#hetalia angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neufhistoires · 7 months

Text

Loveless Marriage (FrUK) Chapter 11

Loveless Marriage

Chapter 11

Word Count: 4,496

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been about a week since Francis and Arthur spoke. They hadn’t really seen each other either because the Englishman made sure to leave before the Frenchman woke up or he would get home so late that the other man was already asleep. On days that Arthur didn’t leave the house, he would stay in his bedroom all day and complete work from there. Francis was starting to wonder if he was a ghost, if he didn’t even exist.

It was a miserable existence, but Francis used work as a distraction. He didn’t share his frustrations or embarrassing stories with Feliciano. Instead, he pretended like nothing bad happened, like he had no life problems and he was happy to be living abroad, working at a flower shop.

Escapism worked well for Francis until he returned home each night to either be alone or be ignored– he wasn’t sure which was worse at this point. Arthur wouldn’t even eat his food anymore, and Francis honestly had no clue where or what he was eating. He couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy at the thought that the Englishman might be eating meals with someone else all day…

“How’s your fiancé?”

Francis was cutting flower stems in silence, something that he usually did while humming softly. He was working slower than usual, too, as if he was in some sort of trance, lost in deep thought about his recent misfortunes. However, he was pulled out of his thoughts when his perceptive coworker noticed a change in his body language.

“What?” Francis replied, a mix of surprise and sadness in his eyes when he heard someone bring up the very person he had been thinking about.

“You mentioned that you have a fiancé a few times before, so I was wondering how he is,” Feliciano replied softly, taking some of the flowers to help the Frenchman cut the stems.

Francis was quiet for a moment, motionless as he stared down at the stems.

“How is he..? I wonder that, too,” Francis murmured, his voice almost a whisper. Then, he suddenly returned to trimming the flower stems as if he hadn’t just froze for an abnormal amount of time.

Feliciano glanced over at the other man, who refused to make eye contact with him, with an empathetic look on his face. He wasn’t sure what happened, but he could tell that Francis was really upset because of something that happened between him and his fiancé.

“Are you two fighting..?” Feliciano asked hesitantly, hoping he was prying into his coworker’s personal life too much.

“Something like that,” Francis replied, still keeping his gaze fixated on the flowers in his hands.

“Why don’t you bring him some flowers again? I’m sure it will ease the tension between you two, at least some, and then you can talk,” Feliciano suggested.

Francis finally made eye contact with Felciano as he started to seriously ponder the Italian man’s suggestion. He knew that it wouldn’t fix everything, but like Feliciano had said, it would probably release some tension and at least break the ice…

“D’accord, I’ll take your advice,” Francis replied, smiling warmly at Feliciano, who immediately mirrored his smile.

Francis returned home with a bouquet of red roses, just like he had given Arthur last time, and carefully arranged them in the same vase from before, which was still sitting on the kitchen counter.

Arthur wasn’t home yet, but Francis decided that he would wait in the kitchen until he came home, that way he couldn’t avoid him or sneak past him.

The Frenchman prepared dinner, cooking for two even though Arthur had either been eating premade meals or someone else’s food. He figured that he would offer him dinner and roses and he wouldn’t be able to avoid talking to him for at least a little bit.

Hours passed and Francis couldn’t help but feel frustrated when he thought about how he cooked dinner for the other man but he was coming home at a terribly late time just to avoid him.

And that was exactly what happened. Francis ate dinner alone, which he let become cold because he had foolishly assumed that today might be the one day the Englishman would come home on time. After he put the leftovers away, he cleaned up the kitchen, scrubbing the counters and mopping the floor more times than it needed to be done in hopes that when Arthur came home and saw him he would just think that Francis was busy, not that he was waiting up all night for him.

Eventually, Francis sat back down at the table, exhausted and frustrated. He lay his head down on the table, telling himself that he would just rest for a second and then he would go back to finding things to clean, but… he passed out.

The quiet jingle of keys could be heard from outside, and then the front door opened. Arthur was surprised to see the kitchen light on so late. He tensed when he noticed the Frenchman sitting at the table, but then he did a double take when he realized he was passed out.

The Englishman stared at him for a few, his keys and bags still in hand as he tried to make sense of why the other man was sleeping on a kitchen chair instead of in his own bed. Then, as he glanced around the room, he noticed that the kitchen was spotless. Everything was clean and organized. The only thing that stood out was the bouquet of fresh, red roses, arranged beautifully in the intricate glass vase from before.

Arthur’s chest felt tight when he saw the flowers, recalling how Francis had bought him the same ones before. He must’ve been waiting up all night to talk to him, Arthur thought. He felt kind of guilty until he reminded himself why they weren’t speaking in the first place and his thoughts turned sour.

Carefully, Arthur slipped past the table, hoping he could avoid the other man like he had been. But, in spite of his efforts, the jingling of his keys as he passed by was enough to make the Frenchman open his eyes.

“Arthur..?” Francis called out groggily. He couldn’t believe he had stayed up so late and yet he still ended up passing out at the kitchen table, of all places.

The Englishman hesitated when he heard his name, but then continued in the other direction anyway.

“Arthur! Wait!” Francis called out, stumbling as he tried to stand up from the table after just waking up.

Arthur continued to walk away from Francis, picking up his pace some when he heard the sound of the other man’s footsteps behind him.

“We live in the same house– you can’t keep avoiding me like this..!” Francis called out, frantically chasing the Englishman up the staircase.

“It’s like I said– you disgust me and I don’t want to see or talk to you,” Arthur replied coldly as he stood still on the top step, his heart aching at the sound of his own words.

Francis felt a pain in his chest, too, when the first words out of the other man’s mouth were yet again ones of disdain. Could he truly never forgive him?

“Arthur, I want to apologize to you and–”

“No apology will fix what you did,” Arthur interrupted, abruptly turning around to face the Frenchman, a look of anger and hurt on his face as they locked eyes.

“And I want to clear up the… misunderstanding,” Francis finished his sentence anyway.

“Misunderstanding?” Arthur repeated with a sarcastic laugh.

“Oui, I…” Francis hesitated as he took a step closer to Arthur, moving up a step so they were eye level. “What happened at the hotel was…” The Frenchman’s eyes averted towards the ground.

“Yes?” Arthur urged, impatiently crossing his arms as his icy gaze never left the man across from him.

“It was meaningless. I was so drunk I can’t even remember what led to it, but I can assure you that I would never want to do something like that with you..! I mean– you and I, together in a relationship? Really? We can’t stand each other! It’s been driving me insane to think that you would even suggest that I would want to have sex with you..!” Francis blurted out, feeling like he was a star in some sort of cheesy highschool play.

He was lying through his teeth.

Arthur hadn’t moved at all, an unreadable expression on his face as he seemed to pause and contemplate what the other man just said. Francis watched the Englishman’s eyes impatiently, wondering what was going through his head, if he bought the act, or if that false information even meant anything to him.

Well, it was partially false information. It was true that Francis had been terribly drunk, that he couldn’t remember much, and that he wouldn’t force himself on Arthur. But the lie was that he didn’t want to be in a relationship with the other man. In fact, after their sham of a honeymoon getaway together, he couldn’t be anymore sure that he had feelings for the Brit.

“I wish you’d put it that way sooner,” Arthur replied, both his tone and gaze softening when he said so. Francis didn’t know if he should be relieved or heartbroken.

“The thought of you and I in a relationship is definitely laughable, isn’t it?” Arthur continued, a smile grazing his lips for the first time since they were in Seychelles.

Now he could at least identify how he felt as heartbreak.

“Oui, it’s truly a bizarre thought,” Francis replied unenthusiastically.

“Let’s put this behind us then…” Arthur started, his tone returning to a more serious one again. “But you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone what happened that night, okay? On that condition, we’ll just forget about the whole thing…”

“D’accord… I promise,” Francis agreed, trying his best to hide how deflated he suddenly felt. It was somehow a worse feeling than before, even though he was elated to talk to the other man again.

“Alright… Good night then,” Arthur replied dismissively, turning around and continuing upstairs without waiting for a response. He was probably hoping that he wouldn’t have to deal with Francis suggesting they share a bed again. Although, the Frenchman no longer had any intention of suggesting a thing like that.

Francis went to bed alone that night, conflicted about whether or not he made the right choice by lying like that. Sure, Arthur was willing to talk to him again, but at what cost..?

It was much later than Francis usually woke up, and he probably would have continued sleeping, too, if he wasn’t awoken by a few knocks on his door.

“Francis?” A familiar voice called out, causing the Frenchman to slowly open his eyes and roll over on his side.

“Come in,” Francis replied with a groan. He had slept more than usual and yet he felt even more exhausted than usual. It was most likely because despite being in bed for so long, he hadn’t truly been sleeping the entire time. He stayed up the entire night, tossing and turning as he contemplated everything wrong in his life.

Francis was disgusted by the way Arthur could destroy his entire day just by stringing a few words together. The worst part was probably that the Englishman didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Arthur opened the door, fully dressed in trousers, a button down cardigan and loafers. He looked a bit irritated when his eyes slowly made their way down to the Frenchman who was still in bed.

“I was going to… ask if you wanted to come shopping with me today in London…” Arthur said, his thick eyebrows furrowing as he realized that if the other man said yes, he would be waiting forever for him to get ready.

The Frenchman held back his surprise and… excitement when he heard what the other man proposed. Yes, the way Arthur’s words could lift his mood in an instant disgusted him, too. When did he become this way? “I guess so… You probably need someone like me to go with you so you know what kind of things to buy…” Francis mumbled into his pillow, his attempt at seeming uninterested coming off as more of an insult.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asked, his eye twitching as he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed. He was hoping that the Frenchman would get up and start getting ready sometime this year.

“Nothing,” Francis replied with a yawn as he finally sat up.

“Well, you’ll have to be ready soon though if you’re coming. I don’t want to have to drive home in the dark,” Arthur said, standing back up straight. “I’ll make you breakfast and you can eat it on the way or something…”

“Non, please don’t,” Francis replied so quickly that Arthur couldn’t help but be a little offended. Was it really that bad?

“Just hurry up,” Arthur said, his cheeks tinged red with embarrassment as he shut the door and headed back downstairs.

Surprisingly, Francis didn’t take too long to get ready and Arthur didn’t subject him to his awful cooking. The two of them headed off for London and the skies appeared to be bright and sunny.

