from an idea i had a while back, i hope you all like it <3
how noisy are they? hetalia edition ♡
tags | smut , nsfw , masturbation , scenario , imagine , headcanons , axis & allies , accent kink , country names used , minors do not interact
author's note* here are my headcanons on what allies/axis sound like!! i'm planning to make another post like this but with the nordics. let me know if you'd like a version of this with the women!! or other select characters! you can read part two here and read part three here !
allies ♡
america has to take several breaths in the middle of jerking himself off. yes, even when it's just him he can tend to get way too excited. edging may not be his strong suit but in the short time he does spend touching himself, he imagines himself in front of someone he finds attractive, waiting for their next command.
has a surprisingly whiny moan, kind of like this.
england can be a little loud at times, other times not so much. mainly when it is not appropriate or acceptable to make such a raucous. as for whoever he's with, he'll also prefer to keep them quiet. (a hand across the mouth, perhaps) he likes to kiss them over and over to quieten his partner. he actually talks a lot during sex, albeit not without some serious stuttering. and though, he is most likely mentally kicking himself for doing so, his partner finds it cute.
when he tries to laugh the nervousness off, he sounds like this.
france likes to talk them through it, or rather, whisper because that is just so much more intimate. he makes sure his lover is comfortable and settled in before anything else happens. he could makeout for hours on end if it were possible—touching them through their clothes until they beg for him to finally start doing everything he told them he wanted to do.
his slow kisses make it feel as though it's been hours, and when he starts up it sounds like this.
canada tends to be grabby when he's with the person he really likes. he tries to at least be subtle in his protectiveness over that one special person. he sucks in a breath when he feels their body on his, desperately rubbing against his to cause some friction. he pulls them in closer, feeling their heat. he praises them, acknowledging the fact that they're not shy.
whenever he praises them, it might sound something like this.
russia seriously fights for his life when it comes to not being loud. he tries to moan as low as possible, which is much easier when he is on top. his voice is deep, and can be very loud when he is moaning. his partner insists that it is not a problem, but he'd truly be upset (and humiliated) if someone outside heard him. he likes to tease with his words, nearly mocking his partner. with a smile on his face, he'll tell them how adorably pathetic they sound for him.
he likes to call them cute nicknames in russian, just like this.
china doesn't care to feed into their accent/language barrier kink. so he tries to teach them chinese instead, even praising them for every word they can pronounce correctly. although, he does still find it sweet how they react whenever he calls them a nickname in his native language. he'd never admit it directly though, opting to call them silly for even liking such a thing. he then proceeds to give them a kiss, telling them to move on to the next part of their lesson.
he's very much a tease!! hoping they don't mind it too much when he sounds like this.
axis ♡
italy does whatever his love asks of him. he figures it'll keep him out of trouble if he does. he likes doing what pleases them. most of the time, anyway. if there is something that's kind of embarrassing for him, he'll whine about for a little bit until his love is able to remind them that he is all theirs and only theirs.
he's very, very cute whenever he sounds like this.
germany will explain everything he is doing or wants to do to his partner right before and as he is doing it. not too strict, but extremely disciplined in how he's working his hands over their body. he is able to coax out these short, low noises from their mouth. his touch makes them squirm, but he immediately holds them still. he's talking them down so they'll relax. giving him the green light to continue to touch them.
he's soft spoken, mostly speaking in german like this.
japan swallows loudly, happily so seeing as their tongue was just inside of his mouth. he kissed them so feverently, leaning forward to deepen it. enjoying the way they licked every part of his mouth. he feels so good it almost makes him dizzy. his partner will have to make sure to give him breaks in between for him to get some air. in the meantime, they put their hand to his chest, feeling his fast heartbeat.
he's cute, but out of shape—therefore not having a lot of stamina. he sounds like this.
prussia usually talks into their neck, or hair, when he's feeling a certain way. one time, his partner even brought it up to him that they can't hear what he's saying when he does that. he just grinned and shrugged. he told them it doesn't matter if they can't understand him, that they probably just like feeling his warm breath on their skin anyway. he talks them through everything, mostly saying vulgar things and praising how well they are taking him.
he can get cocky...but this is what he might sound like.
romano likes to edge his partner because it brings him satisfaction when someone else is feeling the same sexual frustration he often feels. he praises them when they do something he wants them to do and only after they do it. if they happen to touch him in a way he especially he likes, he'll demand they do it over and over. he believes there's nothing wrong with prioritizing himself sometimes.
...surely his partner can understand. he sounds like this.
Yandere Canada/Reader — A memoir of your college days.
The prequel to No Compromises
⚠️ Yandere content, heavy emotional manipulation, self-harm, stalking, noncon, somnophilia, smut, no use of Y/N, gender neutral reader (though you do cosplay a female character for Halloween), emetophobia, perversion of religion.
A/N: WE'RE SO FUCKING BACK 😭 happy one year anniversary to the first fic, and thank you all so much for waiting!!!
-----
You've started to get sick of hearing your own name.
Your head turns, your forehead feeling tight and thin in the effort to try and keep up a kindly appearance. You turn to face the man who called your name, even if you immediately knew who it was the moment you heard his quiet footsteps. You're not sure how you even noticed despite the bustling atmosphere of your classroom.
"Yes, Mattie?"
Like always, to the point it's almost annoying, his breath catches in his throat, and his pupils dilate at the sight of you. His cheeks are pink, always have been, at least only around you.
"Oh, hi– Can we– C-Can we hang out again after class?"
You sigh through your nose, "I don't know why you're so nervous, Mattie, this is the eighth time you asked this week. And it's only Friday."
His body hiccups at the revelation of how clingy he sounds. Nervously, his long fingers adjust his glasses. "R-Right. Is that a no?" He asks as he fumbles with the buttons on the sleeves of his shirt.
As your eyebrows crease in the slightest to think, you ponder over your options. This Matthew guy has been all over you for around a few months now, relentlessly sticking to you like sap. He means well, you tell yourself, and if it ever annoys you, you convince yourself it's your own fault for ever asking him for directions. It's your fault for picking him because he looked kind in your eyes, your fault for continuing to accept his help when your day kept going wrong, because ever since then, he'd rarely ever give you any time by yourself or with anyone else.
"Just turn him down!" Your friends would say, and at that you'd contest that it isn't as easy as they think, at which they would remind you that your empathy had always been your Achilles' heel.
Matthew was not an unremarkable man by any means, he was kind, hygienic, and punctual, which is already an incredible feat when you consider the metric you have for other men. Besides being a decent man, he was attractive, intelligent, soft-spoken with a nerdy twang, all traits that should make him incredibly likeable, yet it felt like the world kept glossing over him, and you couldn't understand why. Your friends didn't even know who he was until you spoke of him one day.
He was the kind of person who sort of blended into the background, never in any circles, rarely ever thought of, seldom spoken to. You thought you would crumple in on yourself when, one day, you asked Matthew why he always hangs around you, with a bit more bite to your tone than intended, and he simply replied; "I don't even know anyone else."
You felt a strange sense of responsibility over him. If no one will witness him, who will? To feel human is to feel seen, and it always pains you when you think of how lonely Matthew's life must have been before that fated day you asked him where your first class was.
"... Yeah, sure, we can hang." You finally let up, sighing with a tired smile on your face. That warm grin he gives you always feels like such a nice treat after sacrificing more of your time to him. Guilt settles slightly in your stomach when it dawns on you that you might be allowing him so much leeway just because you find him cute.
"Y-Yeah? Oh, thank god." Matthew breathes out happily, looking like he was absolutely glowing. He pushes his glasses up his tall nose, "Um, I-I'll take you to my place? We can do whatever you want, honestly. I don't mind anything." He rushes this out with a fervor that comes off as a little creepy. His teeth catch his lower lip as he looks at you in anticipation.
You hum and stuff your hands into the pockets of your coat—Well, his coat that he gave you. It's a nice coat, a nice, sandy beige trench coat with a simple plaid pattern on the inner linings. It sat warmly and loosely around your shoulders.
He gave it to you after your first day of classes. It was pouring outside, neither of you had an umbrella, but he decided to provide you his coat anyways. He went home that day soaked from head to toe, sneezing, but with the biggest smile on his face he's had in years.
When you tried to return it, he was already wearing another coat, and insisted you keep it. From the look in his eyes and the way his hands tremble, you can tell he absolutely adores the look of you in his clothing. You felt a little evil right now, truth be told, feeling like you were taking advantage of this man who was so clearly wrapped around your finger.
"Wanna binge-watch something?" You suggest, "Was thinking of the Sam Raimi Spiderman movies. They were fun." Matthew nods eagerly, "O-Of course!"
You give him a tight-lipped smile, "Alright then, I'll see ya after class, Mattie. You should go now, you'll be late to yours."
He returns your smile with much more enthusiasm than you have shown, "Yeah, yeah, um, just– Thank you so much. I'll see you." He's visibly giddy even when he walks off, and the universe decides to only add to your guilt when someone bumps into him on his way out, not having even noticed his presence.
-----
"Ah, damn, I shoulda brought some extra clothes before coming over." You curse, while Matthew stared in mortification after spilling water on your jeans. He's sputtering like he's begging for his life, and you have to quickly bring him back down.
"Hey, hey, calm down! It's just water, Matthew." You laugh lightheartedly, "It's just uncomfortable at most, is all."
His lower lip quivers, you called him by his full name instead of the nickname he's come to see as a term of endearment. He's nervous. "I can– I-I can dry them off for you. I'll give you some pants to borrow." And before you could even say anything in response, he scrambles to his feet and runs off to his bedroom, quickly returning with a pair of black sweatpants.
"Here, um, I dunno if y-your underwear's wet," his voice drastically lowers in volume as he says those last two part, like a child saying a cuss word, "but, uh, I-I've got some boxers you can borrow, too." He nervously readjusts his glasses, his mouth running faster than he can think.
"Please." You request, just about as embarrassed as he is, but you knew if you showed any weakness you two would be bumbling messes the rest of the night. He nods and almost trips over his own feet running back to his room.
Truth be told, Matthew is absolutely fucking ecstatic that things are going so well for him right now. Of course it was a mistake that he spilled the water on you, but now it's the thing he's most grateful for this week. He gets to see you in more of his clothes, in his boxers, for christ's sake! You know how sharing straws or cups or utensils would be called an indirect kiss? So, of course, just the thought of sharing underwear and what it implies makes his heart beat way too hard for what it is.
