remain silent about it. As Lovino, had never liked you defending them, even if it was fair enough, given his attitude. There was always some drama at his workplace, especially regarding his personal relationships.

Pausing for a moment, he takes a deep breath, his eyes softening as they meet yours. "All the time, I was thinking of you," he confesses, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.

His hands, with an urgency you haven't felt in a while, snake around your waist with firm grip, drawing you irresistibly close to him. "Tesoro," he murmurs softly, the term of endearment rolling off his tongue, filled with affection. The weight of his desire is palpable, and you find yourself pressed tightly against his chest.

He breathes heavily, his warm breath brushing against your skin as he leans down, capturing your lips with an intensity that leaves you breathless. "Amore mio," he whispers against your lips, his voice husky with emotion. The world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this passionate moment.

A startled noise escapes you, surprised by the suddenness and strength of his grip. As he deepens the kiss, his arms tighten around you, lifting you slightly off your feet. "Bella," he murmurs, pulling you even closer, the intensity of his emotions leaving you breathless. You could taste the alcohol on his lips.

"Wait, dinner is--", you start to say, your voice trailing off as Lovino emits an annoyed grunt. He pulls back slightly, his eyes narrowing as they lock onto yours, covered in a haze.

His hands grip yours, which remain on his chest, bringing them to his lips. He messily pecks every inch of your delicate skin, affectionately raw.

"Dinner can wait, I cannot," he declares firmly, his voice laced with urgency and unmistakable desire. The atmosphere between you two thickens, the dim light casts soft shadows on his face, highlighting the longing in his eyes. His fingers gently trace your jawline, a silent plea for you to stay in this intimate moment just a little longer.

He had always been drawn to your argumentative nature; he liked his women confident, assertive, yet elegant and romantic. The intoxicating affection between you was often mixed with passionate disputes and petty fights. That was just how he liked it. He wanted to see you angry with him, and then to have you care for him, let him take care of you, picking up the pieces both of you had scarred and kiss it right.

But now. He didn't have the patience for that, he had always been selfish, possessive when it came to you. He needed your love, a reminder marked onto his skin.

He needed to feel your unwavering love, even with all his flaws, trusting that you wouldn't forsake him, like everyone else always had, just as he would never dream of leaving you behind. He sought to drown his insecurities in the depths of your love and trust. By loving you, he hoped to discover his worth and find a place of significance in your heart. He wanted to be everything you would ever need. To be enough.

And never be cast aside once again.

Lovino needed you. Right at this moment, dinner left at the table to be eaten later right after both of you have devoured each other and Lovino had forgotten the outside world.

Instead, curses erupted from his lips as a kick was aimed at his shin, causing him to stumble back from the force of your push. He hissed and gripped the place where you had hit him, rubbing it and breathing harshly through gritted teeth. You took the opportunity to slip past him, your steps hurried and uneven as you moved toward the staircase.

For a moment, he stood there, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, the anger in his eyes simmering just below the surface. But it didn’t take him long to regain his momentum. His gaze followed you, and his expression darkened as he saw you with your back pressed against the wall near the staircase, your eyes peering at him through your lashes—a look filled with defiance and a hint of fear.

It made his chest ache, a sharp pang that twisted deep within him. You weren't supposed to look at him like that. You were supposed to be different. His lady. His treasure. His will to live. And yet, here you were, pushing him away when he needed you most. His frustration grew, an unspoken plea in his eyes, silently begging you to come back, to understand.

For a moment, he went blank, his hazy stare fixed on your disheveled form. Your hair was tousled, a wild halo framing your flushed face, a blush creeping across your skin. Even in your attempt at a glare, there was something undeniably alluring about you—the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the fire in your eyes still burning. He found himself lost in the sight, his thoughts wandering back to the bar he had just left.

The memories were blurred, clouded by the haze of alcohol, but one thing was certain: he had been thinking of you the entire time. He thought of the faces around him, of meaningless conversations and laughter that left him hollow. None of it mattered, not when the only thing he wanted was to be here, with you, where every emotion, every moment felt real and raw.