Understandably, there was an awkward tension between the two of them, albeit for different reasons. However, without words, they both agreed to try and make things work. They cracked jokes and passive aggressively roasted each other until they got to the city. It was as though nothing had changed between them…

“What do you think of this one? It’s nice, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, his green eyes settling on the Frenchman as he lightly pulled on the bottom of a long, plaid trench coat that was hanging on a rack in front of him.

“Hm? That one?” Francis murmured, putting his hand on the coat, too. He seemed inattentive despite how long he gazed at the coat in front of him. His mind drifted off into thoughts about how Arthur’s hand was so close to his, how he swore he could feel warmth radiating from him.

Ultimately, the only quiet response Arthur was left with was, “It suits you.”

Then, Francis turned away and continued on in the same direction that the two of them had been walking in. Confused, Arthur looked back at Francis, then the coat again, and ended up pulling it off the rack to follow after the Frenchman.

“That’s not necessarily a compliment, you know? Is it a nice coat or isn’t it?” Arthur repeated his question, his cheeks tinged pink as he realized he was basically begging for the other man’s fashion advice.

Arthur ended up buying the coat and the two of them headed off to the next store that caught their eyes, a street fashion clothing store. It wasn’t particularly either one of their styles, but part of going into the city was seeing things that they usually didn’t see, right?

As they walked through the store, Arthur saw a pair of black, ripped, oversized jeans and ran over to them. He pulled them off the rack and held them up to his waist in front of a mirror to see what they looked like without the hassle of actually trying them on.

Francis slowly walked behind him, cocking an eyebrow in confusion as he stood behind the Englishman and watched him in the mirror. He soon realized that Arthur wasn’t actually considering buying the pants, but was just joking around. He heard him start to speak, a big grin on his face, but… he couldn’t hear him.

Something about the way Arthur was messing around, being so carefree and playful, as if no one else existed but the two of them… it reminded Francis of walking around Seychelles and taking stupid pictures in straw hats and gaudy sunglasses. He felt disgusted with himself for even considering it, but he wanted to cry. His heart ached at the thought that the Englishman didn’t return his feelings, that he would probably be elated if he never had to see him or deal with him again.

“Did you know that I wanted to be in a band when I was in high school?” Arthur mused, laughing at himself as he put the pants back on the rack.

“Oh? What stopped you?” Francis asked, his jaw clenched tight as he mentally talked himself out of suddenly crying. He would surely be worse off if he did something like that.

“My parents,” Arthur replied, his mood visibly becoming sour. “As you know, they like making choices for me,” He added, giving Francis a small smile.

“Oui, clearly mine do, too,” Francis replied weakly, assuming that Arthur was referring to the arranged marriage.

“Well, hopefully we won’t have to deal with this whole thing much longer. I heard from my parents that your family’s wine business is slowly, but surely, starting back up,” Arthur murmured, shifting through clothes on the racks as he passed by them.

“Oh, is that so? I didn’t know that,” Francis replied, his voice almost a whisper as he started to space out again. He couldn’t help but feel hurt that Arthur didn’t even seem to notice the way he hadn’t been paying attention…

“Really? They’re your parents…” Arthur replied, his eyebrows furrowed as he glanced over at the other man, who was looking down at a shirt in front of him. It didn’t look like the sort of shirt that would usually catch his eye, so the Englishman assumed that he had become bored of the store and zoned out.

“Anyway, do you want to go somewhere else now?” Arthur initiated, periwinkle eyes meeting his. “We passed a decent looking bakery on the way here. I think they might have had macarons.”

“Let’s go there then,” Francis replied so quickly that he made Arthur let out a small laugh.

“You could’ve told me that you were hungry..!”

“Well, I wasn’t hungry until you mentioned macarons,” Francis joked, his mood seeming to lift at the thought of food. Maybe he was just overthinking things because he had gotten hungry.

Nonchalantly, Francis looped his arm around Arthur’s arm and pulled him along out of the store. The Englishman didn’t seem to mind though because he left it there.

“Which way was it?” Francis asked, glancing down at the map Arthur had opened on his phone.

“It looks like it’s that way,” Arthur replied, struggling to point because he was holding his phone, shopping bags, and now Francis was clinging to his other arm.

They eventually found the bakery, which was rather extravagant and expensive, just as one would expect of a specialty bakery in a big city. It was a café as well, so they both ordered a cup of coffee and various different kinds of baked goods. Normally, Arthur would’ve gotten a tea, but he was trying to take Francis’s recommendations, because although he was reluctant to admit it, the Frenchman did have great taste.

They chose a window seat which gave them a nice view of the city around them. However, the sky that had been bright and sunny for the majority of the day had abruptly become gray and cloudy.

“I suppose I jinxed it by saying that I didn’t want to drive home in the dark,” Arthur mused. As soon as he finished his sentence, the sound of thunder rumbled through the bakery, causing the lights to dim for a moment. Then, a heavy rain started.

“Non, I think that there was jinxing it,” Francis replied with a small laugh before he took a sip of his coffee and turned to look out the window in awe. It was unbelievable how quickly the weather had changed.

“Well hopefully it will let up soon,” Arthur murmured, using the side of his fork to cut a piece of the pastry in front of him.

Once again, Arthur had jinxed it. The rain never let up, and eventually the two of them had been there too long. Hours had passed, the sun went down completely, and the bakery was going to close in less than a half an hour.

“Aren’t there any hotels nearby?” Francis asked, standing up. He started to clean up their table, stacking the garbage onto one plate so it would be easier for him to carry it over to the trash can.

“That’s what I’m looking for…” Arthur murmured, bent over his phone as he scrolled through lists of nearby hotels. “It looks like the closest hotel is a two minute walk away, but even so, we’ll still get drenched…”

“It seems that we’re going to get wet regardless, so you might as well call that one and see if they’ve got any rooms available,” Francis replied before he walked away with the garbage.

When Francis returned, Arthur had just finished up his phone call.

“They said they’ve got a room available and they’re willing to hold it for us if we make it there within the next fifteen minutes,” Arthur said as he stood up and started to collect his bags.

Francis gulped when he heard Arthur say they had a room available– a room. Just one? Was it really a good idea for the two of them to share a hotel room again?

“D’accord, let’s get going then,” Francis replied, grabbing his bags, too.

The rain never let up, so they were completely drenched when they reached the hotel. Somehow, running in the rain was kind of fun though.

“Mr. Bonnefoy-Kirkland?” The receptionist asked, making Arthur blush in embarrassment and Francis chuckle.

After the ceremony, they hadn’t been able to agree on who would take whose name, as both of them were reluctant to give up their own name. The only possible agreement they could come to was to use both of their names with a hyphen in alphabetical order. The alphabetical order part was Francis’s idea, of course.

“Yes, is the room available?” Arthur replied, reluctantly answering to the name.

“Yes, we have it all set up for you two,” The woman replied, a smile on her face as she handed Arthur the key.

“Thank you,” Arthur replied, swiping his card to pay for the room before the two of them went upstairs to find their room.

Eventually they found room 212, which was a rather large room– a luxury suite, to be exact. The only problem was that…

“What kind of joke is this?” Arthur asked loudly, his voice shaking as if he was terribly offended by what was in front of him.

There was only one bed.

Francis let out a heavy sigh and set his bags down on the floor.

“Well, what did you say to the receptionist on the phone?” Francis asked, mostly due to his own curiosity. Did Arthur go around calling him his fiancé, he wondered.

“I said that two people, two men, needed a room for the night because of the storm,” Arthur replied, seeming more and more annoyed and worked up as time passed. “I mean, do I really seem–”

Arthur was cut off when Francis let out a laugh that he failed to hold back. He pretended he was just coughing or choking when the Englishman glared daggers at him.

“You think this is funny?”

“Non, non,” Francis replied, waving his hand as he continued to cough in an attempt to cover up that he was only laughing harder when Arthur got more upset about it.

Irritated, Arthur stormed out of the room and went back down to the lobby, determined to get a second bed.

“Excuse me,” Arthur started, a forced smile on his face as he approached the receptionist again.

“Yes, sir? Was there a problem with your room?”

“Yes, yes, there was.”

The receptionist seemed surprised to hear that there was something wrong with the room, but was eager to help resolve whatever the issue was.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that. What’s the issue?”

“There’s only one bed in our room,” Arthur replied, his cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

“Oh, I…” The receptionist’s cheeks flushed, too. “I just thought that because you two have the same last name… that you… Not to mention that the two of you suit each other quite well…” She trailed off in embarrassment.

She then started to hurriedly click through different rooms on the computer behind the counter in an attempt to find a different room before the uncomfortable conversation could continue any further.

“It’s not like that!” Arthur raised his voice defensively, his cheeks now completely crimson.

They suited each other? That was the same word Francis used to describe the coat Arthur had bought earlier. Once again, he was left wondering if it was really a compliment. All the two of them did was fight, so surely the woman, who was merely a stranger, was mistaken.

“I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding, but the last room with two beds has already been taken. And there aren’t any single bed rooms available tonight either… Again, I’m really sorry,” The receptionist replied, avoiding eye contact with the Englishman after he raised his voice.

“I, um, I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled,” Arthur replied awkwardly before he turned around and went back upstairs.

When Arthur got back to the room, Francis was sitting on a chair, drying his wet hair with one of the hotel towels. He glanced up at the Englishman.

“What did she say?”

Arthur ignored Francis and walked past him.

“It doesn’t matter. This whole thing has me exhausted, so I’m going to sleep now,” Arthur eventually replied dismissively.

“She thought we were a couple, didn’t she?” Francis teased, a smirk forming on his face.

“Only because of our stupid last names..!” Arthur replied, getting worked up again. “Now where do you want to sleep– the bed or the couch?”

“Well, since you asked, the bed.”

“Fine,” Arthur replied as though he was disappointed, but too tired to object. In fact, as soon as he heard a response, he started moving a blanket and pillow over to the couch.

“Just because I’m going to sleep in the bed doesn't mean that you can’t, too. We are married after all,” Francis continued to tease the Englishman as he walked over to the bed.

“At this point I wish you would invite the receptionist to the bed so she would get whatever idea she has about me out of her head…”

“It might get that idea out of her head about me, but not about you. Bonne nuit!” Francis replied in a singsong tone as he turned off the light.