Admittedly, he's having a bit of an underwear shortage right now, since he's had to keep changing them, always leaking way too much precum in your presence. He knows it's a little excessive, but he's so self-conscious about things like his appearance and his hygiene that he can't help but fuss over it. He fetches the newest, freshest pair he's got, and returns to you. You take it graciously, and as you change in the bathroom, Matthew wonders if he can snag your spent underwear and indulge a little later when he has to excuse himself to the bathroom.
-----
Matthew glances sidelong at you, studying your serene, happy expression with your eyes on the TV screen.
"You seem to really like this movie."
You are snapped out of your stupor by his observation, and let out a small, embarrassed laugh at being caught at such a vulnerable moment.
"Oh, well, yeah, 'course I do. I think it's also just cause I really like Spiderman."
"Is he your favorite superhero?" Matthew asks, pulling his long legs onto the couch, resting his elbow on the backrest, and facing you with his cheek resting on his palm.
You nod, meeting his gaze for a moment, his heart skips a beat, then you return your attention to the screen. "Yeah, he's cool. I like Peter Parker more than I like Spiderman, though."
Matthew pouts slightly, trying to keep his voice playful, "What, is he your type, or something?"
You snort, "You could say that!"
The moue on his lips deepen, and he begins to compare himself to said character. Matthew is also an awkward, nerdy white boy who tends to get walked all over. He wonders if, just maybe, he was your type, too. He's always been down on his luck, but maybe it's finally turned around, and by some divine blessing, his upbringing and its resulting personality made him just a little more likeable to you.
"I kinda relate to him." Matthew mumbles, and it captures your attention.
"Huh, you're right," you agree bluntly, looking him over as if you're seeing him for the first time, "surprised I never made the connection before."
A shy smile replaces the troubled frown on his face, and there it goes again, that feeling of gratification from making him smile.
"Halloween's coming up." You suggest teasingly, turning your full attention to him and mirroring his pose.
"Mhm?" He hums, slightly oblivious.
"You'd suit it well, cosplaying him." You clarify.
Matthew's cheeks redden. "A-Ah, really now?" He rubs the nape of his neck bashfully, his honey blond curls brushing against his knuckles.
"Yeah! It'd be super fun." You try to goad him on.
"It's such an embarrassing thing to wear, though..." Matthew whines, before a thought pacifies him. He glances away for a moment, then continues eye contact. "I'll do it if we match." He boldly bargains.
"Shall I be Green Goblin?" You laugh, and Matthew whines louder, which in turn makes your noise graduate into a cackle.
"Nooo! I want you to be Mary Jane."
You blush. "Well that's not very flashy or embarrassing at all. How will that comfort you?"
"You'll be with me."
He always knew exactly how to tug at your heartstrings.
"... I'll think about it. I'll update you in a few business days."
Matthew rolls his eyes and laughs, hitting you with a throw pillow as weakly as possible.
-----
As the night comes to a close, you find yourself instinctively growing more and more nervous with the knowledge you'll have to say goodbye to Matthew soon. Not because it's late, or because you'd miss him, but because you knew exactly what would happen once you'd try to return to your home. You glance at the clock one more time, before taking a deep breath and speaking up.
"Hey, uh, I should probably get going."
And like always, the soft smile drops from his face chillingly.
"... Oh, really?" Matthew breathes out quietly, sounding almost ghoulish.
You grit your teeth and feel a tightness in your head as you anticipate his next words.
"Can't you... can't you stay for a little longer? Can you stay the night?" He pleads. His voice is pathetic. Fragile. Decrepit. Pitiful.
"No, I'm sorry." You reply curtly, with as much sternness as you allowed yourself. You knew you had to be strict, that you had to show you weren't fooling around, but you felt like you were kicking him when he was already at his lowest, and you couldn't stomach that thought.
Matthew's eyes well up with tears, his violet eyes twinkling with the reflections of the warm lamps in his apartment. You were screwed.
"But I..." His voice shakes a little, "I want you around. I'll be lonely. Can't we spend a little more time together? Just a bit. We can watch one more movie, then I'll let you go." This was a lie. He knew this. He'd try and keep you as long as he could long after said movie was done.
Running a hand through your hair, you duck your head slightly to try and hide the frustrated expression on your face. "No, Matthew." There it is, the lack of a nickname, and his heart breaks again. Normally you'd be elated that the weekend would begin tomorrow, but right now, you cursed it since it didn't leave you with many excuses to avoid Matthew. "I've, uh, got some errands to run."
"I can come with you. It'll be more fun if we do it together, right? You can sleep here and we'll go and do them first thing in the morning." He's practically arguing at this point, but his soft tone of voice makes it sound more like begging than anything else.
You could barely hold back the hint of a groan in your voice. "No, Matt– Come on, I could just come over again some other time. I'd rather be alone tonight."
In response, Matthew's pitiful, pretty face scrunches up in hurt, and he lets out a quiet, pained noise as a few tears roll down his freckled cheeks.
"Why? Did I do something wrong?" He chokes out through the painful lump in his tightening throat, "I-I'm sorry– What did I do? I'll make it up to you. Don't– Don't leave yet, you need to let me apologise properly first."
Before you even have the thought to start rising from your seat on his couch, his long, cold fingers wrap around your wrist, and keep you from leaving.
"Let me, let me, please–" He begs weakly, and your irritation from all his dramatics, his crying, his grovelling, his incessant whining—it catches up to you, and this time, an irritated groan cuts through his wobbly ramblings
"Oh my god, could you just let me have a weekend alone for once, Matt?!" You snap, and you visibly recoil at the way Matthew flinches and looks like his heart had just been ripped out.
With a gulp that was a little hard to force down, you continue with a thick, shaky voice, trying meaninglessly to mend the emotional damage you had dealt him. "Please, dude, you've– You've been taking up all my time this past month, a-and I really just need some time away."
It's like he heard nothing you said, and the only idea that was clear to him was; "I've gotten tired of you, and I don't want you anymore."
"... Do you hate me now?" Matthew whimpers, sniffling and hiccuping openly, just letting his tears roll down his flushed cheeks and drip off his thin jaw. He hoped that the heartbreaking sight would coax some sympathy from you, even though he knew it always did.
He has to hold back a relieved laugh when he sees your fingers twitch, hesitating to comfort him, but you give in anyways, pulling his glasses off his face, and wiping his tears away with the heel of your palm.
The gesture wasn't the most gentle. It was a little callous, maybe even done out of pity rather than love, but the act meant you cared either way, and just the thought makes Matthew smile warmly and nuzzle his wet face against your palm.
"No, I don't hate you, I–"
"Then why do you wanna leave me?" His glossed lower lip trembles as he argues this, as if it were a valid point.
You let out a strained sigh, and comb his wavy hair back with your fingers before settling them back on his lap, where his trembling, clammy hands immediately hold onto yours. The sight of them slightly dwarfing yours remind you of how strange the situation is, but it also makes you feel relieved. He was larger than you, but, still, he showed you docility. Like a large dog with attachment issues.
"Matthew." You say sternly, and he whimpers like a kicked puppy at the coldness in your tone, "At least for the weekend. That's just two days."
His mouth keeps opening and closing, trying to find some bullshit logic to dispute your reasoning with, but he can't find anything besides just outright begging you to stay solely because he feels like he could die without you by his side.
Despite all his docility—Rather, because of his docility, Matthew has come to use less than noble methods to get you chained to him instead of using brutish violence.
"I... I'm not good at taking care of myself." He whispers hoarsely, "I'll do something stupid again."
Your gaze immediately softens with worry when you realise what he was implying, and your gaze unconsciously drifts down to his slender forearms, and the thin scars that littered along it like ladders.
Matthew can't help a small, victorious smirk this time, but due to his tragic state, it looked more like a desperate, pleading smile. A smile in the attempt to appear strong.
"Hey, hey, no, c'mon..." You mutter softly, all your previous irritation dissipating and being replaced with that terrible kindness Matthew loved exploiting just to keep your eyes on him.
"I... I-I've been having a lot of stress from my thesis paper, and the bullying, a-and you're the only one I have." His voice cracks shamefully at the end of that confession, but he presses on. It was a good thing, anyways. All it would do was just make you dote on him more. "I just wanted to spend more time with you. You make me happy. Really happy."
You knew you'd scold yourself for this, come some time after he eventually wins you over. He always manages to, so you find yourself crumbling under all his guilt-tripping and the use of those damned puppy eyes of his.
You hesitate, glancing at the door for a moment, and his heart sinks, immediately squeezing your hands to pull your attention back to him.
"Please, you're all I have." Matthew begs, with a sincerity and adoration so genuine that it hurts him, and makes a few more twinkling tears spill from his glistening eyes.
With an uneasy look on your face, you finally relent. Immediately, a shaky, bright grin spreads on his flushed, dripping face, and you hate how the sight makes your heart flutter.
-----
Nights spent with Matthew are surprisingly normal, despite the messy altercations that usually preceded them.
Somehow, he's manipulated you into thinking that sharing a bed with him was something completely normal and innocent, despite his very obvious attraction to you.
"My couch isn't that comfortable."
"I don't own any other blankets besides the one in my bed."
"You'll get cold. I can keep you warm."
"You can have all my pillows. Y-You can cuddle me too, if you want."
"I'll get lonely."
Matthew waits for you to settle into his bed first. It was nestled in the corner of his room, so you'd be on the side that was against the wall. He's always insisted on it, since it was a silent effort on his part to keep you trapped there. Maybe if he held you tightly enough, you'd find it hard to leave him in the morning.
Once you were laid down on his soft mattress, he lies next to you, immediately drawing closer to you like a magnet. His lanky arms hesitantly drape over your waist, as if worried he'd upset you more, but, selfishly, his desire for closeness wins out over your own feelings. Just like always.
You were laid on your back, staring straight up at his mundane, creamy beige ceiling. Matthew was on his side, gazing at you with that familiar awe and yearning constantly swirling in his hazy, violet eyes.