But there was more to it, always more. The familiar feeling of being lost crept in, like a dark shadow lurking in the corner of his mind. He felt empty, hollow, as if his own sense of self was slipping away. Insecurity crawled under his skin, a sickly sensation, and tension coiled around his veins like barbed wire, cutting deeper with every thought. Fear gripped him—a fear that seemed to grow stronger every day. Fear of losing himself, of losing you.

He was terrified, the idea of being abandoned haunting him like a specter. Today, Antonio had managed to piss him off more than usual. The bastard had somehow found out about your existence. His former mentor, acting as if he had the right to give advice. But all Lovino felt was cold anger simmering in his veins, a rage he could barely contain. No one should know about you. No one had the right. What if someone tried to steal you away? What if he lost you because he wasn’t good enough?

The thought tormented him. Antonio could easily sweep you away with his charm. Francis could woo you with his words, his elegance. Even Gilbert, with his reckless charm and sharp wit, could draw you away. The fear felt like a hand tightening around his throat, suffocating him with the sheer terror of losing you. You, his only solace, his anchor in a world that always seemed to be against him. Forgot him.

You were his rose, prickled with thorns but ever blooming and vibrant. No other person could ever compare to the way you made him feel. Unlike the others, you didn’t irritate him or make him feel small; you didn’t belittle him with words or make him feel unimportant, discardable. With you, he felt seen, understood, cherished.

You were the one who didn't mock his insecurities or laugh at his temper. Instead, you stood by him, firm but gentle, seeing past his rough edges to the man beneath. With you, he could breathe, truly breathe, without the constant fear of being judged or cast aside. Every smile you gave him was a balm to his soul, every touch a reassurance that he wasn't alone, that he was worth something more.

But now, those very thoughts—the ones that lifted him from his darkest moments—were twisting into knots of doubt and fear. The possibility of losing you was tearing at him, the mere idea of it ripping open old wounds that never seemed to heal. And that thought, the cold reality of it, terrified him more than anything else in the world.

Because he wasn’t—and never would be—enough. For anyone. He was filled with faults, weighed down by his mistakes, and always fell short. Never just enough, always the second choice. Always.

That gnawing fear haunted him, creeping into the corners of his mind like a shadow that wouldn't dissipate. It told him he wasn't worth loving, that he could never hold on to anything good, that even you—his precious rose—would eventually see through him and slip away. The fear clawed at his insides, twisting his heart with every breath he took.

His hands clenched into fists, his jaw set tight as he fought against the growing panic. He couldn't lose you, not when you were the only one who made him feel alive, who made the world seem a little less empty. Not when you were the only person who saw something in him worth saving.

“Lovino—” you began, your voice wavering as you pressed yourself further against the wall, your hands searching for something—anything—to steady your trembling form. His name escaped your lips like a fragile whisper.

He took a step forward, unsteady but determined. His gaze never wavered from you, eyes dark with frustration, longing, and something more—something deeper and more unsettling. His breath was ragged, the scent of alcohol lingering in the air as he closed the distance between you, each step causing your heartbeat to quicken, your chest tightening with fear and something else you couldn’t quite place.

"Don't... don't come any closer," you managed to choke out, but your words seemed to fall on deaf ears as he continued, his stare locking you in place, making you feel both trapped and exposed.

He gives off an unsettling grin, mostly lopsided, as he inches even closer. "What's the matter, bella? Don’t I make you feel so good?" His voice is low and mocking, dripping with a twisted sort of affection. Sultry, enough to make you melt.

Heat rushes to your cheeks at the memories his words conjure, flashes of nights filled with soft murmurs and tangled sheets, moments when his touch was all-consuming and left you breathless. Lovino knew how to please his women. But now, that same touch feels different—possessive and heavy, like a storm cloud hanging overhead.

Fear still rests cold and lumpy in your stomach, winding tighter with each of his steps. You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure, but the grin on his face only widens, sensing the effect he has on you. His eyes trail over your flushed skin, every flicker of emotion you can’t hide.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as his hand presses firmly beside your head, trapping you against the wall. His eyes are locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion like a predator stalking its prey. As you try to inch away, he matches your movement, trailing you step for step, making escape up the stairs impossible.