“Oh shut it!” Arthur yelled, tossing his pillow at the Frenchman from across the room– a decision which left him stumbling around in the dark trying to find it for quite awhile…

#hetalia #aph france #aph england #hws france #hws england #fruk #aph fruk #hws fruk #hetalia fruk #francis bonnefoy #arthur kirkland #ao3 fanfic #hetalia fluff #hetalia angst #fanfiction #ao3 writer #fanfic #ao3fic

26 notes · View notes

sh1-n0bu · 1 year

Note

congrats on reaching 300 followers!!! may i request for hetalia? (i’m not sure on the maximum amount of characters allowed so i’ll make a list, you can skip anyone you don’t want to write for) how would scotland, wales, spain, portugal, france and northern ireland deal with an s/o who’s always lost in their thoughts? like they’re always imagining up complex storylines with their own characters, impossible scenarios, procrastinating, giving themselves unnecessary anxiety, and it’s turned to maladaptive daydreaming at this point. they know this, and they say they’re trying to change, but deep down they really don’t want to because reality hurts, and they’d rather be lost in their own little world instead. am i self-inserting too much? probably-

✿ 𝙞’𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 ✿

characters: francis (france), allistor (scotland), dylan (wales), antonio (spain) and siamas (northern ireland) x nb!reader

warnings: hints of maladaptive daydreaming, disassociation, insomnia, existential crisis, comfort, fluff, light angst

notes: phew it has been so long since i had last watched hetalia so i had to watch a lot of vids, comps and read the fandom articles to remind myself of them lmao. with that the characters also might come off OOC

hetalia fandom r u still alive????? if so then yall better prepare bc once my inbox gets flooded with hetalia reqs im gonna terrorize yall🕴🕴

francis is a romantic through and through and due to that he daydreams as well. whether it be romantic dates or acts you and him could do together, recreating gentle scenes from his favorite romance novels, plan out your date and anniversaries - francis is a romantic soul and he feels your daydreaming problem to a certain degree.

whenever he notices you suddenly go quiet, eyes hazy and unfocused, staring at something while fiddling with the strands of your hair, nails, the strings of your hoodie or anything you can get your hands on, the man would let out a sigh and sit behind you. pulling your body close to himself and slowly rocking you both back and forth gently - waiting patiently for you to come back to the real world.

but sometimes francis just can’t help but get a little bit selfish. wanting your attention only on himself but he knows it’s wrong.

so that’s why, when you stepped into your shared home with the blond after another draining day at work, he had already prepared a tea party setup with your favorite novel’s theme, dressed up as your favorite character with a charming smile and gentle eyes. candles lit, the freshly baked goods’ scent wafting through the air enough to make you drool alongside a hot, steaming marble pot filled with a chamomile tea.

“mon amour, would you care for a tea with me?”

before you two started dating, allistor thought of your stimming and daydreaming moments as something familiar to his brother, arthur.

perhaps you saw something that the normal people couldn’t see and interact with them like his little brother, so the redhead didn’t ask anything of it nor did he thought it’s anything problematic. however he got smacked in the face by how deeply your maladaptive daydreaming problems run when after your date at the cafe together, you almost got hit by a car when crossing the street with unfocused eyes and slow, dragged steps.

since then, allistor took it upon himself to study and research more about the differences of daydreaming and maladaptive ones, what causes them to happen, the reason for one to end up having such an odd yet harsh behavior.

whenever you would end up stimming with your headphones plugged in, mindlessly and robotically going through your work with an eerie silence - the man would observe you for a while, trying to decipher if you’re slipping a bit too deep into the dreams before walking over to you and gently tapping on your shoulder.

when your lovely eyes would lock with his own bright blue ones he would give you a smile and reach out a hand. a silent invitation for a slow dance with him - a formerly talked upon agreement that you two made to help you reground again after another slip.

“dalrin’ would you care to share your dreams with me?”

dylan loves fantasy creatures and stories like his brothers and due to that the blond daydreams quite often as well. about the different mythical creatures, their origins, territory, how they would live and interact with one another - all sorts of things.

he tends to stim a lot without even noticing as well so dylan would be the best person to share your struggles of maladaptive daydreaming. not to mention the short man always carries around a big sponge or those cute, character shaped stress balls.

the first time when he found you completely unresponsive laying on your bed with your headphones in, dylan immediately knew what was going on. so he silently slipped into the bed next to you, held your hand in his own and rubbed slow circles into the flesh until you came back again.

since then you both had made a promise to each other to try and get better. slowly but surely working on your behaviors, problems and sudden slips. and it’s safe to say that you both had gotten better.

“cupcake! if you slip down the rabbit hole again then take my hand and drag me down with you! ‘cuz i don’t ever want to be without you.”

antonio is a bright and optimistic young man, however sometimes he comes off as blunt and insensitive due to him not fully being able to read the situation at hand.

perhaps it’s due to his inability to read the room that he was able to snap you out of your slip so easily and effectively when you two first met. a simple pat to your shoulder and voice asking you “what are you doing sitting around without doing anything for?” definitely stopped your daydreaming.

after you had said your answer to him in an unsure voice, the bright smile wearing man simple smiled even brighter and asked you if you wanted to be friends.

and since then antonio and you two became friends. meeting up in small shops, restaurants, gardens, everywhere anywhere all at once until one day after almost 2 years of friendship the young man asked you if you would like to take your relationship a step further.

whenever he finds you stimming with your fingers while gazing at someplace far away, he just can’t help but get a bit sad. you wanted to be someplace that’s not here and antonio didn’t want you to go somewhere where he can’t be with you.

so he would always rubs simple shapes into your hand or shoulder, giving you an unusually melancholic smile with his pinky raised.

“pinky promise to always come back from your wonderland to me?”

siamas is a loud and chatty fellow - the perfect human representation of a golden retriever if only he had blond hair instead of red.

it was all thanks to his bright personality that you have been getting better and better at regrounding yourself back again when alone.

when siamas first saw your behavior with his own eyes he immediately knew what it was. so the redhead calmly walked over to your sitting form on the couch, kneeling before you and started to plant butterfly kisses on your cheeks. trailing them slowly over your acnes/moles/freckles until you snapped back and let out a giggle at his sweet antics.

he always has a lot of different toys, chibis and cute little bracelets connected to his keychain so whenever you two are going out kn a walk or a date, when he feels your hand become loose in his own he would proudly pull out his keychain and put one of the toys into your hand. gently squeezing yours - which is holding the toy - in his own, giving you a smile and a proud kiss to your forehead when you ground yourself back.

“welcome back honey. so what do you think of getting for dinner today?”

86 notes · View notes

erina-writes-headcanons · 24 days

Note

s/o's reaction to luxembourg dying in front of them

S/O Reaction to Louis Jansen (Luxembourg) , Emma Jansen (Belgium), and Tim Jansen(Netherland) Dying In Front of Them.

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

A/N: Hello, there anon. This headcanon would contain ANGST with no comfort. So, I hope you like the result and Try my best to make this headcannon. Also, since this is (Y/N) perspective. This headcannons really challenging for me and I apologize if there is an OOC characters.

Gender: Neutral Warning: Angst, No Comfort, Gore and Profanaties.

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

Louis Jansen - Luxembourg

We know that countries cannot die unless the country is gone and it is impossible until today. Seeing your beloved Luxembourg laid in the coffin after battling a deadly disease because of the homicide case.

And other countries are trying to take over Luxembourg. As a result, he lay in the bed of the hospital. Wrapped in the bandages, in a pained state.

As a good S/O, you sat in the chair next to him, gently touching his hand that doesn't have any injuries. Your heart-wrenching painfully, seeing him like this.

It was unexpected and you hate to see him like this but he smiles weakly at you, trying to act as if he is fine after the brutal attack from his own people and from other countries. "mon amour, I'm sorry you must see me like this," he coughs.

With an instinct, your hand gently rubs his back, trying not to touch the injury. "No, I'm sorry that I came really late. The work in my place is really hectic and I had to hear the news from Germany about your injuries. I did not think your own people going to hurt you," you told him.

He could only nod his hand gently before his eyes closed slowly, feeling the grip of his hand loosening. He wanted to say goodbye to you but his throat felt painful and the last thing he saw was darkness. "Louis??? LOUIS!!" You scream his name

Everything turns black and white, you try to press the bell to call the nurses but the doctors and the nurse come late. You tried your best to save him but all of those effort was just for nothing.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

(Y/N) stood in front of room 202, momentarily gasping for air. They let out a soft breath, lifted their hand, and gave the door a little knock. "Hey Louis, it's me, (Y/N)," they/she/he yelled, their/her/his voices hardly audible above a whisper. They/she/he stepped inside the room, hearts heavy with worry, as the door creaked open.

Louise was lying on the bed inside, looking frail against the bright white linens. His body was covered in bandages, a subtle reminder of the struggles he had endured. The sight made (Y/N)'s heart tighten, with sorrow. They/she/he took a step forward and extended a hand, providing Louise with wordless consolation despite his suffering.

As (Y/N) saw Louise's weak smile—a thin mask concealing the struggle within—their/her/his eyes overflowed with sadness. They/she/he apologised, regretting your tardiness, "Work was just... overwhelming," you said. Reaching out to put a gentle squeeze on Louise's hand, both of them offered comfort and an apology.

Louis forced a meek smile, an attempt that hid the agony that was always there. He spoke quietly, "It's fine, Mon amour," offering (Y/N) a sweet consolation for her/his/their disturbed mind. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this." There was a lingering apology.

Panic surged through (Y/N) like wildfire as Louise's eyes began to flutter closed, the rhythmic beeping of the machines growing louder, more urgent. With trembling hands, (Y/N) reached out, pressing the red button on the bedside repeatedly, desperation clawing at their chest as they prayed for help to arrive. "LOUIS!!! LOUIS!!!" (y/n) screams in fear.

As the line on the monitor straightened, a chilling realization washed over (Y/N), stealing the breath from their lungs. Time seemed to slow as they stared at Louise, their heart wrenching with grief too profound for words. With trembling hands, you reached out, grasping Louise's cold fingers in a futile attempt to hold onto the fleeting moments you two have shared together. "Louis.......I'm so sorry......" You whisper.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

Emma Jansen - Belgium

You always know Emma is one of the sweetest girls than other countries and you love her more than anything. She's perfect in your eyes, and you never expect someone would be able to hate her.

But you're wrong, blood in your hand as it spread through your shirt and your pants. Your hands cradling the love of your life, she was breathing heavily.