His pale hand rests on your stomach, his long fingers shyly playing with the fabric of your sweater, like he wanted more from you. Matthew himself didn't even know what exactly he was pleading for, but he wanted it anyways. He wanted you. A soft sigh leaves his nostrils, and the cool air brushes over the skin of your face.
It remains silent for a long while. You were still stewing in the headache-inducing frustration of the earlier altercation with Matthew, and, like always, you coped by forcing yourself to forgive him.
He was just lonely.
He needs me.
He's my responsibility.
I am his only friend.
I am all he has.
"Can I come closer?" Matthew whispers, the sound of his weak voice so close to your ear sends shivers down your neck and across your shoulders. You don't answer, you look annoyed, but you're not fighting him off, and that's good enough for him. His arms tighten a little around your waist, and he scoots in so close the tip of his nose nudges against the soft skin under your ear. You can hear every little breath, swallow, and mouth sound, and despite the quietness of the room, it feels overstimulating.
"You look like you're thinking really hard about something." He murmurs, sitting up slightly for a moment to pull his thick duvet around the two of you even tighter. "Are you still mad at me?"
"... I just need to rest." You reply vaguely.
Matthew's heart hurts a little. He knows you're still upset, but you tolerate him anyways. You really were a saint. He nods, and shuts his eyes, trying to calm himself down for your sake, willing himself to slow his breathing and his heart rate so yours could sync up with his. Your scent and the feeling of you in his arms does just the trick. "Okay, rest, then." He whispers reassuringly. "I'll keep you warm."
"Night." You mumble stiffly, rolling to face the other way. While it was meant to be a small act of defiance, Matthew was just happy he gets to be the big spoon now. That, and you even greeted him a good night despite it all.
"... Goodnight."
-----
When you weren't awake, Matthew liked to pray.
The young man wasn't very certain if he was religious at all. He grew up surrounded by ideas of Christianity, but besides a brief period in his childhood where he attended mass regularly, he wouldn't really consider himself one. It did, however, impact his beliefs in a way that went beyond just faith and kindliness.
In his adolescence, Matthew learned a formula for prayer. ACTS was the abbreviation for it. Matthew would use this formula to pray for small things in his life, like exams, someone he thought needed help, animals, and, most commonly, he'd utilise it for those late nights when he'd pray for someone to finally notice him.
Something strange and cruel in the universe would finally respond, and decided to offer you as his most perfect blessing. You would become his god.
A is for adoration.
"You're so amazing... so pretty... You're so beautiful. Oh, you're so kind to me, e-even when I'm being so annoying." A deranged, self-deprecating chuckle forces its way out of his tight throat. He has to swallow a little forcefully to try and soothe the hoarseness with his spit. "I'm sure you're so tired of me, but you still lov– A-Ah, should I even use that word? Hehe, I'm not sure if I'm allowed to, but, ohh, it would make me the happiest man in the world if you did..."
The air is heavy and damp, yet cold enough to make your cheeks sting. He kisses them with his soft lips, and the ragged exhale that follows warms them up.
C is for confession.
"I'm... I'm really dirty, though." He chokes out quietly, before his racing heart demands a sharp, ragged gasp to help it settle. It doesn't do much. "I act so nice around you, a-and I am a nice guy, I swear, but... But I'm human, too. I've been hiding so much from you. I'm so sorry for doing this to you, but you– y-you'd hate me if you knew this side of me..."
"Oh, you'd hate it if you knew just how often I think about you in the most... t-the most unholy ways... S-Sometimes, I get so excited when I'm around you that I have to excuse myself, and, w-well, you know." In an absurd act of bashfulness, he glances away from your face when he mutters this last word, as if he weren't stroking his dripping cock over your abdomen right now.
"You'd hate it if you knew that what happened to your friend was my fault... That I'm the reason your door's lock has so many scratches on it, that I'm the reason your window's hinges are so loose... A-Ah, my angel, today, I... Just earlier, I sniffed your underwear, and it made me cum instantly." A quiet, sickening giggle follows this putrid confession. "That's horrible, i-isn't it? I barely lasted a few seconds, b-but, I swear, I won't be like that with you. I'll go much longer. I'll go as long as you'd like me to, honey. You can use me all you'd like, and I'd love it. I'd always love you."
He almost lets out an unrestrained moan at the thought of you using him for your pleasure, but he bites on his tongue at the right moment, and it results in a stifled whimper.
"I know... S-Somehow, I know that I'm being ridiculous. Sometimes, when I'm picking your lock, when I'm licking your toothbrush, when I'm spitting in your body lotion, o-or when I'm cumming inside your bottle of conditioner, I... I know how terrible it is. I-I know I'm doing something disgusting, but it makes me realise how much of an angel you really are... You're so nice, even to someone as irredeemable as me. I love you."
His right hand fists at the fabric of the pillowcase right beside your head. The veins twitch beneath his pale skin with the strain of holding himself up above your sleeping body.
"... I'm sorry I isolate you so much, but I'm s-such a loser, and you're the only person in the entire world who's given me a-any attention. I don't want to lose that. I don't wanna lose you, don't wanna see you give this attention to anybody else, hurts so much, feels like I'm dying whenever I see it..."
Along with sweat, precum, and drool, tears now begin to join the mix. Matthew's weak voice begins to crack.
"I love you so much. I love you, I love you... Please never leave me. You're all I have. I-I'd die if you ever did."
T is for thanksgiving.
"But still, you... H-Heh, you still spend time with me..." Matthew swoons, as if the simple act of companionship were something sacred. "I'm so happy that you do... Thank you so much... Thank you, thank you, love you..." He babbles on breathlessly, his hand stroking his flushed, slick erection with more fervour as he felt that familiar, thrilling tension begin to build in his lower abdomen.
"Ahh, you're such an angel, you really are..." Matthew hisses in pleasure, his gritted teeth showcasing the points of his canines, which, usually, were a charming point, but right now, all it did was really drive home the idea that he was nothing but a predator. "S-So good to me, even when I don't really deserve it... So kind, so precious, s-so holy... I'll be yours forever. H-Hah, merde, I already am, I always was..."
He's panting, gasping, gritting his teeth and whimpering through pressed lips.
S is for supplication.
"Oh, the love of my life, my angel... Please be mine. Please. Ah– I'd... I-I'd never ask for anything else once I have you. You're all I need. I want you to only look at me, only smile at me, g-give me all of your time, spend y-your life with m-me– Oh, f-fffuc–!"
His fully dilated violet eyes roll back blissfully in their sockets when he finally spills his load all over his hand. At the same time, he lets out a choked gasp that was just a little bit too loud.
Matthew has to collect himself, sit back on his haunches, and dig his teeth into his right hand's knuckles in a clumsy attempt to muffle his needy, orgasmic moans. All the while, his left kept stroking that painful hard-on he's had ever since he cuddled up to you in bed.
His long fingers, pink-tipped and trembling, messily aim his spurting cock upwards, wanting to make a mess of his own clothes instead of yours. It truly pained Matthew to force himself not to paint you with his seed. He saw it as something like an offering to a deity. His semen was a product of his love, desire, and all the admiration he felt towards you. It was proof of his devotion. It was proof that you owned him.
Matthew is now a panting, quivering, flushed mess. The look on his pretty face was nothing short of debauched, with the slight, sweaty sheen on his reddened cheeks. His eyes, half-lidded, framed with long lashes, heavy with pleasure and love. His lips, swollen and pink after he had bitten on them in the useless effort to silence himself. Oh, and if you looked at the corner of his mouth, you'd see a bit of a spit trail glistening on his skin. He always got way too excited whenever he had the chance to 'pray' to you. Forgive him.
Well, the small droplets of drool on your face were the least of your problems, when, right now, as Matthew began to collect himself, noticed a spurt of cum that had landed on your cheek.
A shiver racks through his sweaty slender body, while the corners of his spit-glazed lips curled up into a disgustingly aroused smile.
He takes a few deep breaths, sloppily tucks himself back in, and wipes his cum-covered hand on his pyjama pants. He would clean this all up anyways. He'll clean you up, too.
Those dirtied fingers, still stained with the scent of salt and an unmistakable masculine musk, gently hold onto the side of your jaw. Matthew's eyes, now softened in his post-orgasm glow, just silently admire you for a moment. Here you were, his angel, his love, the centre of his entire universe, with the evidence of his worship on your cheek.
Ah, he was so happy...
He leans down, his warm tongue only hesitating for a moment before he shakily—eagerly laps at the cum on your face. Gotta keep your altar clean, right? He thinks this to himself with a satisfied, pleasured little hum in his throat.
When he pulls back, Matthew fully squeaks and stops breathing at the sight of your barely open, squinting eyes in the dark.
"... What are you doing?" are the only words that seemed to make sense at the moment, so it's what you chose to croak out.
The damp chill of the air cools the patch of saliva on your cheek, and it makes your hairs prickle and raise.
"N-Nothing." Matthew sputters out, his voice a little rough from the strain of trying to keep himself quiet. He coughs to clear his throat. "I'm sorry, did I wake you? I just, ah... I..." Matthew was always good at lying, but in the damning situation of being caught right after prayer, he fumbled a little. "I was... I-I was just looking at you."
As creepy as his excuse sounded, it was one that didn't faze you much when considering everything else he's ever done. Him watching you in your sleep was nothing compared to when you found a small ziplock bag of your what looked like your hair in one of his drawers. What did make you second-guess his excuse, though, was his heavy, shaky breathing.
Your narrowed eyes, stinging and squinting in effect of being prematurely woken from your sleep, slowly begin to adjust to the light. The moonlight seeping in through the blinds and the dim, warm lamp on his nightstand illuminated him just enough for his features to be properly discernible. The light caught the glistening fluids first—the sweat on his throat, the tear tracks on his red cheeks, the trail of drool on the side of his mouth, the drying ropes of cum on his shirt—and that was all you needed to see.
You spit out a startled, horrified curse, and immediately sit up straight, shoving Matthew's weakened body off of your own.
"What the fuck?!" Your cry comes out mangled, slurred with adrenaline and disgust.
"No, no, it's not like that!" Matthew hurriedly tries to defend himself, and even he knew how ridiculous and damning this was, to try and excuse this act. Damning was an incredibly weak word for the gravity of what he had done. He had ruined it all, he had desecrated the one good thing in his life, and he could only (as ironic as it was) pray that the kindness you had repeatedly shown him would save him from this.