His other hand slowly moves to the hem of your dress near your neck, fingers brushing the fabric with an infuriating slowness, savouring each nervous gulp and the way your thighs shift uneasily He seems to drink in your reaction, his grin widening with every twitch and squirm. There’s a knowing look in his eyes, one that seems to say he understands you more than you understand yourself. Your expressions are open to him, revealing every thought, every emotion like a movie playing out just for his viewing.

Soon enough, you gasp as his hands curl around your thighs, lifting you slightly, pressing his body firmly between them. His lips trail along your neck, planting fervent kisses, each one more desperate than the last. Your head tilts back instinctively, exposing the soft skin to his hungry mouth. Soft, vulnerable moans escape your lips, betraying the conflicted feelings simmering within you, while your hands find his shoulders, gripping tightly as if to anchor yourself amidst the whirlwind of sensations.

"Tell me, mia cara," he murmurs, voice thick with need, his breath hot against your skin, "tell me how good I make you feel." His words are almost a growl, laced with a desperate need to settle down his hunger.

"Lovi— I can't ri—" you begin, but your words are abruptly cut off as a sharp cry escapes your lips. Lovino bites down on the exposed skin of your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to send a jolt through your body. A low groan rumbles from his chest as he pulls back slightly, his breaths heavy, and his hand creeps toward the neckline of your dress, fingers tracing along the fabric with a deliberate slowness. His face inches back, frustration evident in the furrow of his brows.

"Why… why aren't you wearing the dress I gave you, huh?" he mutters, his voice tinged with irritation, his eyes searching yours for an answer. His hand tightens its grip on your waist as he leans in to kiss you, but you turn your head to the side, denying him.

A flicker of hurt flashes across his face, quickly replaced by a deeper frown. "Che diavolo, why won't you look at me?" His voice trembles with a mix of anger and insecurity, his hands trembling slightly as they hover near your cheek, longing to pull you back in, to have you only for himself.

You can't.

You feel him pull away, only to grab your hands again, a rough grip as he drags you up the stairs, His grip tightens around your wrist, knuckles white, dragging you up the winding stairs, each step echoing like the drumbeat of your heart as you stumble, half-carried, half-pulled into the darkness of the bedroom.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a storm of conflicting emotions. You love him — desperately, hopelessly — but you can't.

You can't keep on giving, not when he's already taken so much from you, threatening to consume your very soul with his burning need for love, for your love. How much more could you give? How much until you weren't enough for him anymore?

He yanks you into the bedroom, his movements hurried, almost frantic, as he begins to tug at the fabric of your dress. His eyes are wild, his lips twisted into a scowl. "You know... I never liked that damn cousin of yours," he mutters darkly, voice dripping with disdain. "The color doesn’t even suit your beauty."

You flinch at the venom in his tone, your glare meeting his. "It was given with love, Lovi," you retort, voice firmer than you feel. "He’s like a brother to me."

The word "brother" seems to pierce him like a knife. You see his expression darken, his jaw clenching tightly. You know he despises that word, especially after the disastrous encounter you had with his own brother, holding nothing but a deep-seated disdain for him. His grip tightens on the fabric of your dress, and you can feel the anger radiating from him, a hot, intense wave that seems to make the room feel smaller, the air heavier.

Lovino's breath is ragged as he looms over you, his hand curling around your waist possessively. "Don’t speak of him," he hisses, eyes narrowing into slits. "He won't love you like I do. No one does. And I won’t let anyone think they can even think of you that way."

Confusion grips you as Lovino's slurred words tumble out, his meaning obscured by the fog of alcohol. What is he talking about?The realization hits you suddenly — he’s drunk, and his mind is weaving together unrelated memories. it's clear he's thinking of his brother or that former mentor you've never even met.

He starts tugging at your dress, his movements frantic and almost clumsy. The fabric slips from your shoulders, pooling around your feet. A flash of panic surges through you — your heart pounds as you instinctively cross your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself. But Lovino’s hands are quick, his fingers hot against your skin as they grip your waist, yanking you back toward him.