The man that had just shot the love of your life had run away after guards were arriving to take down the man. The bullet in that man's gun has a serum that can kill a country and you had no idea why that man killed your girlfriend.

'The girl is coughing violently after the bullet went through her chest and stuck inside of her beating heart. "EMMA!! STAY WITH ME!! THE HELP IS COMING!!" You scream, holding her tighter.

The tears slowly coming out from her eyes as she coughs some blood from the corner of her mouth "It hurts so bad.....I'm scared, I don't want to go.." she whispered with tears in her eyes.

Tears streamed down your face when you saw her in pain like this. It's not fair, why would someone hate her, she is sweet, amazing, friendly, and adorable, and you love her more than anything. "Please....stay"

She could only weakly smile at you when you apologised and begged her to stay alive before her eyes closed. Despite the ambulance has came, they were too late to save your girlfriend.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

With a cosy atmosphere created by the gentle glow of streetlights, Emma and (Y/N) strolled slowly down the busy street. Their talk flowed easily as they talked about the new restaurant of the brand-new Italian restaurant in town, their eyes lighting up with anticipation at every mention of the delectable food and welcoming atmosphere. "We should try the new restaurant you told me about, (Y/N)" "Sure, we can go there and try Feliciano's Pasta," (Y/N) said.

Lost in the excitement of their shared plans, they strolled along the pavement, oblivious to the approaching figure that would soon ruin their evening. The bald man was tall with a looming figure, his eyes hidden underneath dark shades and a scar across his mouth to show how dangerous he was.

The man slowly comes up from the dark alleyway. (Y/N) and Emma's romantic evening took an unexpected turn as a shadow fell across their path, The atmosphere shifted, tension crackling in the air like electricity. Instinctively, they exchanged a wary glance, their senses on high alert.

The man standing before them wore a grim expression, his presence imposing against the backdrop of the bustling street. (Y/N) and Emma exchanged a silent communication, wordlessly agreeing to retreat from the confrontation.

Slowly, they began to back away, their movements cautious as they sought to evade the ominous figure blocking their path. But their efforts were in vain as the man's gaze honed in on Emma, his voice cutting through the night with a chilling clarity. "Are you Emma Jansen?" he demanded, sending a shiver down their spines.

Emma's pulse beat with a mixture of rage and terror as she grudgingly revealed her identity. "Y-yes, I'm Emma....the personification of Belgium..." "Then, give me all the money you have," he glowered The man's demand for money sent shockwaves through her before she could completely realise how serious things were.

As the man moved his pistol towards (Y/N), his threat suddenly became lethal and hung in the air like a dark cloud. Emma felt a wave of panic as she realised that her beloved (Y/N) was in danger. She begged again, her voice quivering with desperation and her hands shaking. "Please....don't hurt (Y/N)...." The man's finger tightened on the trigger, though, and instinct took over.

In a split-second decision, Emma used all of her effort to shove (Y/N) aside, blocking the bullet that was intended for her partner with her body. The sound of tragedy resonated through the night as the gunshot echoed, making time seem to stop. Emma fell to the ground, breathing heavily and shallowly, a red spot appearing on her chest as (Y/N) stumbled back.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

Tim Jansen - Netherland

You know Tim always had an addiction to smoking and there are many bad effects of smoking, one of them is lung cancer but you never think the country is going to be able to have human diseases.

Well, that is actually wrong when the country also has economic trouble with lots of political governments that are corrupt and steal other people's money.

It was painful to see him like this but there was nothing you can do. The government in there are evil, if you try to stand up for him. You could be taken to jail.

You have been taking care of your boyfriend in the hospital from morning and night, even going as far as taking a working hour in the hospital instead of the office just so you could take care of him.

Tim could not help but be glad that he has a boyfriend/girlfriend as caring as you and you were on his side instead of going out to work or leaving him like some people do.

But he knows he can't stay long because sooner or later his country is going to be destroyed by his own people and he will be gone so he leaves a note on the table when you are not looking.

"Bedankt (Thank you), (Y/N) for taking care of me and being a part of my life but sadly. I cannot stay long because I can feel my body getting weaker. Please take care of yourself and don't forget me," that was the last message before the night he let his last breath.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

As Tim Jansen lay in the hospital room, the embodiment of Netherland corruption manifested in his frail form. His once formidable presence is now reduced to a mere shadow of its former self, ravaged by the deadly illness. With each cough, the echoes of his misdeeds reverberated through the room, a haunting reminder of the consequences of his people's actions.

(Y/N), bearing witness to the brutal reality before them/her/him, felt a pang of empathy stir within their/her/his heart. Without hesitation, (Y/N) approached Tim's bedside, a silent offering of solace in the chaos of his downfall. Gently, you lifted the glass of water to his parched lips.

(Y/N)'s heart weighed heavy with sorrow as they gazed down at Tim, your voice laced with regret as you spoke. "I'm sorry I could not do much... I wish I could help, but the people would riot against me," you murmured softly. With a gentle touch, you brushed your hand against his brow, your touch was as tender as a rose petal, caressing his face.

Tim's response was a weak nod, a faint acknowledgement of (Y/N)'s apology. "It's okay, Mijn liefje (My Darling)," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "No need to apologize for my people's actions." He was aware (Y/N) is just a normal human being, it's impossible to defeat the whole government when (Y/N) is the only person aware.

As (Y/N) rose from Tim's bedside, a determined resolve gleaming in their/her/his eyes, he watched in silence, gratitude swelling within him despite the heaviness of his heart. "I will buy something for you... please wait. I'm sure you're hungry, and the hospital food sometimes sucks," you promised, your words and voice like a small ray of light in the darkness of his despair.

Left alone in the quiet of the hospital room, Tim's trembling hand reached for a nearby paper, his fingers tracing the delicate lines as he carefully composed his message for (Y/N). With each word, his gratitude poured forth, a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting nature of their connection. "Bedankt (Thank you), (Y/N), for taking care of me and being a part of my life," he wrote, his penmanship a reflection of the depth of his emotion. "But sadly, I cannot stay long because I can feel my body getting weaker. Please take care of yourself and don't forget me."

With a heavy heart, Tim folded the paper with trembling hands, his gaze lingering on the spot where (Y/N) had stood moments before. Placing the message on the table near (Y/N)'s computer, he offered a silent prayer that his words would serve as a lasting reminder of the bond they shared, even in the face of inevitable farewell.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

7 notes · View notes

korra-northeast-germany · 2 years

Text

Tw: implied scuicide attempt

Mammon's reincarnation

"Huh this is purgatory?", the demon would walk through the black abyss, memeoriess being played like silly tiktok compilations over and over again. They said purgatory would be torture no where to run or hide, no past to devildom or the celestial realm. "Watching my memories like a characters out of context video.." a pause as he stared at one particular screen, it was not a memory least one he hadn't remembered. "What's.. this?"

A tanned hand would touch the unknown video only to be sucked into the human realm. He finds himself in a building he never stepped foot in, a bird cage followed by the flag of a country he's never heard of. Uniforms, bookcases of diaries. Where was this place? Where was he?

mammon sees a mirror, forcing himself to look at it, he sees someone he's unable to recognize at all. No longer was he a tanned demon, an avatar of greed. Instead he was an albino red eyed male, one that dawned a large sense of familiarity. "Why the hell..." he can't help but be freaked out. "No no no where am I?! who Is this?! I didnt posess a human did I?! What's going on?!" He runs down the stairs finding a tall German male with blue eyes focesed on something, he coudknt make out. Shit. He just possessed someone's sibling. "Hey hey can you tell me what's happening? Do you know where I am?" He questions gripping the males hand. Instead the man fsce drenched in tears would return the grip altho more..gentle. "Prussia.." the stranger speaks, "please please don't ever try thst again..don't ever ty to end your life like hsta again.. please.. you're all that I care about I need you"

Why does he feel like this happened before?

Why does it feel so fucking real

His brothers never cried over him

They never cried when he almost died

They never cried when he ran away

Heck he didn't even think they cried when he DID die

But here Mammon was with a strsnger crying over someone named 'Prussia' yet it felt like the person was talking about him.

Wait-

He was reincarnated wasn't He?

That would explain everything. He died ridiculed and hated by his brothers and was given a family, a brother who actually loved him to the point of crying over him.

That's right.

This person was his brother, his NEW brother.

Prussia would sadly rub the person's back while holding this close, a sense of softness he rarely shown in devildom near the end of his life.

"I won't leave you brother, I promise"

A/n: okay see this was a draft for s few months now and I felt bad for not posting new angst content so have this mini crossover thingy lol

139 notes · View notes

hernerdwonderland · 1 month

Text

A nation's heart

I'm a firm believer that there is no way the nations haven't had a crush on a human at least once in their long, long life. Their life is a lonely one, a life burdened by duties they never chose. They are forced to carry the burden of every inhabitant of their land, living amongst them but never being able to really connect with them. Wouldn't it be normal to strive for something that everyone else but them is allowed to have?

And the ones that are like them, the ones that could relate to their pain, their suffering, their loneliness... They will never know if they are being genuine or are just looking for ways to exploit them. Whether it be emotionally or physically. They use and are used by others in hopes of feeling at least somewhat human. To be able to pretend that just for this brief period in their life, they are normal. Just a man, just a woman, not a nation. A brief moment of peace before they are forced to face the cruel reality again.

And if they fall in love with a human, it always ends in tragedy. Whether intentional or not. It may be the nation burying their feelings deep inside, not wanting to interfere in the person's life or said person being used as a bargaining chip in negotiations with another country. Those who get attached will get burned.

Yet they can't stop themselves from staring at the passerbys. It's as if fate was mocking them, if they spot little traits of *their person* in others. Their eye colour, their mannerisms, their hair, their everything.

But it will never be *them*.

#hetalia headcanons #hetalia angst #hetalia headcanon

6 notes · View notes

casser-starkling · 3 months

Text

felt nostalgic so here’s a doodle of a throwback. IYKYK.

4 notes · View notes

allen-arthur · 1 year

Note

13 and 27

(For the hetalia asks)

13. Any cultural things you'd like to see discussed in Hetalia?

Tbh I love seeing anyone’s take on cultural ideas for hetalia - especially the countries or cultures that ya don’t see to often

27. Do you like historical hetalia?

Absolutely, my best art has always been angst type and I have many pieces ive never shared since I’m not sure people’s opinions on them. If asked for I’d be more then happy to show.