You, while mortified, saw this as an opening. You finally had a reason to abandon him, to cast him away like the rest of the world did. In that moment, Matthew didn't see a single sliver of that expected empathy in your eyes, and he felt like he was going to die.
"You piece of shit!" is a guttural scream that tore his heart into shreds. You disentangle yourself from the blankets and his long limbs to try and scramble off of his bed, but a firm, trembling hand to your waist stops you.
"I didn't touch you!" He sobs. It's a pathetic, useless thing. It felt terrible to lie to his god like this. It was blasphemy.
"You touched yourself! That's fucking gross enough!" You shriek, kicking him away so your feet could finally touch the ground. Matthew scurries after you, his body unceremoniously falling to the ground with a harsh impact against his knees. They were sure to bruise, but like always, Matthew saw the harm to his person as another show of devotion. With you, he's come to see every single thing you do as a kindness, regardless of your actual intent. Right now, all you were doing was punishing him for being so sacrilegious.
He frantically wraps his arms around your knees, wailing and begging for forgiveness, and you feel like you could be sick at the knowledge that he was smearing his dirty fluids all over your clothing. With his sniffling nose pressed against your stomach, he knew he had nothing else to do but grovel.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Matthew cries miserably, "Please don't be mad. Please, please don't leave me! Ahh, I'm sorry– hic– I'm so sorryyy..." He whimpers your name repeatedly, as if pleading for repentance. "I-I know I've been bad. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Y-You can– You can go out with your friends, okay? I'll– I'll let you. And you can have some alone time. Just please don't hate me for this! Please don't leave me!"
Matthew's belief that he had authority over your actions almost disgusted you as much as the feeling of his erection against your leg. You felt bile burn at the back of your throat when it twitches the moment your eyes meet.
A violent shudder racks through your entire body, and you have to slam a clammy hand over your mouth to suppress the gag that builds in your oesophagus. It comes up anyways, but at least your palm against your lips muffles the gross sound and grounds you slightly.
You force your legs out of Matthew's desperate grip, and bolt to his bathroom. He chases. Your own knees ungracefully land on the floor in front of the toilet, and contrary to his own pain, which he saw as love, this was a tragedy. Like a chip in expensive porcelain. How could he allow his angel to be ever harmed in any way? Let alone in a situation that was completely his fault.
With a sickening retch, you dry heave, then empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl.
Matthew, still trembling and snivelling, kneels beside you, and wordlessly holds your hair back with one hand, while the other, try as it may, fails to comfort you by rubbing your back. Still, it's all you have at the moment, so for the meanwhile, you don't fight it.
Once you've gotten it all out, you spit, rinsing the taste of puke out of your mouth, watching your saliva land in the slurry of your vomit. Matthew flushes it down for you.
"Are you okay now?" He whispers, his voice still shaky from trying to stifle his sobs. His cold hand repeatedly pets your hair, and you just want to scream and puke again at how it reeks of semen.
You raise your head slowly, trying to focus on Matthew's red, snotty face through the glaze of tears in your hollow eyes.
"Matthew," you start roughly, your voice gritty from the stomach acid, "you can't keep being friends with me anymore. You realise that, right?"
His face crumples immediately, and he whines, like a child throwing a tantrum.
"No, I-I don't want that." He cries, "I really don't want that. I can't do that. I'd hate that. C-Can't I make it up to you? Please? I can– I can buy you something. Whatever you want. I-I'll save up for it."
The idea that he could buy your forgiveness after something like that was appalling.
"Oh my fucking god..." You let out a low, destroyed laugh, resting your forehead against the cold surface of the toilet seat. "Why are you like this?"
Matthew's never seen you like this before. So cruel, so blunt, so mocking. It makes him feel ill. "W-What do you mean, sweetie?"
You choose to ignore that pet name, as much as it makes you want to slam your head into the toilet seat right now.
"That," Your voice softens after you swallow, your saliva soothing your hoarse throat, "instead of everything you do, you could've just... Y-You fucking like me, don't you, Matthew?" You accuse him with another weak wheeze, a tear finally dripping from your waterline. It was so obvious, it had been that way from the start, but as stupid as you were, you kept choosing over and over again to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had just been that lonely, maybe he had been so alone for so long that he didn't know how to interact with other people anymore, maybe he just cared.
In the end, you couldn't help but feel like it was your fault for continuing to enable this. You ignored all the red flags, and that is what ended you up in this situation. You were to blame.
Matthew, in his naivety, genuinely had no idea that his feelings were this apparent. He didn't want them to come to light like this. He wasn't even sure if he had the courage to confess sometime in the foreseeable future. He never wanted it to be like this, though, that was for certain. He's thought about it a million times. It's what he spends his time doing in lectures while the rest of the world forgot about him.
He's daydreamed about confessing in the form of a love letter (he's even written a few that would all eventually end up in the trash), spending a painstaking amount of time making your favourite sweets for Valentine's and spilling his feelings then, or even in a scenario like that rainy day he met you. You two would've gotten stuck in the rain, ran off to his apartment to get away from it, and in the intimacy of cleaning up, borrowing his clothes, and spending time together in the storm that followed. Then, his confession would come. Unplanned but easy, slipping out in the comfort of the moment, and you would accept it with a blush and a smile on your face that finally mirrored his own.
Anything would've been better than this. Himself, dirtied with his own cum, snot and tears, and you, his angel, looking at him with tears in your exhausted eyes and the scent of fetid bile in the air.
"I... I do, yeah." Matthew responds hollowly, "I love you." He whispers with a crack in his weak voice, "Had it been that obvious?"
You scoff and wipe your tears, finding a tragic humour in his confession.
"Why didn't you just ask me out, then? You– You jumped straight to giving me your clothes, making me stay the night, and fucking jerking off on me while I was sleeping!" You cry hysterically. Matthew flinches at the sudden escalation of your tone. You continue after taking a few heavy breaths, "You were already acting like a damn boyfriend anyways. Why couldn't you just... be normal? Oh, god, Mattie, it didn't have to be like this..." You sob helplessly, getting up from your knees just to sit on your bottom with your back against the cold wall.
Matthew absorbs your words, not with defeat, but with the thrilling idea that, in some way, you would've been okay with being with him. That's what this meant, right? He was just a huge mess right now, and when he's all cleaned up and normal again, you could forgive him. Like you always do.
He gets back up on his feet, and heads for the sink to hurriedly scrub his face and hands clean of any traces of sin. Then to his wardrobe, where he fishes out clean clothing and races to dress in them before you even thought of moving. He almost stumbles over his own feet, but soon enough, he's in front of you, kneeling and casually tying his hair back in the effort to look more presentable. He thought of putting his glasses on, but decided against it. Maybe he looked more handsome this way.
"I can be normal." He affirms with a chilling certainty. He knew he couldn't be that, not ever, not when it came to you, but he'd pretend. He had been sloppy, but that came out of the eagerness that came with falling in love for the first time. "What else do you want me to change? What do you want me to be? I can do it."
You look at him, now cleansed from the physical manifestations of his depravity, and he looks so beautiful right now that it hurt.
"Just grow a damn backbone, Matt." You plead, your anger held back slightly just for this one, genuine, request, "We've known each other for months now, yet I feel like I don't know a single fucking thing about you besides the fact that you're clingy and that you like me."
His chapped lips parted, and for a good long moment of silence, his mind went unnervingly quiet. How could he even respond to this? That he is different, that he is his own person, that he is unique, when all he's been obsessing over this entire time was you, and how to be perfect for you.
That lost, kicked puppy look on his face haunted you, and somehow, it made you feel terrible. Again, all you could feel was pity. It was the closest to your affection he could ever get.
"Yeah, of course you'd have nothing to say about that." You mutter to yourself bitterly. Some terrible part of you preened in the attention that such a beautiful man gave you. For a while, you had actually wanted to get to know Matthew, to begin liking him for other aspects besides his attractiveness. Perhaps that's why you kept bothering with him, why you kept tolerating him, and it made you feel repulsed by yourself.
"... I'll just... Matt, I'll leave. I can't look at you right now. I need some time away from you. You don't have a say in this." You mutter with a disappointed, exhausted coldness.
You stand up, use his sink for a moment to rinse out the lingering taste of acid in your mouth, and then you're gone.
Matthew had a lot to think about.
-----
The weekends were quiet. Matthew, true to his word, kept minimal contact. At most, he'd text you "good morning" and "good night" texts, along with a few words of encouragement for the day. He couldn't bring himself to stop doing that. It seemed terribly distant and rude.
In his time away from you, he tried to, for once in his life, really focus on himself. Matthew thought himself to be a selfish person, but for all the wrong ways. He spent a lot of time on grooming himself, keeping his home clean, and doing his best with his own studies and whatnot, but he wasn't really sure what to make of himself outside of that. He liked cooking, maybe. He wasn't sure. He just really liked pancakes, so naturally, he'd teach himself to make them well. Was that an interest, or just a necessity?
He liked things, of course. Everyone had things that they liked. Matthew liked movies, games, music, and books, but could it even be described as a hobby? It's like saying that you liked fried chicken. Sure, some people may not like it, but the vast majority did, almost to the point that it was a given. What good was it that Matthew liked the first Avengers movie? Who cared that he liked Stephen King's novels? Wasn't it pointless to say that he listens to Bruno Mars? Who the hell didn't play Minecraft?
This was Matthew's great problem. He saw no value in his pre-existing interests, or any interests at all unless they had some sort of connection to you. It was a mental blockage that truly needed some outside intervention for him to realise, but all he had was you, so he was stumped.
Then he started trying to link his interests to you. He could make your favourite foods, then maybe that could ignite a passion for cuisine within him. Maybe he could ask you to play Minecraft with him. He could try and make good on that fantasy of his, and start writing the perfect love letter. He could also try to learn something new. Who knows? Perhaps he just hadn't explored enough, and the hobby made for him was just somewhere out there.
Currently, by his desk lamp on a Sunday evening, Matthew had since found that hobby. Things that involved him tinkering with his hands. It explained how quick he was to learn how to lock pick. He had learned how to fix basic household appliances, sew the small tears in his clothes and even tailor a few, and just today, he learned how to make bracelets. Nothing really fancy, of course. It was basically just braiding a very short rope made of thread, but it was something. He had redone these specific bracelets quite a few times by now, tugging on the embroidery floss so hard that he frayed a few in his frustration, and left little indents on his reddened fingertips.