“Non farlo,” he growls, voice taut with frustration. “Don’t. I’m just trying to love you... Why do you keep pulling away?” There’s a raw edge to his tone, a strain that makes you shiver. His grip tightens on your sides, and you feel trapped by his intensity, his overwhelming need.

You try to back away, but your knees give out, and you stumble to the floor. The carpet cushions your fall, but Lovino is already there, closing in with a feverish look in his eyes. His breath fans against your face, and you see the desperation — a wild, almost feral determination that makes your stomach clench in fear. His presence feels suffocating, his gaze locked onto you as if you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

"Mi sei mancata così tanto," he whispers, a slight tremor in his voice, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. "Every minute I'm away from you, I feel like I'm losing my mind." His hands move, fingers tracing the thin straps of your bra. You flinch, trying to twist away, but he catches your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Guardami,” he orders, his voice thick with emotion. “Look at me, amore mio. Why won’t you just let me love you? Why do you keep running away?” His lips are close, so close, and you can feel his breath against your skin, warm and insistent.

Your chest tightens with anxiety. You feel tears sting at the corners of your eyes, your mind a whirl of conflicted emotions. You should push him away, should scream or shove him back — but your body is frozen, caught in the intensity of his desire, the raw, unfiltered need in his eyes.

Lovino’s fingers are trembling, tugging at your bra with an urgency that feels like it might break you. “Why can’t you see that no one will love you like I do?” he mutters, his voice cracking. “Nessuno... not Antonio, not Francis. No one.”

He surges forward, capturing your lips with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs, his kiss rough and demanding. His body presses against yours, almost crushing, as if he’s trying to merge with you, to ensure you can never escape.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands bracing against his chest, and for a moment, all you feel is the racing of his heart against your palm, the heavy beat of it matching your own. His hands are everywhere, pulling at you, holding you close, and there's a desperate edge to his touch, a frantic, aching need that makes your head spin.

And beneath him, you feel the weight of his obsession, his unrelenting desire. You're left trembling, torn between the instinct to fight and the growing realization that nothing will make him let go.

Your back arches as his knee presses against your core, forcing a soft, broken whimper from your lips, "Lovi~" The sound slips out despite the creeping dread that tightens like a vice around your ribs. You feel his pleased hum vibrate against your skin, resonating deep in your bones.

His grip tightens on your neck, and he gasps, a low, needy growl, "Sì, say my name again, bella, please... Tell me how good I make you feel."

Tears spill down your cheeks, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric as if it could save you from the intensity of his gaze. You can’t meet his eyes — those dark, wild eyes where hunger and desperation mix, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every ragged breath. You remain silent, unwilling to feed the fever burning in his chest. His hands move, cupping your breasts with a possessive tenderness, as if holding the fragile pieces of your heart, ready to tear them from your chest and devour them, bit by agonizing bit, until he’s full — or until you’re emptied.

You would give and give and give... because even now, a twisted, agonizing love still clings to your heart, beating for him.

His fingers fumble with the buckle of his belt, urgency trembling in his movements as he presses himself further between your legs, trapping you beneath the weight of his need. "Oh, mia farfalla," he murmurs, a dark promise coating his words, "I’m going to make your wings flutter tonight."

He would take and take and take, driven by the insatiable hunger he couldn’t stifle, the self-loathing he couldn’t escape. His breath hitches, and his eyes bore into yours with a maddening obsession.

"No other man could ever be perfect for you. You are too perfect to belong to anyone else."

And maybe, just maybe, when your chest has been carved open, your ribs stretched to their breaking point, and your heart ruthlessly torn apart and devoured, when every piece of you has been laid bare and consumed, maybe then,

Perhaps, in that moment of ultimate surrender, you might finally be perfectly enough for your precious amore— your Lovino.

When you open your eyes with a flutter, it feels as if the events of last night were nothing more than a fleeting dream. Yet, the ache in your body betrays the truth. You find yourself dressed in a satin yellow nightgown, your hair brushed and your skin clean — all clearly the work of Lovino's careful hands.