Ive got a ton of Revolutionary war or The world wars stuff laying around. Back in the early days it wasn’t, great to post that stuff so I’m hopeful the opinion has shifted these days.

I think I even have some Cold War pieces around somewhere..

#hetalia #aph hetalia #ask blog #ask me anything #historical hetalia #UsUk #rusame #gereng #fruk #historical based ships #hetalia angst

9 notes · View notes

panda-panoptic · 1 year

Text

Repost of these beauties hehe

5 notes · View notes

maryvioletique7708 · 2 years

Text

One quick shot of my Angsty Amephil-AP task activity b4 I leave 4 skool-

#maryvioletiquearts7708 #hetalia fanart #amephil #hetalia angst #hws philippines #hws america #Unang putok

10 notes · View notes

luxaryllis · 2 years

Note

Kill Hetalia Philippines <3

I like how u actually don't know Hetalia, but still request this haha

Also, this contains more commentary than the other fics for context and stuff-

Actual fic below the cut

Warning: Contains a couple of historic references; Death of a personification of a country; no one speaks English (there are translations at the bottom); It's Hetalia

---

"Amang Bayan!! Ayos ka lang ba?!"

"Oo, pare. Ayos *cough* lang ako..."

"Encontre o seu fim, bastardo!"

Philippines dodges a sword, hitting it away with his own spear.

"HOY! MAMATAY KA NA NGA!!!"

An arrow hits Magellan and he falls forward, surprised at the arrow that hit him.

What the Portuguese also didn't expect, however, was the brown haired man in front of him also falling on his knees. One of the people with Magellan right behind him with a sword in hand.

"*gasp* AMANG BAYAN!!!", one of the tribal men shouted

"*cough**cough* Naku... bakit dumudugo ako...? Di ba ako yung bayan na'to? Hala... ano kayang mangyayari... *cough* sa bayan na ito... kung wawala ako...? *cough*"

"UMALIS KA NA! SANA MAMATAY KAYO!!!", all of the tribal men shouted, hitting and aiming their weapons at the intruders with more fervor.

"Amang Bayan! Wag ka po mamatay! May pag-asa pa para sa bansang ito!!"

All of the tribal men shout even more to hopefully help keep their country alive, all to no avail.

"Mahal kita lahat, mga pare..."

Everything went black.

---

BOOM!

Translations:

Amang Bayan!! Ayos ka lang ba?! - Fatherland! Are you alright?! (Filipino)

Oo, pare. Ayos lang ako. - Yes, my friend (pare is often used for male friends). I'm alright. (Filipino)

Encontre o seu fim, bastardo! - Meet your end, bastard! (Portuguese)

HOY! MAMATAY KA NA NGA!!! - HEY! JUST DIE ALREADY!! (Filipino)

Amang Bayan - Fatherland

Naku... bakit dumudugo ako...? - Oh no... why am I bleeding? (Filipino)

Di ba ako yung bayan na'to? - Aren't I the country? (referring to country personification, thus the country itself) (Filipino)

Hala... ano kayang mangyayari... sa bayan na ito... kung wawala ako...? - Oh no... what would happen... to this country... if I'm gone...? (Filipino)

---

I'm Filipino; so I'm quite sure about the Filipino words and phrases.

However, I used Google Translate for the Portuguese sentence. If it's incorrect/inaccurate, please tell me so I can fix it. Thank you!

Also, fun fact! Magellan/Magallanes was killed by a poisoned arrow in the Philippines.

And in case you couldn't tell, this took place during the Battle of Mactan at 1521.

Also, if this were canon in the series/manga, the Philippines would NOT have existed. Unless this Philippines represented the non-united Philippines and a new one was formed when the Spanish colonized and united the Philippines, which is the one we all know in canon.

#hetalia #hws #hetalia angst #hws angst #hws philippines #hws philippines angst

8 notes · View notes

neufhistoires · 11 months

Text

Loveless Marriage (FrUK) Chapter 7

Loveless Marriage

Chapter 7

Word Count: 3,938

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several days had passed since Francis started his new job at the flower shop. Everything was going well, except…

Francis and Arthur continued to sleep in the same bed together. It had just sort of become an unspoken nightly routine that they both quietly accepted. That was why Francis was so taken aback when he noticed that Arthur hadn’t woken up before him.

Usually, even though they fell asleep together, they didn’t wake up together because Arthur would wake up a few minutes earlier than Francis and go downstairs to make tea. Sometimes he would make breakfast, too, but the Frenchman was actively trying to convince him to stop doing that. That morning, however, Arthur was passed out underneath Francis, his mouth slightly agape and his breathing heavy.

Panicking, Francis sat up and gently shook Arthur’s shoulders.

“Arthur?”

The Englishman didn’t respond, only letting out a small groan as his eyes fluttered open. It looked like it was painful for him to even do that much.

“Arthur, are you alright?” Francis asked, his concern growing.

“Francis..?” Arthur called out, his voice weak.

Placing the back of his hand on Arthur’s forehead, Francis realized how warm the other man was.

“You’ve got a fever,” Francis said, standing up from the bed.

Arthur winced when the bed moved, even though Francis tried his best not to shake it around too much when he stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” Francis said softly before he left the room.

Less than a minute later, Francis returned with a cold, damp washcloth. He felt even more worried when he saw that Arthur hadn’t moved at all since he woke up.

“Here,” Francis murmured, gently pushing Arthur’s hair back as he put the washcloth on his forehead.

“Thank… you,” Arthur replied, his breath labored.

Francis let out a soft sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes resting on the sick man who was lying beside him.

Arthur looked so soft and fragile when he was sick, like if Francis hadn’t been there for him he would’ve just stayed in bed without food or water all day… and maybe even died. The thought made Francis smirk, but he was quickly pulled out of his thoughts and confronted with a guilty conscience when he felt his sleeve being tugged on. Big emerald green orbs looked up at the Frenchman expectantly, making his heart ache.

“Francis… could you… get me a glass of water..?” Arthur choked out, his hand loosely hanging onto the lavender sleeve in front of him.

“Oui, of course,” Francis replied softly, taking the other man’s hand in his to gently lay it back down.

Francis felt like he had to be terribly careful with Arthur when he was like that.

Standing up from the bed, trying to rise as slowly as possible so he didn’t make the smaller blonde wince again, Francis left the room and went to get Arthur a glass of water.

Waiting on the other man really wasn’t so bad, Francis thought. All that really kept him from doing it on a regular basis was the Englishman’s sarcasm and lack of appreciation. If Arthur was always that vulnerable and soft with him, then… he would probably do anything for him. It was just that they both had too much pride.

Francis pulled the glass out of the cabinet, filled it with cold water, and brought it back upstairs. It seemed that in the short amount of time he’d been gone, Arthur fell asleep.

Francis set the glass down on the bedside table closest to Arthur, feeling an urge to touch the frail-looking man lying in front of him. He leaned down and gently placed his hand on the Englishman’s cheek, which caused his eyes to open again.

Despite waking up to the hand of a man he supposedly hated on his cheek, Arthur showed no sign of scorn when his eyes met with the periwinkle ones above him, so Francis let his hand linger there.

“Today, you… you work today… don’t you?” Arthur asked, his voice almost a whisper because it was all he could manage to get out.

“Oui,” Francis replied, his voice soft as he tried to match the volume of the other man.

As Francis went to pull his hand away so he could sit back down on the edge of the bed, he was surprised when Arthur reached up and grabbed it with such urgency, as though he was falling from a cliff and would die without latching onto something. But it couldn’t just be anything– no, it had to be Francis.

“Will you please… not go?” Arthur asked, his voice a bit louder than before and an expectant look in his eyes.

Francis’s eyes widened and his cheeks dusted pink when his hand was held and he was asked such a question. Of course he couldn’t refuse him at that point.

“I’ll call off right now,” Francis replied, which caused Arthur to let out a small sigh of relief and slowly let go of the other man’s hand.

Francis stood up straight and walked over to the other side of the bed where he still had his phone on the bedside table and picked it up.

The phone rang for so long that Francis feared Feliciano wasn’t going to answer it, but that wasn’t exactly uncommon for him. He’d probably done that thing again where he forgot where he set his phone, so he couldn’t figure out where the ringing was coming from…

Eventually he did answer though.

Arthur could only hear what Francis was saying, seeing as he held the phone up to his ear and didn’t put it on speaker phone, but despite the sick daydream-like state he was in, he distinctly heard…

“Oui, I’m alright, but my fiancé woke up feeling under the weather today, so I’ll be staying home to take care of him.”

Again, maybe it was the sickness getting to Arthur’s head or something, but… it sounded kind of endearing and sweet when Francis said that. He felt warm all over, and not just because he had a fever.

“D’accord, that’s taken care of,” Francis replied with a smile after he hung up the phone. “Now, what else would you like? How about something to eat? I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Struggling, Arthur attempted to prop himself up on his forearms so he could sit up. He would have to if he was going to eat something, after all.

Francis quickly made his way back around to Arthur’s side of the bed and put his hands underneath his armpits, gently pulling him so that he could sit up without exerting himself too much.

“Careful..! You can ask me for help, you know?” Francis scolded, pulling pillows up behind Arthur’s shoulders so he could get comfortable.

Arthur blushed as he started to feel more awake, and therefore more aware of how attentive and caring Francis was being.

“Right… thank you for helping me,” Arthur replied softly, his gaze meeting Francis’s again.

“Of course, c’est rien,” Francis said, standing back up straight again. “I’ll go make you something to eat now– something healthy so you’ll get better soon..!” He added, talking as he was walking out of the room.

A smile crept onto Arthur’s face as he pulled the duvet all the way up to his chin and waited for Francis to return.

Francis looked through the cabinets and the refrigerator, trying to see what ingredients he had to work with. Unfortunately, there weren’t many, seeing as they clearly needed to go to the supermarket sometime soon, but Arthur had picked up some fruit a few days ago, and it still appeared to be fresh, so Francis decided to make use of that.

Oatmeal was something that Arthur loved, which Francis had frequently teased him for, saying that it was flavorless. However, in this case, since the Englishman didn’t feel well, Francis supposed it made sense to give him something that was bland, but healthy. Plus, all he needed was hot water to soften them.

In a few minutes, Francis took plain looking oats and turned them into something that looked like it was out of a restaurant. He put granola and fresh cut up slices of fruit on top. And, of course, he couldn’t forget Arthur’s hot tea.