Matthew was frustrated he kept breaking the hairs, too. He hated wasting the ones of yours he had collected, and his scalp was starting to sting where he kept plucking a single strand from.
These two red bracelets were completely plain and unassuming, yet hidden in the slight sheen of the red embroidery floss he had chosen, were your hairs, braided together and into the bracelet. It was creepy, even he could acknowledge that, but the small, soft smile on Matthew's face showed that he was confident you would never know. This was just a little thing for himself.
He continued to fuss over these until midnight struck, but by then, he had snipped and sealed away any little imperfection, and now, he had two perfect, dainty, braided red bracelets.
The red strings of fate.
-----
"Hey?" Matthew starts, his voice incredibly quiet and careful, intercepting you by your classroom for your first class of the day.
Seeing him again, after everything that had transpired, brought up a disgusting, warm, aching feeling in your chest.
You had missed him.
You had spent so much time with Matthew, that any moment without him felt unnerving and empty. Without the blond man constantly sitting next to you like a cat who didn't really know how to ask for affection, or constantly staring at you with that heartbreaking, yearning gaze, your weekend had felt... boring.
"Yo." You great him back with a curt nod and a smile, feeling so awkward interacting with him now that you knew just how biblically he wanted you.
"Good morning," He breathes out reverently, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. He was so happy you even acknowledged him. "I-I, uh... I got into a hobby over the weekend, and I... I made us these."
Matthew's long fingers trembled as he pulled the bracelets out of his pocket. They were well-made, of course they were—he even thought so last night—but now, to Matthew's bespectacled eyes, they currently looked like trash.
"They're, um, nothing special, I know," He whispers with a self-deprecation that pained you, "but... I thought you'd like to see proof that I'm... I'm doing something else with my time."
His heart leaps when you gingerly touch one of the bracelets, and take it.
"No, it..." You mumble, examining it quietly. The scrutiny made his heart race so fast it hurt. "It looks good, Mattie." Your smile softens into something less stiff after you say his nickname, and his grin sweetens up.
"Really? Oh, I'm so glad you think so..." The young man swoons, "D-Do you want me to help you put it on?"
You weren't planning on wearing it at all, but it was significantly easier to agree instead of putting him down.
"Yeah, please." You answer casually, holding your wrist out. He pockets his own, and holds onto the bracelet you had taken. His trembling hands, usually so stable in the mundanity of his life, struggle a little to tie the bracelet around your wrist. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and the sweat on his palms definitely didn't help, but he eventually managed to do it.
Matthew lets out a shaky exhale, his hand holding onto yours for a moment to examine his work. The bracelet was sort of secondary, though. Getting to touch you was the real blessing.
His hands drop to his sides, and he takes his bracelet back out from his pocket. He shyly tries to put it on his own wrist, and he genuinely almost squeaks when your hands wordlessly take each end, and you tie them up yourself.
"Oh!– Ah, thanks, um, thank you." Matthew stutters. He'll make sure to seal the knot—the memory—so it never undoes.
"They're matching." You point out bluntly. Not really to insult or to compliment, but to acknowledge. It makes him a little shy.
"Yeah, they are." He murmurs, "It's... It's like the red string of fate, isn't it?" His anxiety bubbles out in the form of a quivering, unsure giggle.
The mere suggestion that this man could ever be your soulmate made your throat constrict with a familiar tightness.
"I guess so." Your vague agreement is slightly clipped. "It's... cute."
Matthew is absolutely overflowing with warmth right now.
You couldn't stand to see it, that bright, rewarding smile on his flushed face.
"I'll head in. You should go, too."
Matthew's little dreamy bubble pops, and he tries to stifle his smile a little, so he wouldn't look like a lunatic. He was unused to really schooling his expressions, considering no one would ever notice it anyway, but now that he existed in your world, he'd have to learn.
"Okay, I'll... I'll see you later?" He asks hopefully.
A shiver runs down your spine when you remember what happened the last time you agreed. It was probably time to begin distancing yourself from him. It was long overdue, actually.
"Ah... No, you won't, sorry." You don't know why it felt like a knife through your heart watching how you had managed to instantly erase that happiness you brought him. The bracelet around your hand felt heavy. It was a symbol of his hard work, of his intent to change for you, but really, all it was, was a string. "I, uh, I'd still rather have some time to myself."
He could beg you to change your mind. He could cry. He could go home, slit his wrists, and show you the scars the next day, but he promised his god that he could be normal. He's already sinned enough, and it felt like this was at least the one thing he could do to repent.
"... Okay." Matthew murmurs, though as much as he wanted his voice to be stable, it breaks a bit. "Umm, I-I... I'll... I hope you have a good day. Y-You can text me whenever you want, about whatever. I'll always be there."
You can't help but chuckle a bit. "Yeah, I bet."
"Bye-bye." You give him a small wave before entering your classroom, while Matthew watches your back, before letting out a hopeless, dreamy sigh.
-----
Halloween would be at the end of the week. A Friday. Matthew had kept what you said a week prior in his mind. He'd even bought a Spiderman costume in advance, but he was a bit too afraid to outright ask you if you two would still be matching, let alone even interact on Halloween. This week had been a series of watching you from behind corners, trailing behind you like a shadow, and sending needy texts from a distance, always asking how you're doing and if you'd ever like to hang out again.
He's even been texting you about his hobbies, which was a big deal to him considering how unused he was to sharing anything about himself.
On Tuesday, he showed you an origami bear he had made, with multiple messier versions behind it. His perfectionism was apparent, even then.
Wednesday would bring you a picture of a mysterious slab that Matthew called an attempt at baking bread, and a screenshot of his Minecraft base that had gotten blown up by a creeper.
Thursday was a timid selfie of him in that Spiderman costume, though he had accidentally put the suit on backwards, and was poking fun at himself.
He hadn't planned on sending that picture of himself, but, hey, he looked particularly good in it, and he used the chance to ask you about Friday, about Halloween.
You, seeing that he'd already gotten the costume, felt terrible if you just backed out on the plans that you yourself made to match with him. Considering you hadn't even planned on celebrating Halloween anymore after what had happened, you were incredibly strapped for time to find a costume. Thank god Mary Jane wore normal clothing, because you managed to get away with just a black headband, a lavender shirt, jeans, and a green coat. On your own, you looked like just an ordinary person, but next to a guy dressed like Spiderman, it'd be recognisable enough, right?
You had offered to go to Matthew's place to meet up there before heading to that haunted house you two planned to visit, but he had insisted on coming to you instead. It was something about not wanting to bother you with walking all the way from your dorm to his apartment, even if it'd only be around ten minutes of your time. In the end, you oblige.
Matthew is there at the exact time you agreed on, six on the dot, and knocks excitedly. This is the first time in a week since you two have spent any real time together, and while that would be an extremely reasonable amount of time to anybody else, to Matthew it felt like an eternity.
When you open the door, his shy, smiling face is the first thing you see, and he greets you with the enthusiasm of a soldier returning to his wife.
"Hi, Mary Jane!" He addresses you playfully, his heart thrumming right beneath the webbing and the spider symbol on his chest. The modifications he had made to the costume were intriguing. Considering the cold weather, it made sense that he wouldn't wear the suit alone, and decided to wear jeans and a navy blue jacket. His attention to detail shone through in what would be such a common costume, because you swear the casual clothing he wore on top was exactly what the actor had worn when he was Peter Parker instead of Spiderman.
That, and owed to Matthew's sewing skill, he had made the suit fit himself perfectly, clinging to his slender waist, flat chest, and surprisingly broad shoulders. It didn't have those strange wrinkles, or awkward bagginess in unsavoury places that came with the convenience of buying a one-size-fits-all costume. Since Matthew had a huge preference for wearing loose clothing or multiple layers of such, no one would've ever known that Matthew had such a fit figure, especially for such a socially-stunted nerd. You tried to hide the shock in your eyes, and the flustered attraction that followed.
You let out a small, amused scoff, and nod at him in greeting. "Penis Parker."
Matthew laughs merrily, "No, that's not your line. C'mon now. Flash would fit my brother more."
You raise your eyebrows in surprise, "A brother? Huh, you never even mentioned you had one until now."
Matthew had done this on purpose. His brother, a stereotypical popular jock, was the polar opposite of himself, as much as they looked alike. The terrible thing was, that unlike those stereotypes, his brother was actually a somewhat decent person who had spoken of Matthew in a good light, while all Matthew had ever done was try and erase his existence from his mind. He felt that his brother was superior to him in every way, and to be constantly reminded by his reflection that there was a better version of himself out there was a pain he could not bear. He never wanted you to know this.
"R-Right," Matthew's smile shrinks a little. It's clear he's still learning how to control the faces he makes. "I guess it never came up in conversation."
He coughs, and gingerly holds out his hand, almost shoving it forward a little clumsily in his eagerness. He's wearing the bracelet. You're not. "Anyways, should we..." The words die in his throat. Right, you had wanted him to have more of a backbone. He clears his throat, and starts over with a slightly more assertive tone. "Let's go, before it g-gets too crowded there."
Matthew was terrified for a second that maybe that had come off as too aggressive, despite having as much brawn in him as a baby deer, and the relief hits him like a punch to his chest when you accept.
Your hand felt so perfect in his.
-----
That night was the happiest Matthew had ever been in his entire life.
Your friends weren't present since they all went to some house party, so Matthew had you all to himself. Like this, walking through the haunted house hand-in-hand, with you yelping and laughing like a maniac whenever a scare actor jumped you, and you clinging to his side whenever you got antsy, he could pretend this was a date. In this moment, he could pretend.
The thought never left his head, much like the loving smile never left his face. How wonderful would it be, if his everyday life were like this? To be spent by your side, feeling your warmth, smelling your scent, listening to your giggles, admiring your face, and memorising every single feature of your body...
Matthew, too distracted by you, walks into a pole at that moment, a prop for the prison bars in this room. It makes you laugh, and this just makes his smile widen and reaffirm his romanticised belief that his pain equated to devotion.