Groggy and disoriented, you stumble down the stairs. The house may be vast, but thankfully, Lovino's impatience meant the bedroom was close to the main areas. He couldn’t wait for you to be within arm’s reach.

In the kitchen, you see Lovino meticulously reheating last night's dinner and adding a touch of his own culinary flair. His back is turned to you, but you sense his awareness in the subtle, deliberate movements of his hands.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice cuts through the silence, thick with an unexpected vulnerability that catches you off guard. You watch him for a moment, your fingers absently running through your hair, trying to steady yourself.

"No, amore mio," you whisper, your voice steady, but your chest tightens with each word. You see the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the hesitation, and you know he can sense the lie—he always does. Yet, you keep repeating it, hoping maybe this time, it will be true.

You gaze out the window, observing how summer's golden warmth will soon yield to the crisp embrace of autumn. As the leaves fall and the world prepares for winter's silent stillness, the cycle of seasons will continue its eternal dance, ever turning, ever renewing.

Perfectly.

[blutpop]

who the fuck gets drunk on easter?? this guy

(happy easter + trans visibility day)

[ask19thcentury-doctorgilbert]

"It was like watching a car crash unfold in slow motion, but worse. Worse, because no matter how hard I tried to piece together her symptoms in my head, I was coming up blank. What use was all the knowledge I'd built up over years, CENTURIES, if none of it could help my own child?

... No matter. It isn't about me - Gisella's currently being taken care of at Dr. Rapoport's new neonatal clinic at Charité. Ingeborg hasn't exactly worked with Devai children, but she's the best in her field, and our best shot at figuring out what's wrong. She, Erzsi, and I will figure it out. I refuse to give up hope, because if I do...

... I don't know what I'd do,"

--

I'll answer the additional lore stuff in a separate ask, but I will add a little history note about Dr. Ingeborg Rapoport! She worked at Charite from 1959 to 1973 and founded the first neonatal clinic in Germany. She was also appointed as a Professor of Neonatology in 1969. Prior to this, she worked at the Cincinnati Children's Hospital in the US, where she met her husband Samuel Mitja Rapoport.

Rapoport was denied her medical degree in 1938 because she was half Jewish. Despite this, she was able to pursue medical schooling in the US and in 2015, Hamburg University finally granted her a doctorate. It was supposed to be an honorary one, but Rapoport insisted on doing it the proper way and presented her thesis on diphtheria, which was the same topic she wrote about originally. She received a "magna cum laude", the second best possible result for a doctoral thesis. (x)

[royaltea000]

The only way I’m allowing this guy to be an alpha is if there’s bitchin involved 😤

[sand-rose]

Wanted to draw Prussia and Hungary in hoodies again, but with each other's colors. <3 Couples in hoodies together are just cuuuuuute!

[yawujin]

Hii!! Love ur writingss, i was wondering if i request headcannons for Russia, America, and Prussia with an s/o who gets like really bad headaches (bordering on like migraines) sometimes? (Like not suuper often but when they happen theyre like really bad n they have to lay down in a dark room n take some ibuprofen for a good while) please and thank you!!! <3

thank you anon & thanks for the request ! 🤍

request | russia, america & prussia x a reader that gets migraines

type | established relationship , cute , they/you pronouns used , fluff

russia/ivan braginsky ♡

he'll turn off the lights and lay down next to his S/O

if they want to be held while they wait for the migraine to pass, cool. if not; he will lie there in silence, and wait with them.

whenever you feel the start of a migraine, he will ask what you have had to drink recently. he just wants to be sure it isn't due to you being dehydrated or hungry (bc if you are, he will be more than happy to cook up a warm, hearty soup for the both of you)

all in all, he gets worried whenever they get these migraines. he keeps medicine on hand just in case

america/alfred f. jones ♡

bro will SPRINT to the nearest pharmacy to grab ibuprofen just for you when you don't have it on hand

suggests you make an emergency kit for it, too. (medicine + a huge water bottle with ice cold water)

he hates seeing them in pain :( if they let him hug them in the moment, he'll just hold them into his chest and rub their back

if there is any way he can comfort them, he'll hope they'll just tell him

prussia/gilbert beilschimdt ♡

he's quick to turn off the big light in their shared room before his S/O even has to mention it

he too, is plagued by the big light (having it on for a long period of time just bugs him)