When Francis appeared in Arthur’s bedroom– which was essentially now Francis’s bedroom, too, but that was beside the point– he set the neatly arranged tray down on the bedside table and checked Arthur’s temperature with his hand again.

Arthur’s eyes lit up when he saw the food and hot tea. He hadn’t even thought to mention that he wanted tea, but he supposed Francis just knew him too well at that point.

“It looks delicious… thank you,” Arthur said softly, his hands shaking as he pushed the blanket off of him some so he could eat. Even though he had a fever, he felt like he was so cold he was shivering.

“You’re welcome,” Francis replied with a grin as he moved the tray from the bedside table to Arthur’s lap.

Arthur reached for the cup of tea, but struggled to pick it up since his hands were still shaking. Francis, who was hyper aware of the Englishman’s every move, gently sat down on the edge of the bed where he had been previously and reached for the tea cup himself. The smaller blonde looked at him with a mix of disbelief and gratitude as he blew on the tea to cool it down.

“Careful– it’s very hot,” Francis said, holding the tea up to Arthur’s lips for him to take a sip.

Arthur hesitated some at first, but ended up taking a few big drinks when he felt how satisfying the hot beverage was when he was shivering. Then Francis pulled the cup away, causing an involuntary pout to form on Arthur’s face.

“How about some of this now?” Francis said as he eagerly held out a spoon of oatmeal and fruit in front of Arthur’s mouth.

“You don’t have to–”

Before Arthur could object, Francis shoved the spoon into his mouth. There was a moment of silence, where Francis was sure the other man would yell at him despite his frail state, but to both of their surprises, Arthur started to laugh, which then led to the Frenchman joining him.

“I’m fine to do it myself,” Arthur said, regaining his composure after he swallowed the spoonful of oatmeal against his will.

“Okay, okay, I just thought I would help you,” Francis said with a smirk as he handed him the spoon.

“If I reach the point where you have to spoon feed me, I give you permission to kill me,” Arthur joked as he started to eat the oatmeal on his own.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Francis replied as he stood up from the bed again.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asked, embarrassing himself because he tried to question the other man so quickly that he spoke with food still in his mouth.

Francis turned back around to look at Arthur, cocking a brow at him.

“I thought I would go get dressed now. Why? Did you change your mind about me feeding you?” Francis teased, making Arthur blush even darker as he became more and more self aware of how needy he was being.

“Well, no. I just…” Arthur trailed off, wondering how he could get around saying that he thought Francis would be spending the entire day with him since he didn’t go to work.

“I’ll be right back after I get dressed, okay?”

Arthur just nodded and returned to eating his oatmeal, hoping that the whole situation was only embarrassing in his head and Francis wasn’t phased by it.

However, that was far from the case. Francis was surprised by Arthur’s actions to the point that his own heart was racing, too. There was something special about feeling needed by the person he liked.

Francis took his time getting dressed, partially because he wanted to look nice even if he was just walking up and down the stairs all day to get things for Arthur, and partially because he didn’t want the other man to think he was rushing to get back to him.

When Francis returned to the bedroom, Arthur had finished his oatmeal and tea and had returned to shivering underneath blankets he had pulled up to his chin.

“You’re still that cold?” Francis questioned as he shut the door behind himself and sat back down on the bed beside the Englishman.

“Yeah, I can’t seem to warm up,” Arthur complained.

Francis removed the wet washcloth from Arthur’s forehead and put the back of his hand on it again, checking to see if it had changed at all.

“Maybe we can take this off for right now,” Francis said, setting the towel down on the tray beside him.

“Francis… will you…” Arthur trailed off, which was enough to pique the Frenchman’s interest in itself.

“Oui, what is it, Arthur?” He urged, giving the other man his full attention.

“Will you, um, warm me up?” Arthur asked awkwardly, averting his gaze in the other direction as his cheeks flushed.

“What?” Francis asked, blinking as he tried to guess what the sickly blonde might have meant by that. “Arthur– are you flirting with me?” He teased, making the other man blush even more.

“No! I just meant that you..! You know, when you…” Arthur trailed off again, flustered.

“It’s alright, take your time– I’m waiting,” Francis replied with a smirk, a bit too amused by the other man’s embarrassment.

“Every night you’re all over me, but right now I’m freezing and you’re not doing anything about it even though you could,” Arthur mumbled, his face mostly under the blanket at that point because he was both freezing and embarrassed.

Francis let out a laugh, which prompted Arthur to, although gently, kick him.

“You really need to work on communicating, you know? You don’t flirt with someone and then kick them– You’re sending mixed signals,” Francis continued to tease him.

“I wasn’t flirting with you,” Arthur replied quickly, glaring daggers at the other man. “Just forget it.”

Despite Arthur telling Francis to drop the whole thing, Francis finally stood up and moved over to his side of the bed and sat down.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, eyeing the other man.

“What you want me to,” Francis replied simply before he lay down beside Arthur and wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on the smaller blonde’s chest.

It was unfortunate that Arthur’s heart was beating as loud as it was, and that the more he thought about just how unfortunate it was, it got even louder.

But it didn’t take long before Arthur finally started to warm up and comfortably drifted off into sleep. Francis hadn’t been tired before he lay down, but it was pretty relaxing, so he ended up falling asleep, too.

The two of them stayed asleep in a warm embrace for hours like that until Arthur woke up sweating profusely. His fever must’ve broken because he had suddenly gone from feeling ice cold to feeling like he was in a sauna.

Arthur clumsily tried to pull the blanket off of himself, but he couldn’t because Francis was passed out on top of him, per his request.

It was like as soon as his fever broke, a fog had lifted and he regretted clinging to the other man so much. He knew his comments about flirting were jokes, but it wouldn’t have been too strange if he really did get the wrong idea after all that…

Usually, after the two of them passed out together, they ended up in a more loosely unraveled position in the morning, but since it hadn’t been too long since Francis joined him, he also hadn’t shifted off of him at all. In other words, Arthur couldn’t easily slip out from underneath Francis like usual.

Lightly shoving the Frenchman’s shoulders, Arthur attempted to wake him up.

“Francis– I can’t get up,” Arthur urged.

Fortunately, Francis seemed to be much easier to wake up if it was only a nap, so he slowly rolled off of the other man and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“What are you going to do then..? Are you feeling better..?” Francis murmured, letting out a small yawn.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied as he started to stand up from the bed. “I’m really sweaty now, so I think I’ll go take a bath…”

“Are you sure you’re alright to? I don’t need you to drown in the tub…” Francis replied sheepishly as he stood up from the bed, too and walked over to him.

“I’m fine,” Arthur said, waving his hand dismissively as he stood up straight. “I don’t want your help with that sort of thing. That would be a bit–”

Beginning to feel dizzy, Arthur held out his hand for something to grab onto, but there wasn’t really anything there other than Francis, so the Frenchman instinctively reached out for him and helped him sit back down on the edge of the bed.

“You would rather drown than let me help you? You wound me,” Francis joked. “Just wait here and I’ll run a bath for you,” Francis added as he stood back up straight and walked over to the door.

Before Arthur could object, Francis was already leaving to go get the bath ready, saying something about how there was such a thing as a public bathhouse so it wasn’t that strange.

Well, Arthur supposed that was true, but it still felt wrong because it was Francis…

Eventually, after Francis made sure the bathtub was full of warm, but not too hot, water, he returned to the room to get Arthur. Since the smaller blonde had been so dizzy, Francis wrapped an arm underneath his shoulders and carefully led him to the bathroom.

Arthur had been a bit paranoid about taking his clothes off in front of the other man because he had a feeling Francis wasn’t off put by anything… But, he had to give it to him, because he managed to help him get in the bathtub without ogling him.

Once Arthur sat down in the bathtub, his dizziness subsided again and he washed himself. The one thing that he let up to Francis was his hair. Secretly, he had always admired Francis’s luscious locks, so he was sort of curious to see whether or not the other man was just born with effortless style, or if he had some type of secret technique.

The feeling of having someone else washing his hair, massaging his scalp was incredibly relaxing, but he couldn’t fall asleep in the tub and Francis had been rather quiet other than humming occasionally, so he decided he would talk.

“What do you use on your hair anyway, Francis?”

“Hm? Just shampoo and conditioner– why?”

“No reason,” Arthur replied, but it was a suspiciously fast answer, so Francis leaned over to make eye contact with him, keeping his soapy hands on the Englishman’s head.

“You like my hair, don’t you?” Francis asked with a smirk.

“What’s there to like about your hair? I swear, you’re so full of yourself,” Arthur muttered, looking away from the other man, whose face was only inches away from his own.

“It only makes sense that you must want to have beautiful hair like me. After all, why else would you be alright with me washing your hair, but you were so standoffish about everything else?” Francis rambled, but when Arthur caught onto what he was saying his cheeks flushed.

Of course, the only thing Arthur would be okay with Francis washing was his hair because, well, anything else would be…

“Anything else would’ve been undignified! It’s got nothing to do with your hair!” Arthur retorted, making the water splash some as he crossed his arms.

“Whatever you say,” Francis replied in a singsong tone as he placed a hand on Arthur’s forehead to redirect the soapy water away from his eyes as he rinsed his hair.

After that, the night went on rather normally. Arthur put clean pajamas on since he was home sick and wouldn’t be going anywhere, and Francis prepared dinner like usual. He made sure that the dinner was something that could be prepared easily and brought it to Arthur in bed so he didn’t have to try to get him down the steps when he was dizzy.

Upon finishing dinner, Francis cleaned things up and put his own pajamas back on. Then, since it had become a normal routine for them, they fell asleep in the Englishman’s bed.

When Francis woke up the next morning, he was disappointed to find that things had returned to normal and Arthur was already awake before him. He knew it was selfish and that he should feel grateful that the other man was feeling better, but… sick Arthur was rather endearing. Francis liked to feel needed, so he could’ve taken care of him like that for a few more days… or weeks.

Francis got out of the bed a little faster than usual, curious to see if Arthur truly had fully recovered. He went downstairs and found the Englishman in the process of making his morning tea.

“Bon matin,” Francis said softly, stopping when he reached the doorway to the kitchen.

“Oh, good morning, Francis,” Arthur replied, glancing over at the other man before he returned to making his tea.

“Do you feel any better?” Francis asked, taking a few steps closer to him as he reached for a mug out of one of the higher cabinets.

“Yeah, I feel better now. On that note, um, thanks for taking care of me yesterday,” Arthur said, speaking a bit quickly, as it looked like it was awkward for him to thank the other man.