"Jesus, dude, look where you're going." You scold him, though the giggles breaking up your words showed you meant it out of care rather than malice. It makes his heart flutter. "You should've worn your glasses. Why didn't you?"
Matthew laughs sheepishly. "It doesn't fit the character, does it? Peter stops wearing them once he gets his powers."
You sigh dramatically, and brush his hair away from his face. His breath hitches, and he immediately lets out a ragged exhale before he leans into it. "Okay, yeah, but you aren't Peter Parker, are you?"
"Nooo, guess not." He pouts kittenishly, though a small smile still lifts slightly at the sharp corners of his mouth. "Going to a dark haunted house without my glasses wasn't the smartest decision in hindsight, was it?" He jokes with a mischievous glint in his dilated eyes. He then adds with a self-deprecating chuckle, "I think I prepared for just about everything except for this. I'm a dummy."
"Eh, being a little unprepared is fine." You brush his bumbling off with a flippant shake of your head. The reassurance makes him stop pouting, and he holds your hand a little tighter. You're not sure why, even now, you choose to go out of your way to show him such kindness. He just looked so pretty tonight, he had even begun to put in an effort to change for you, and he was staring at you with so much adoration in his gaze, just like he always did...
"... What are you thinking about, angel?" Matthew asks quietly, with a shy blush on his faintly freckled cheeks. You hadn't even noticed you had been staring in silence for much longer than socially accepted.
You are caught a little off guard by this. Never before had you ever found yourself looking at Matthew in this way. He had always been handsome, it's why you tolerated his behaviour for so long and continue to do so, but right now, it was devastating how good he looked.
His eyes, always so full of warmth for you and a devotion that was terrifying in its ferocity, had softened a little in the darkness of the room. His moist lips were parted slightly, as if waiting for you to respond. His wavy blond hair fell just right around his cheekbones, framing his sharp jawline in a way that made him look ethereal. Like he was something holy, like he was an angel looking at the god he served. Though, the red light that leaked in from the next room illuminated just half of his face, and shrouded the other in darkness, undercutting the divine imagery with the eerie reality of Matthew's place in your life.
You blink dumbfoundedly, and force yourself to speak.
"Sorry, I... I just zoned out." is the excuse you decide on, and it was a weak one, you knew it, but due to Matthew's docility, you trusted he'd just accept it and let it go. He did.
A soft, warming smile spreads on his lips, deepening the thin dimple by the corner of his mouth. "Are you feeling sleepy already?"
"Yeah," you chuckle, "you can say that. Maybe those fumes from the fog machine finally got to me."
Matthew snorts a little dorkily. The sound endears you. "Okay, yeah, we should get you home."
His fingers, while still trembling slightly from the rush of having you look at him in that way, in a way he's only ever witnessed in the media he consumes, felt more sure now as they reached for your hand.
His fingertips brush against your palm in a silent, cautious question, and when your hand tilts slightly to accommodate his, he immediately slots his fingers between yours and gives it a small, firm squeeze. He can't help the shaky, pleased sigh that escapes his mouth at the mere sensation of holding his beloved's hand.
With a small, gentle tug, Matthew leads you out of the haunted house. It was an incredibly bittersweet feeling he didn't know how to place. On one hand, this perfect night was ending, but on the other, it was ending so, so perfectly. He hated this. He had wanted it to last forever.
For once, the pain he felt didn't feel like love, and was more like a stab wound that wouldn't stop bleeding until he was left hollow and cold.
-----
When Matthew drops you off at your door, his long fingers stay clutched to your sleeve, like he didn't want this night to end quite yet. He wasn't sure he ever wanted it to, and to be frank, the thought of this day passing by and only becoming a memory for him to cling to made his eyes sting a little.
"I had so much fun tonight," Matthew admits bluntly with a small crack in his voice, "I really did. I'm... I'm so happy. I've never been this happy before."
His gloved fingers tremble and hesitantly intertwine with yours. "I-I don't want it to end, but..." His heavy gaze flickers from the floor to your face, and the weariness on it makes his heart ache. "... I... I promised I'd be good for you, didn't I?"
"You did." You whisper gently.
Matthew nods, and the gulp he has to take to hold back his tears was incredibly painful. "A-Am I doing a good job?"
Try as you may, whenever you think about all the pain he had caused you, the memories of all the good he's done instead quickly took over. He is the only person who checked in on you whenever you didn't show up to class. He is the only person who makes sure to text you every day, even if you don't respond. He is the only person to see you in that state, vomiting and crying because of him, and still think you were the most beautiful thing in the world. Despite how you had treated him, he still wanted you. He would always choose you.
"... You've been doing a great job, Mattie."
His bottom lip quivers with the desperation to not break down, but when you're looking at him like this, like you actually cared about him, and saying his name so tenderly, he couldn't help but let out a choked, pitiful sob.
Matthew, for once, did not want to use his tears as a weapon. He was ashamed. He didn't want his dirty tricks to ruin this night. He didn't want to be reminded of his sins. It was perfect, it was perfect, it had all been going so perfectly, oh, stupid, how could he do this?
His free hand lifts to cover his face, wanting to stifle his sniffles against his palm and hide from your eyes, but then you do the unthinkable. You grasp his forearm gently, and tug on it to part his palm from his mouth. He was about to let out a small whine of confusion, when you suddenly pull him in for a warm hug, and rub his back soothingly.
Matthew's crying completely stops for a moment, with his arms awkwardly bent by his sides. He was too in shock to even process it, before a quiet sob tears its way out of his throat, and he hugs you back with a crushing force that almost makes you stumble.
This was the first time you had ever hugged him.
It has happened many times before, yes, but it was always Matthew who initiated it, while all you did was accept them casually. He was already happy with that, of course he was. His most favourite person in the world could stand to be held by him. What more could he ask for? This was something he barely even dared to entertain, though. The concept of you wanting to hold him.
Matthew had thought this night was going to be a disaster the moment his tears started flowing. That it would end up being another incident for you to mark as a reason for why you should leave him, and that he would end up making you cry and hate him all over again. Instead, you gave him a gift that was so magnificent that he had never even thought of it in any of his wildest dreams.
The idea that he was wanted, not tolerated.
You would then pull him into your apartment, and this would also be the first time he had ever been invited inside instead of showing up and asking to be let in. You just didn't want to humiliate Matthew by leaving him crying in the hallway, but to him, all that mattered was that you had let him in.
As you wiped his tears, and fussed over the hot mess that he was, he couldn't help a small, awestruck smile as he gazed right into your eyes.
Even at his lowest of lows, you still cared for him. You looked deep into this broken down man, and saw something inside him that perplexed even himself. What it was, he hadn't a single clue. But you saw something that was worth caring for, worth wanting, worth choosing. Something that was worth salvation.
How would the Hetalia Allies and Axis react if they learned that their 2p's are also in love with the same sweet female country reader as them?
America (Alfred F. Jones) vs 2p!America (Allen F. Jones)
1p!America: “WHAT “DUDE, NO WAY! That guy’s a total psycho! Babe, you can’t seriously— wait, you’re not actually into the bad-boy thing, right? RIGHT?!”
Instant panic + loud possessive mode. Starts dragging you to every burger joint, movie theater, and amusement park to prove he’s the fun one. Tries to one-up Allen by buying you increasingly ridiculous gifts (a giant teddy bear the size of a car, a private fireworks show, etc.).
2p!America: Smirks, sharpens his bat, and just quietly starts showing up wherever you are. Doesn’t say much, but the threatening aura aimed at Alfred is palpable. Might “accidentally” break into your house to leave roses with a single drop of blood on the petals “for the aesthetic.”
Outcome: Constant loud shouting matches in public. You’ll have to intervene before one of them actually swings.
England (Arthur Kirkland) vs 2p!England (Oliver Kirkland)
1p!England: Goes stiff, face turns red, then pale. “That… that pastel psychopath is in LOVE with you?! Love, he puts arsenic in cupcakes! Stay away from him!”
Immediately switches to overprotective gentleman mode: walks you home, checks your food for poison, tries (and fails) to ban Oliver from international meetings.
2p!England: “Poppet~ I heard my boring other self is trying to keep you all to himself! How dull~ Why don’t you come have tea with me instead? I baked strawberry scones just for you~” (They’re definitely drugged with something that makes you compliant.)
Outcome: Passive-aggressive tea parties where Arthur and Oliver smile sweetly while trying to murder each other with scones and insults. You’ll have to eat nothing until the cold war ends.
France (Francis Bonnefoy) vs 2p!France (François Bonnefoy)
1p!France: Dramatic gasp, hand over heart. “Mon dieu… that depressing chain-smoking disaster is trying to court you too?! Cherie, he doesn’t even believe in love!”
Doubles his romantic efforts: 100 roses become 1000, love letters become novels, suddenly every date is in a new European capital.
2p!France: Shrugs, lights another cigarette. “Whatever. If she picks the sparkly idiot, that’s her problem.” Secretly starts leaving you expensive wine, handwritten notes in perfect cursive, and single black roses. He’ll never admit he’s trying.
Outcome: Francis keeps flamboyantly wooing you in public while François broods in the shadows and sarcastically undermines Francis every chance he gets. The sexual tension is off the charts, and you’re stuck in the middle.
Canada (Matthew Williams) vs 2p!Canada (James Williams)
1p!Canada: Quietly devastated. “…Oh. Even my 2p likes you too… I guess I really am invisible, eh…”
Starts retreating into himself, apologizes for bothering you, and tries to “nobly” step aside.
2p!Canada: Shows up with an axe on his shoulder, wordlessly sits way too close to you, and glares at anyone (especially Matthew) who comes near. If Matthew tries to back off, James just mutters, “Good. Leave.” While possessively wrapping an arm around you.
Outcome: Matthew eventually snaps (quietly, but still a snap) and you get the rare sight of the two Canadas in a passive-aggressive (then fully aggressive) hockey fight over you. James will win physically, but Matthew guilt-trips everyone into feeling bad for him.
Starts cooking you elaborate meals, giving you traditional gifts, and trying to educate you on why the 2p version is a “bad influence.”
2p!China: Lazy grin, half-lidded eyes. “Hey cutie~ Wanna ditch the old man and come smoke with me? I’ll let you wear my tangzhuang~” Offers you questionable substances and constantly drapes himself over you like a clingy cat.