"shall i fluff up the pillows for you?" he teasingly asks

he recommends you take a nap, so you can get some extra rest while waiting for it to pass

very carefully runs his fingers through their hair whilst they sleep

[merbear25]

Hey hi! Can you do romantic nsfw hcs with France, prussia and China x reader who's a masochist? Thanks!!! :3

Hello, there! I sure can! I must say that I appreciate the ask. Us masochists need a bit more material specific to us, am I right? Remember to practice safe sex.💜💜

CW: NSFW, MDNI, gn!reader, headcanons, kinks mentioned

With a reader who’s a masochist (France, Prussia, China)

France

He was taken aback at first—completely surprised that you told him such dark fantasies.

He wasn’t exactly a satanist, but he was no stranger to branching out of his comfort zone.

There would undoubtedly be a discussion in more detail about what you specifically wanted: what was on and off the table, and if he was comfortable fulfilling your desires to their fullest extent. It was conversation that was necessary to get the full picture of what consent meant to both of you. A safe word went without question to ensure comfort on both sides.

For him personally, he enjoyed light bondage like fuzzy handcuffs and sensation play like blindfolds and earplugs. However, he’d always wanted to try using sensual wax.

Biting was something he’d enjoy, as well. He typically kept them as light nips, but hearing you beg for more made him lose himself in the moment. He hadn’t intended to mark your pretty skin, but your reactions lessened his apprehension.

Any mark he gave was soothed with wet kisses, as if sucking some of the sting out.

He wasn’t really comfortable with knife play or anything that would potentially scar you.

There were certain positions that affected you more than others, ones which hit that sweet spot and allowed an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure. During these positions, his lust came more alive. Having you pant and squirm under him was a symphony he’d never tire of hearing, so he’d take full advantage of those moments.

Prussia

Although he may not be as kinky as his brother, he was just as adventurous—maybe even more so given his wild nature.

Even if he got ahead of himself at times, sex was one of the few things that he took his time to slow down for; this included both pleasure aspects and consent.

He was a bit more reluctant to experiment on a whim when it came to personal safety—masochism offered more risk, after all.

In a rare moment of maturity, he’d want to talk about what your specific turn-ons and fantasies were. There were few things that were completely off-limits for him, so he’d mostly just listen while you explained, taking a mental note for later.

He quite enjoyed BDSM, especially whips and chains. Your eagerness to explore more of his kinks was rather exciting for him. There weren’t many partners he’d had that were so willing to experience these things, which only made you more alluring.

Gripping your hips tightly, possibly bruising them, as you cried out in lustful sobs was like music to his ears.

Such beautiful sounds coaxed him into biting and / or spanking with such force that it left a welt.

He’d definitely want to use ropes, choke you, and explore sensation play with heat and cold. There’d have to be a safe word set in place because there were times he got carried away in the moment.

China

He knew he wasn’t the most adventurous in the bedroom, but that didn’t mean he was boring.

Exploring this part of sex wasn’t really something he’d gotten around to doing before. Sure, there may have been a few naughty films or magazines that caught his attention in the past, but acting these out was far beyond his experience.

Going about discussing your fantasies to their fullest extent was a conversation that you led for the most part. It was all a bit of a shock to him, but he wasn’t exactly opposed to broadening his horizons.

A safe word was set in place more for his sake because you could get just a little too intense for him.

Cupping would be right up his alley because it was more or less hands off, and he could just watch your expression change between blissful pain to full ecstasy. Places he’d find the sexiest would be your thighs and along your spine. The patterns and intimacy of it all was enough to make his head spin.

Knowing that you genuinely enjoyed what he did to you made him feel more confident. It was all a learning process for him, so please be patient with him. He ultimately wanted to make you feel good. He just needed some time to wrap his head around certain…requests you made.

[jackce]

Become my patron so you can learn with Prussia how to defend the world against Prussia (?)

Thank you patrons for another two months of your support 😭💕 you change my life for the better!