“You’re welcome,” Francis replied with a simple smile.

“I, uh… I really wasn’t myself yesterday, so sorry if I said something weird to you,” Arthur continued to ramble as he put sugar in his tea.

Francis, on the other hand, was making coffee.

“You didn’t say anything that strange… Well, not any stranger than anything you would normally say,” Francis teased, which relieved Arthur because he was afraid he had been too clingy the day before.

“Really? Good then. I–”

Before Arthur had a chance to keep awkwardly rambling, his phone rang. At first he was relieved, thinking it had saved him from the uncomfortable conversation, but…

“Mum? How are you?”

Francis was purposefully still, hoping that if he was quiet enough he could hear what was being said on the other line.

“I’m doing well, too… Yes, Francis is, too…”

Francis still couldn’t hear a thing, but the conversation seemed to just be a normal one, where his mom hadn’t heard from him in awhile and wanted to catch up with him.

“No, not particularly… What? Mum– can’t you just let that whole thing go?”

Well, maybe it wasn’t a casual conversation.

“Neither one of us wants to do that! You’re being unreasonable..! That’s… that’s even worse than what I thought you had wanted..!”

When Arthur suddenly raised his voice and made eye contact with Francis, they both panicked, but Francis was still so confused because he couldn’t hear what she was saying.

Arthur eventually hung up the phone without another word and Francis waited expectantly for him to explain what the conversation was about, although he could take a guess…

“My mum, she… she’s arranged a wedding ceremony for us.”

#hetalia #fruk #aph france #hws france #aph england #hws england #aph fruk #hetalia fruk #hws fruk #hetalia angst #hetalia fluff #hetalia fanfiction

19 notes · View notes

cottondo · 2 years

Text

USUK angst |

Hope y’all enjoy 💙

SHORT STORY // Independence Day

It was a particularly drizzly day in the streets of England. The sky was quite grey, and the streets were flooding with rainfall.

Arthur hadn’t seemed to mind that, though. He knew just how much his country liked to rain, and he was quite fond of it, really. It seemed to place a sense of calm over him. He would sit with a warm cup of tea, and read from his favorite book on days like today.

Although, today was a bit different than what his usual schedule called for.

His American ‘friend’ Amelia had invited herself over for the day. The Brit wasn’t exactly sure why, but he accepted it nonetheless. She spoke somewhere along the lines of having to talk to him about something . . he wasn’t sure. The phone call lasted maybe a minuet, and as usual, she was obnoxiously loud into the speaker. The British nation could barely understand a word of whatever mumbo jumbo the American spoke of.

Arthur had just taken his kettle off the stovetop and poured himself a warm cuppa. The coffee pot that was collecting dust sat at the edge of his countertop, plugged in and brewing up a mug of coffee for Amelia, once she arrived. She had bought it for him a while back in attempt to get him to drink more coffee. Or, rather, it was there for emergency visits such as these when the girl wanted to drink some when over at his house.

Maybe she had boy problems again and wanted to rant to someone about it.

Arthur wasn’t the one she would want to hear from if that were the case. He’d usually give her the right piece of mind, and it was all things she didn’t want to hear. So, then they’d argue over it.

A simple routine the Brit had gotten sick of over time. They just didn’t see eye to eye . . Maybe that was why she wanted her independence from him so badly.

The mere thought made him want to vomit.

Sure, he still liked her. Maybe in different ways than before. For reasons he wasn’t quite sure of why. It was odd, and he’d never admit it out loud to himself, or anyone else. He barely had wanted to admit it to himself in his own head.

Arthur sat in the living room awaiting her. Soon, he heard the front door open, and loud shouting followed. The door slammed behind her.

Oh boy. What was she on about now?

Amelia had entered the room with an irritated pout on her face. It had been an unbelievably irritating day, to say the least.

‘Amelia, do this— Amelia, go answer that phone call— AMELIA, GO BRING ME MY LUNCH, AND FINISH THIS CONFERENCE CALL, NOW!’ .

She had enough of her boss for one day. He wouldn’t leave her alone ! She needed somebody to vent to about it, and though Arthur was far from her list of people she wanted to run to, everybody else had been busy.

Francis was off doing something with Antonio today, Matthew wasn’t even a thought— Yào wasn’t that close with Amelia; and she was pretty sure that Ivan had a death threat for her . . so that left Arthur.

“Dude! You won’t even believe what my day has been like! I have so much to say, I don’t even know where to start.” She yelled into the house. Amelia wasn’t exactly sure where the Brit was, but she knew he was around. Probably sitting in his chair with a cup of tea in his hand like usual. That boring bastard. He was so predictable.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee entered her nose. The American rushed into the kitchen, the one she knew her way around all too well, and continued on with her rantings.

“I can hardly wait to hear.” She heard Arthur call from the family room. The same hints of sarcasm tracing his words. She ignored it. “So, first of all,” she rolled her eyes, throwing in the bits of sugar and cream into her coffee. As she snatched her cup, she made her way into the living room. “My boss has been hounding me all day. I felt like his damn dog! He had been barking orders to me since I went into office this morning!”

Arthur leaned his temple into his knuckles, elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. He could hardly wait to hear all of this on such a calm, quiet day.

He didn’t care about listening to her rants about her job as a country. If she stayed by his side instead of deciding to become independent, he’d have been able to handle these things for her. Maybe life could be easier, and the girl wouldn’t have to be put under such stresses.

“What happened this time, dearest.” He spoke with narrowed eyes, another sarcastic word coming into play.

Amelia caught the attitude and glared back. “What didn’t happen.” She crossed her arms over her chest as she sat down on the love seat.

“Second of all, I get into the office because he called me in. He tells me I need to start showing up even earlier than I do. And mind you, I go in at five A.M every morning.” She begins her rantings, earning more of the Brits attention. Her venting had started to capture him.

It almost seemed more amusing listening to her bunches of misfortunes than reading one of his favorite books, or watching a show. Amelia had seemed to live a very lively, busy life most of her days. Arthur couldn’t relate to that much.

Other than arguing with the other countries, or playing with his cat on the sullen days of the week, the Englishman hadn’t had many people to hang out with. On days his brothers would come to visit, it mostly felt like torture. He’d rather be drunk in an alleyway than deal with those nuts he’s forced to call family.

Then, something inside Arthur tweaked:

“Maybe you shouldn’t have become independent then.” He crosses his leg over the other, and grabbed a cloth from his chest pocket.

It was true, if she hadn’t claimed herself independent, none of these things would be happening, and life could be much more simple for her; in his eyes, anyway. Arthur could have done the things for her instead.

Here it was— that sickening feeling he’d get, like when it was her birthday.

Arthur coughed into the hand that held the towel, and he had unintentionally spit up blood. A thing that started happening over time since she had split from him.

Amelia’s face had turned from anger to guilt in a matter of seconds as she saw the male looking ill. She still wasn’t too sure why he had gotten like that over the bitter topic. And perhaps she’d never know. Amelia was too afraid to ask why he’d get that way.

“Can you just listen to me for once without starting some stupid argument?” Amelia furrowed her brows at him. She had enough guilt inside of her as it was, she didn’t want to be brought up with these painful memories.

It felt hard to suppress on certain days like rainy ones such as these;

The way the rain had hit the ground that day, surrounding the deflated Brit. The way he broke down to his knees whilst sobbing into his hands. Amelia didn’t know how to feel about those memories. She felt horrible for making him feel the way he felt, but she also felt horrible being stuck under his belt for everything. It was her time to finally have a day and make rules of her own.

She saw how well that all turned out for her . .

“It’s not like I wanted this.” She huffed, looking away. “Seeing you like that, I mean.” The blonde hated seeing him sick. It only happened at mentioning this specific topic— especially on her birthday. That day was the worst of the year. He’d come stumbling up to her ready to throw up, or pass out from weakness. Or there were times he be too drunk to function out words, ending in a depressing attempt to cry for her to come back to him.

Amelia couldn’t help but to feel guilty for the way his body would react to such things. It was her fault, after all. She split from him. And what had been the worst part of all . . she began to realize her true feelings of guilt weren’t just guilt.

There were feelings of some type of romantic emotion that began to grow throughout the last few recent years.

It felt a little selfish of her, but a part of her almost wanted him. Amelia didn’t know why she felt this way— it was more like an unexpected crush that happened over time. Sure, Amelia felt a bit wrong for feeling such things towards the Brit, but she couldn’t seem to help it after a while of coming to terms with it. Maybe this was the reason she was never around as much anymore.

Would she ever say that she felt like that to him? Hm- probably not. And even if the subject were to come up at any random time, she’d probably still try and deny it.

Amelia felt embarrassed.

Not because she grew feelings for HIM; it wasn’t anything against Arthur. She felt more as if he were to find out, he’d make fun of her for it. The American didn’t know why she felt like he’d say such things, but Amelia knew something would probably go wrong.

She’d never live it down.

Maybe he thought it was wrong too. But, after all, all of them were immortal, and she hadn’t had many others to choose from. Nobody had a history like these two did. Francis was certainly out of the question; they had gotten along well, but Amelia felt a bit weirded out around him some days.

All of the other countries just weren’t the same. And being with a human was just too painful. Having to watch them grow without her growing old as well, then just one day . . they were gone.

Amelia was terrified of what Arthur could say to her about it. Arthur probably didn’t even care about her as much as he says he does. Amelia figured he boasted about her, or took her side defensively just for looks. The American wasn’t sure anymore. Her mind felt heaps of emotion and didn’t know what to do with it all. So like always, she would slap on a big smile and be obnoxious for everyone else.

“Well,” the Brit scoffed, wiping his mouth with a sudden embarrassment. “You sure seemed like you’d been planning it for quite some time.” He felt the same bitterness in his chest he had felt the day it happened. It was as if his entire world came crashing down on him all over again.

“Look, dude, I don’t want to get into this.” Amelia rested her legs up on the couch and set down her mug of coffee. She looked rather tired, the Englishman thought to himself.

Maybe she wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit today either.

“All I’m saying, is that I’d be able to help, but you don’t want that.” Arthur shrugged. Another coughing fit happened, and he spit into the bloody handkerchief. Discarding it, he grabbed a new one from his other pocket, tightly gripping it with anxiety. He saw the furrowed browed look she gave him.