Outcome: Yao keeps trying to drag you away to museums and panda sanctuaries while Xiao keeps trying to drag you to underground clubs. You’ll be exhausted from the cultural whiplash.
Russia (Ivan Braginski) vs 2p!Russia (Viktor Braginski)
1p!Russia: Smile becomes scarily serene. “Oh… so my other self wants you too, da?”
Immediately becomes ten times more clingy and possessive in the most terrifyingly gentle way. “You will stay with me forever, won’t you, sunflower~?” Starts casually mentioning how many pipes he has.
2p!Russia: Cold, dead stare. Actively hates almost everyone and everything, including his 1p self. Silently begins eliminating any perceived competition (including Ivan) with brutal efficiency. Will straight-up tell you, “Choose him and I’ll break you both.”
Outcome: Pure horror movie vibes. Two terrifying Russians in a psychological (and possibly physical) death match over you. The other nations hold an emergency meeting titled “How do we save her without starting WW3.” Good luck.
North Italy (Feliciano Vargas) vs 2p!Italy (Luciano Vargas)
1p!Italy: Starts crying immediately. “Ve~ Why does the scary me want you too?! I just want to make you pasta and hold your hand, bello!”
Clings to your arm 24/7, whining and trying to out-cute Luciano.
2p!Italy: Knife-twirling, bloodlust smile. “Mine. I’m going to carve my name into anyone who touches her… starting with you, weakling.” Casually stabs the table when Feli gets too close to you. Leaves you bouquets of red roses soaked in (someone else’s) blood.
Outcome: Feliciano tries to win you over with endless affection and home-cooked meals. Luciano tries to win you over by murdering everyone who looks at you. You will be covered in tomato sauce on one side and blood on the other.
Germany (Ludwig Beilschmidt) vs 2p!Germany (Lutz Beilschmidt)
1p!Germany: Turns beet-red, then ice-cold. “That lazy, beer-soaked disaster thinks he can have you? Over my dead body.”
Starts enforcing strict schedules: 6:00 date with Ludwig, 6:30 self-defense training in case Lutz shows up.
2p!Germany: Grins, cracks open another beer, and just leans against the wall staring at you like prey. “Heh. She’s way too cute for that stick-in-the-mud.” Shows up shirtless, covered in scars, and offers to “protect” you in ways Ludwig would never.
Outcome: Ludwig tries to out-discipline Lutz; Lutz tries to out-slacker-bad-boy him. Ends with both of them drunk in your living room arguing over who gets to carry you to bed (they both do, awkwardly).
Japan (Kiku Honda) vs 2p!Japan (Kuro Honda)
1p!Japan: Extremely calm on the outside, internally having a meltdown. Politely but firmly starts occupying 100% of your time with tea ceremonies, garden walks, and quiet confessions.
“I would prefer if you did not speak to… the other me.”
2p!Japan: Cold, sadistic, and zero chill. Shows up in a black uniform, katana drawn, and speaks in a low monotone: “You belong to me now. Resist and I will make this painful.” Secretly writes terrifyingly beautiful horror-themed love letters in perfect calligraphy.
Outcome: Kiku tries to win you with refined grace and emotional restraint. Kuro tries to win you with psychological warfare and implied threats. You will never sleep peacefully again.
South Italy/Romano (Lovino Vargas) vs 2p!Romano (Flavio Vargas)
1p!Romano: Explosive jealousy. “That flamboyant bastard thinks he can steal mia bella?! I’ll kill him!”
Starts yelling, cursing in Italian, then immediately switches to flustered tsundere affection around you.
2p!Romano: Fashion-obsessed, possessive, and dramatic. “Darling~! Only I understand true beauty! Come here so I can dress you properly~” Kidnaps you for three-hour makeover sessions and threatens to stab anyone who ruins your outfit (especially Lovino).
Outcome: Both are screaming Italian divas fighting over who gets to spoil you more. One tries to feed you, the other tries to dress you. You will be stuffed with food and drowning in designer clothes against your will.
Spain (Antonio Fernández Carriedo) vs 2p!Spain (Andrés Fernández Carriedo)
1p!Spain: Sunshine smile freezes. “Churros… even my other self wants mi tomate pequeña?”
Becomes 1000% more clingy and affectionate, constantly hugging you and calling you pet names in public to mark territory.
2p!Spain: Dead-eyed, chain-smoking, and terrifyingly apathetic until it comes to you. “Touch her and you die slowly.” Starts leaving dead roses and broken guitar strings as “gifts.” Will actually murder someone without changing expression.
Outcome: Antonio tries to drown you in warmth and paella. Andrés lurks in the shadows ready to eliminate anything that moves near you. You now have a permanent cheerful bodyguard and a silent assassin stalker.
Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt) vs 2p!Prussia (Gilen Beilschmidt)
1p!Prussia: Loud cackling at first (“Ha! Even the emo version wants my girl? Kesesese~ too bad I’m awesome!”), then sudden insecurity when he realizes Gilen is actually serious. Starts showing off even harder — flexing, bragging, dragging you on “epic adventures.”
2p!Prussia: Extremely quiet, trembling intensity. Almost never speaks, but stares at you with desperate, haunted eyes. Leaves you tiny handmade gifts (carved wooden birds, pressed flowers) and follows you at a distance like a lost puppy that might bite.
Outcome: Gilbert tries to out-extrovert and out-awesome Gilen. Gilen just quietly exists in your personal space until you feel bad for him. Eventually Gilbert starts yelling at Gilen for “creeping you out,” and Gilen almost cries. You now have two traumatized Prussian brothers competing via completely opposite methods.
(You’re going to need therapy. And possibly witness protection. Run. Just run.)
starring. . . gender neutral reader and america, canada, china, & russia.
warning for nsfw, stalking (watching you from outside your house for america & canada, watching you through cameras in your home for china, watching you from your closet for russia), mentions of dumping a body (alfred), fantasies of rough sex, fantasies of freaky stuff in general, some degradation (canada), & masturbation.
requested by anon. masterlist ; here.
📌 . . . author notes: this takes place after the most recently posted stalkertalia!canada fic. reader’s genitalia is not mentioned, i tried to keep it vague for the sake of gender neutrality. they’re all quite freaky here.
alfred f. jones!
— god, did he get lucky! he’d had a shitty week after a fight with his brother. getting rid of bodies wasn’t something he enjoyed doing and matthew’s lucky alfred cares so much about family and brotherhood or else he wouldn’t have helped at all. his cheeks flush some when he sees your form through the window, your pants and underwear pulled down as you sit on your bed. it feels almost like a thank you from christ for being patient with his brother and dumping that guy in the lake. a blessing, that’s what it is, seeing you roll your head back some. a complete blessing.
— aren’t you naughty, spreading your legs like that, just barely hiding what’s between your thighs… he can’t tell if you’re using a toy or your hand, but it’s arousing either way. he’s less focused on what you’re doing and more focused on the faces you make, the way he can almost hear your moans from down in the bushes.
— he likes that you’re fast with whatever you’re doing. there’s some build up, but you seem to enjoy a quicker past. he’d do you fast, too, if you’d fucking let him. you’ve yet to let him in your house, something that drives him crazy. just another thing his brother’s got that he doesn’t: a partner who lets him in. emotionally, and also, y’know, in your house. he could be fucking you so good right now, pounding into you while you bury your face in your pillows.. maybe you even cry a little. or maybe you like to ride on top, facing him, and he can squeeze that ass of yours and… fuck, he’s so hard it hurts.
— it’s not his first time jerking off in your bushes. far from it, actually, not that you’d ever notice the cum stains left in the dirt of your backyard. they’re dried and unnoticeable by the time you ever go out, and who pays that much attention to bushes anyways? he’s tempted to call you, to masturbate together on the phone… but you wouldn’t go for that, not yet. so he’ll settle for this instead.
— he’s damn near choking his dick by the time your head rolls back again, your cries becoming louder. he squeezes, he pumps, he fucks his fist so hard that he can’t help but groan softly. ultimately, he manages to sync his fervent, desperate jerking with your own moans. alfred’s eyes close as he imagines it’s you he’s fucking instead of his own hand.
— you cum first, something he almost misses through his own haze, finishing seconds after you. he pants as quietly as he can, watching you as you savor your orgasm. oh, if only he could stay… but crouching by your bushes with a messy cock doesn’t sound too appealing, to be frank. don’t worry, he’ll get his fair share of you when he calls once he’s home and teases you about your libido.
matthew williams!
— after that incident with the other guy and the lake, he’s suddenly not allowed in your house. fair enough, he supposes. sometimes a couple needs space from each other and he can’t claim to be the happiest with you, either, at the moment. he’s content to wait and stalk until you take him back like you always do. speaking of stalking…
— it’s not hard to get close to your window without you knowing, especially when you’re downstairs. you’re set up on the couch, turning on the tv and watching a movie he thought was normal. williams quickly realizes when he’s staring at a screen full of nudity that you’re not watching a movie, you’re watching a porno. go figure, considering how fucking filthy you are. he finds his frows furrowing as he sees you beginning to touch yourself. funny, he thinks as you moan. you’re too distraught to see him, but not too distraught to grunt his name while you masturbate.
— he opts not to make his presence known, choosing to take pictures as you masturbate. he didn’t bring his camera, so his phone will have to do. matthew takes lots of photos, especially as you climax — oh? he chuckles to himself, his pants tenting as he watches you whimper. you take a moment to breathe before preparing for a second round with yourself, pulling out a dildo.
— he watches as you stretch yourself out on the toy, sliding it in and out of your hole. you probably wish it was him. or maybe you’re still thinking of that other guy. he huffs softly, blood running hot just at the thought. he’ll have to fuck those thoughts out of you if that’s the case. he palms himself at thought of it, fucking you so hard and deep that you babble and cry. making sure he’s all you think about as you cum for the umpteenth time on his cock. “mm…” it’s just his dick talking and he knows it, but god is it a tempting fantasy.
— as mad as he may be with you, he can’t help but undo his pants buckle and jerk off as you masturbate before him. naturally, he syncs his pumping with your own; he’s a romantic at heart, after all. you’re disgusting but so is he. you deserve each other fully, he thinks, not just the good but the bad of each other, too.