“I can do things on my own. It’s not that I don’t want your help, I just want you to listen to me! But you still can’t— even now.” Amelia found herself crossing her arms over her chest. It guarded her from his negative energies.

“I listen! I have to get stuck listening to your venting rampages even if I have no say in the bloody matter! You come in unannounced, then wreck the place.” Arthur grit his teeth, leaning forward with annoyance in his seat.

“Wow. I’m sorry! God forbid I come to you when I need somebody. Why do I bother giving your lonely ass attention?” Amelia frowned. “I thought you were supposed to be someone I could trust. I guess I should have figured that out from the beginning.” Amelia barked back, brow clearly creased with frustration.

“This isn’t how I wanted us to be.” She let out a heavy sigh.

Arthur froze. He desperately wanted to scream at her. But something told him not to.

“I—“ he paused, mind drifting away into nothingness. No words that could come out would sound right. So maybe he shouldn’t even speak at all. Amelia obviously wanted to say more, but it seemed like she held back too.

She wasn’t looking for a fight, she was looking to be honest. And maybe it was a wake up call for Arthur.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up,” he sighed out.

Amelia didn’t know why, but she felt like crying. Maybe it was all of the stress throughout the day finally getting to her. Today had been a horrible day, then to conclude it, Arthur made it worse. She just wanted one person to listen to her venting without being interrupted or chewed at.

Her eyes became glossy as she desperately reached for her warm mug. It comforted the tips of her fingers and she sipped on it carefully. Arthur had noticed her unusually silent body.

He wondered what it was that made her go so quiet. She was always looking to be right. So, why wasn’t she trying to be?

The silence wasn’t comforting or peaceful anymore. It was awkward and stiff. The air was thick, with a tension he wasn’t fond of.

“Amelia, I—”

The American felt tears and emotions trying to climb up the back of her throat. Her voice began to shake as she would try to speak. “Can I just talk about my day?”

Not with her usual loud, cheery voice had she spoke. It had sounded torn down, and beaten. She was such a strong girl, to Arthur it seemed like there was almost nothing that she couldn’t do. So, things must have really been rough if she wasn’t able to compose herself.

The Englishman didn’t even remember the last time he had seen her cry. It was such a long time ago, he’d probably be convinced she never cried. Amelia was always as happy as she could be.

He wished to feel like that too.

“Why doesn’t anybody ever want to listen to me lately? All I want is to just,” her voice wobbled and shook. She inhaled and exhaled softly, trying to regain her composure. “be heard. Like, man, is that so freakin’ hard?” The soft fake laugh effortlessly escaped her lips in a sarcastic manor. She felt herself sink into the couch with the mug gripped tightly in her hands.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur felt a sort of guilt creeping up his spine. He didn’t mean to make her feel bad . . but arguing was just so much easier. After all, he was in the right, here.

“Why don’t you start over . . You said something about having to go in earlier, right?” He furrowed his brows.

Amelia nodded, sitting with her legs criss crossed, sniffling her nose a bit.

“Uhm, yeah. So,” her mind wandered. It all led up to all the emotions she and Arthur had been suppressing for years. Something they refused to talk about. But it needed to be spoken about. Things needed to be cleared up.

“I don’t know. Things just weren’t working out for me today. It felt like everything has just been going wrong.” She let out a heavy sigh. Arthur felt his face falter between her expressions.

Something about seeing Amelia look so down really bothered something inside of him. He wasn’t sure if it was the past him trying to dig himself up and protect her, or if it were because he just truly cared for her.

“I’m really sorry.” Her voice cracked, and she set down her mug. “Dude, I don’t want things to be this way anymore. I can’t handle anything on my own lately. It’s so hard.” Tears began to weld up in Amelia’s eyes, and just as she tried to hold them back, she couldn’t anymore. A few streamed down her face and she knew that was it.

The american didn’t want to show that sign of weakness in front of the Brit, but it happened. It was too late now.

“I don’t know what to do. I feel like everything I’m doing is wrong, according to my Boss.” She shrugged, “He doesn’t respect me anymore. Britain— a-am I doing something wrong? Am I really not that great of a leader,” she began to babble on through her thoughts.

Arthur sat straight in his chair and stared wide eyed. Was this another one of her tricks? She would fake being upset in order to get something out of people quite often— but this . . he wasn’t too sure.

“Amelia, don’t be silly.” He chuckled, looking away. “You’re not fooling me with this whole thing again.” His smirk quickly faded once she looked up at him with a glare. “What the hell, dude! I’m not joking around!” She stood, face red with embarrassment. “You know what, I’m out.”

Arthur wished he could take back what he said.

Ugh, what an idiot. Why did he have to say that?

He stood forward and grabbed her wrist, stopping her from going anywhere. She looked down and tried to yank it back. “Let go of me.” She growled.

Unfortunately, the Brit was stronger.

He pulled her to sit on the couch beside him and he sighed. “Amelia, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were being serious.”

Tears began streaming down her face once again, alerting Arthur.

“Why would I be joking about something like this?” She snared.

“You cry almost all the time to make me feel bad for you, twat!” He glared back at her. He kept his soft grip on her arm, not allowing her to move anywhere. Amelia snuck her knees to her chest and she looked away with a heavy sigh.

“You’re an asshole.”

Britain smirked under his breath. “I know.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Now, come now. What’s with all of this crying? You’re a great leader. I know I may not say it often, or nearly at all— but . . you do a great job at making your country stabile.” He huffed, removing his grip from her.

Amelia was surprised to hear him say that.

Was he serious?

“Really?” Her voice included hope.

“Yes, you twit. Of course.” The blond male felt his face feel a slight bit of heat. “And although it still hurts for me to say it, but . . you gaining your own independence was probably for the best.” He choked down the vile pain crawling up his throat. “You’ve made a great place. Look at all of the amazing things you’ve done!” He smiles.

Amelia didn’t know what to say. She wanted to smile at him, but it was still hard. A part of her thought he was only saying that to make her feel better. He didn’t -really- mean it.

“I don’t know,” she sighs out, “I don’t feel like I’ve done enough good.” Amelia struggled to get those words out. She hated feeling down about herself. Amelia was supposed to be the confident one!

“Nonsense.” Arthur tapped her shoulder. He would try to offer her another smile, but it seemed hard to do as well. “You just have a very . .” Pausing, his brain searched for the right word, “different, way of doing things, is all.” He pressured a smile to his face.

Amelia peeked up at him from being buried into her arms atop her knees. “I like to add style to my work.” She sniveled.

Arthur held back an insult that came to mind, and instead, rolled his eyes. He then cleared his throat.

Amelia had glanced him over carefully. Her heart had been pounding inside her chest. Was now the wrong time to be feeling this way towards him?

All she wanted to do right now was kiss that smug look off his face.

The girl cringed at herself and gripped her own arms tightly. “Thank you.” Amelia spoke softly.

Arthur nodded, sensing a sort of odd tension between him and the girl. Was it wrong to have been liking Amelia the way he had grown to like her over the past year?

He wasn’t sure anymore.

“Sure, whatever.” He responded rather cold. He didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but it did.

Amelia sighed softly, collecting her thoughts at hand. “England,” she spoke carefully, earning his attention. He furrowed a brow down at the sound of his country name. “I’m sorry.”

Now he was just confused. What was she on about now?

“For what?”

“I know about your illness. I know it’s because of me,” her head keeps buried into her arms. She stares with widened eyes down at the couch beneath her.

“And I’m so sorry.”

Arthur coughed into his sleeve, narrowing his vision to her again. He was at a loss for words. What was he even supposed to say? That it was okay? It wasn’t.

He didn’t blame her for him feeling this way, but it certainly wasn’t a fun thing to have happen.

“It’s really not so terrible,” Arthur lied, in hopes to make her feel somewhat better on this horrid day of today.

“Don’t lie to me.” She lifted her head to view him over. “I know how bad you get.”

Her eyes sunk into his soul.

He looked down, a face full of guilt. He seemed more guilty of what he was going to say next, “Maybe if you didn’t leave me,” His voice began to rock. He sounded painfully hurt. “Separating yourself from me. Taking out all of my men,” his body leaned back into the couch, earning her full attention.

“I needed you. I wanted you by my side, Amelia!” He exclaimed painfully.

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

Arthur felt something cold grab his hand. It was Amelia’s. She gripped it tighter, bringing it to her chest. The girl kept her knees crunched at her chest, and she practically cradled his hand.

“Why couldn’t you have just stayed? Instead of having to have things your way.”

“Hurting you wasn’t really my intention. But, you also hurt me.” She mumbled.

Arthur felt frozen, stuck in time. He hadn’t felt her like that before. She felt broken, hurt. Yet, comforting, in a melancholy sort of way.

“You pushed too hard on me. Always judging me,” her brows furrowed at the wall ahead as memories from those days filled her mind. “You never liked me for me. You never let me be me.” Her head turned to look at him.

Arthur was just as guilty. He hated that feeling. It filled his chest with dread. He couldn’t imagine how that must have felt for her. Why did he try so hard to make her seem perfect? She was already far beyond that.

“I tried making you into something you’re not. I tried making you me.” He sighed out. “I’m sorry, too.” With his taken hand, he held onto her hand tighter.

Using his free hand, Arthur coughed into the stained cloth, spitting out slight bits of blood.

“Ugh,” the Brit groaned out sourly, “bloody hell.”

Amelia had tears dripping down her cheeks again. She felt so . . confused. She was mad, yet, horrified with guilt.

“It’s okay.” She mumbled. “I forgive you.”

He looked at her with confusion. “You do?”

She nodded gently. “How could I not,” a soft sigh escaped from her. “You’re a tough one to get out of mind.”

Arthur was . . confused. What did she mean by that? Were his thoughts just twisting her words into something greater, or was she saying what he thought she meant?

“I am rather amazing.” He tried to give her a smirk in hopes it would lighten up her flow of tears. It seemed to work, only briefly, before her weakened smile was returned with a frown.

“Britain, I don’t want us to fight anymore. Can we just, like, be cool, dude?” She offered him in hopes he’d respond.

Arthur thought it over in his head. He wanted that. No more fighting. No more bickering between the two of them like spoiled children. He would have to be there for her, just like he always promised he would be.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I’d like that, very much.”

#aph usuk #hetalia usuk #hetalia world twinkle #hetalia 2021 #hetalia 2022 #aph hetalia #aph america #aph england #arthur kirkland #alfred jones #hetalia world stars #hetalia #hetalia angst

2 notes · View notes