— with that thought in mind, he cums alongside you. as much as you try not to, you groan out his name as you cum. outside and in a much quieter manner, he groans yours in return, thumb squeezing the tip of his dick as he squirts ropes along the ground. “fuck,” he grunts, quickly trying to put himself back together. once he’s home, he finds himself looking at one of the many photos he has of you and smiling. you’re a little closer to his forgiveness and all you had to do was cum.
yao wang!
— he wasn’t aware that you were going to masturbate at first. he thought maybe you were changing for a nap. as you settle on the bed and begin touching yourself, however, he quickly realizes the truth. it doesn’t make him blush, wang only smiles at your energy. you’re rather passionate about playing with yourself, which he finds endearing. he can only imagine how you’d be during sex with another…
— yao watches through the two cameras he had set up in your bedroom. he has countless cameras in your house, some more amateur and others more professional. he paid off one of your friends to put in the amateur ones, but those aren’t the ones in your bedroom. no, your bedroom is deserving only of the best (much like you are, in wang’s eyes), so both cameras are high resolution beauties. it’s perfect for a time like this.
— he admires how enthusiastic you get as you continue on. you don’t hold back on yourself, that’s for sure. it’s enrapturing, and, aside from sexually, it’s artistically beautiful. the way your cheeks flush as you get worked up, the way your moans and groans and cries grow louder and louder until you close your eyes and just whimper through it. self inflicted overstimulation — yao finds it interesting, your sexual choices. he notes them for later down the line.
— he’s fully content to just watch. though your little show is definitely arousing, he’s actually in his office at the moment. it’d be too risky to start masturbating with secretaries walking in and out of his office, dropping papers off and picking other papers up. really, it’s risky enough watching you on one of his monitors with his airpods in. he’s turned the screen towards himself, but if anyone walks behind his desk, wang might be a little screwed.
— eventually, as you grow closer to your climax (he can tell by how loud you’re being), he begins to record. just because he’s older doesn’t mean his libido is lacking! he needs this footage for future masturbation sessions. you whine, whimper, and groan out as you cum, all sounds that flow through his airpods and seem to go straight to his dick.
— he’s a man of self control, but not a man without needs. as you wrap up your masturbation session, yao saves the recording and turns off his monitor, intent on starting his. “i’m taking an early lunch,” he mutters as an excuse, pushing out of the office.
ivan braginsky!
— he thinks it’s cute when you masturbate! there’s nothing quite like watching you make yourself squirm and whine. it’s nice, sitting back as you do all the hard work of working yourself up. your act of bravado falls as you let a string of unintelligible words and filthy noises slip from your sweet lips. still, he’d like to break that cocky attitude for himself, soon, like breaking in pointe shoes — cracking, bending, beating, stomping, carving even — anything to make the shoe more comfortable. or in this case, to make you more suitable to him.
— but that comes later. for now he’s content to just watch you rut against a toy from the darkness of your closet. if only he could burst out right now and make you grind against his polished shoe.. you’d like that, wouldn’t you? whatever makes you happy. he wouldn’t mind you doing that in the mornings, then having to clean his soiled shoe before you both head out to work. ah, domesticity.
— the closet is a new spot for ivan, but he’s beginning to enjoy it a lot. it’s not the most spacious place with all your clothes in it along with a few other things, but you rarely check your closet after a certain time at night. not to mention that it’s full of the smell of you. not perfume, but you, your scent. if you two were animals, he’d sniff you from head to toe just to get drunk off the smell of your musk. well, he’d do that as a human, too, actually.
— braginsky watches with intrigue as you line yourself up along a rather generously sized dildo, sliding down to the base. the dildo’s just about as big as he is… and you take it perfectly, albeit with a fair amount of whimpering. tears begin to well in your eyes and he bites his lip, feeling himself grow hard. he’d kiss away those tears if he could… tell you it’s okay, tell you not to move. let you cockwarm him until you’re ready and then —
— just as he thinks it, you lift yourself up some, gripping the sheets of the bed around you as you sink back down on it. you do this a few more times, slowly, carefully, before picking up speed. just how he would’ve done… he was built for you, surely. and you were built for him. it was so clear now, even as his mind grew hazy from arousal hearing you moan. the squelching sounds of you sliding up and down that dildo only spur him on and it isn’t long before he’s palming himself in the closet.
— you’re loud when you cum. he likes that. unfortunately, he hasn’t yet reached his finish line. don’t worry, he’ll get there once you’re asleep. your head will rest so nicely against the pillow as he kneels beside your bed, jerking off before you as if he were praying to a silent statue of a saint.
hetalia nations react to your son doing the "shut up, bitch" prank to you (ﾒ ﾛ ´)
a/n: i havent posted in a minute im so sorry😭😭 also everyone stream america no joo by cymbals right now
characters: japan, italy, romano, germany, prussia, russia, china, france, canada, england, america, scotland, sweden
cw: nonezies!!
kiku honda 🇯🇵 japan
he gasps, "that's rude."
respect for your elders is a huge thing in his culture and he can't believe the child he helped raise would say that. he takes it SO seriously and it ready to ground your son for life until you explain that it's a prank.
feliciano vargas 🇮🇹 north italy
"whaat?? did you just say??"
he's upset for you of course, but ultimately he would've left it in your hands because he can't stand to make his baby sad.
lovino vargas 🇮🇹 romano/south italy
if looks could kill your son would be long gone, and tells them to apologize right now. is also ready to ground them forever until he sees you laugh and lets up.
ludwig beilschmidt 🇩🇪 germany
"WAS???,!!"
almost loses his shit honestly. he bolts up from the couch genuinely ready to hit your son if he needs to. he shakes his head when you laugh and tell him it's a joke.
gilbert beilschmidt 🇩🇪 prussia
whips his head around and yells your son's full name. he's all about family and discipline and stuff so he's really ripping them a new one (verbally). he won't stop to let you get a word in so you'll just have to laugh at your poor son.
ivan braginski 🇷🇺 russia
he's shocked that your son had the audacity to even try that, and he just stares at them. your kid was intimidated and was gonna say sorry anyway even though they knew it was a joke until you explain the prank to ivan.
yao wang 🇨🇳 china
icl he might actually hit your kid on the head for speaking to you like that, and it takes a couple seconds of everyone yelling at him that it was a joke to get him to calm down. he doesn't play about disrespect.
francis bonnefoy 🇫🇷 france
gasps and grabs them by the ear, making them apologize to you, all while ranting about how disrespectful that it. it isn't until both you and your son are laughing that he realizes something it up.
matthew williams 🇨🇦 canada
"oh goodness, don't talk to your parents like that!"
obviously he's not very assertive, but it gets the point across (he's so sweet💔). like italy, he would've left it in your hands because he wasn't sure if your son was listening to him anyway.
arthur kirkland 🏴 england
"bloody hell! what did you just say!!??"
he goes on a long rant about horrible that was and how he never wants to hear anything like that come from them again, and pauses when he looks over at you to sees you trying not to laugh.
alfred f. jones 🇺🇸 america
maybe one of the only times you see him genuinely angry at your kid, but he lowk blames himself for raising them so spoiled.
“dude!! don’t talk to your mom/dad like that….”
he’s trying his best to defend your honor and laughs when you tell him it was a joke.
allistor kirkland 🏴 scotland
"AY, if ya widnae talk to me like that, ya dinnae talk to ya mother/father like that!"
PISSED about this. you have to grab him before he launches up from the couch and explain that it's just a joke. your son is lucky that allistor didn't reach him.
berwald oxenstierna 🇸🇪 sweden
he just stares at his son because nothing is funny to him about that and tells them to go to their room. your kid actually does it, thats how scary he can be.
a/n: so how many of. yall watch slushy noobz… also yes i know i laid it on thick with allistors accent but i love writing scottish accents out ok?ok
Hey hey, I have an ask! I'd kill for some Allies and Axis content. How about reader never let's anyone hear them sing but they get spied on by their boyfriend. How would they react if reader was actually a good singer?
okay, been on and off due to getting surgery to remove inflamed nerves, BUT I AM SO FOR THAT??? I am actually a musician so I love singing but I'm so self conscious lol!
ALLIES + AXIS WITH SINGER!READER
Canada:
-THIS LITTLE BABBYYYYY
-He would be holding Kumajirou, and trying to find you when he hears you.
-the second he hears your voice, he pauses like he got hit by a whole freight train that veered off the rails.
-He probably stalks listens to you sing for a little longer than necessary before he finally musters up the courage to go in the room.
-And even then, he's still mesmerized by you.
-He'd probably mumble to you about how your voice is amazing, and that he'd like to hear it more.
-he'd do all this with a huge blush on his face, trying his best not to stutter in front of you.
-If you're a really good singer (or even if not) he'll randomly start to ask you to sing for him!
-and if you're an okay or mediocre singer, HELL STILL ASK!!
-this man loves you, and he just wants to be the only person you notice and pay attention to!
America:
-Al probably would be so impressed.
-I see him as being an okay singer, but NOT the best. He can really only sing the anthem.
-now, when Al is a yandere, he is more or less for wanting to know every little detail about you.
-so hearing you sing when you think nobody is listening is like a dream come true!
-if you're really good at it, he'll probably just watch/listen for a long time, mesmerized by how beautiful your voice is.
-and then he'd try to make you sing to his face.
-he'd push and push until you gave in so he could praise your voice to your face!
England:
-He tries to be a gentleman.
-he tries not to stalk, not to be obsessive.
-he fails miserably btw.
-if he ended up even getting the smallest bit of hearing you sing?
-he would be over the moon.
-if you're a bad singer, he wouldn't even mind. He's honestly happy just as long as you are happy and he gets to be the only one to hear your voice!
-but if you're a good singer?? He will try so hard to bring music into conversations, trying to slowly get you to open up, making you sing to him on your own.
-He still tries to be a gentleman. He won't push.. just.. nudging you in the right direction.
-and if anybody has anything to say about how you sound? He will personally put that person in their rightful place.
-this man would NOT be afraid to show where his shoe fits if provoked.
France:
-this man is NOT subtle.
-he hears you singing and is so overjoyed.
-even if you're mediocre, he honestly just loves hearing your singing, as it seems personal and open.
-he'll listen for a while before barging in and showering you with praises.
-this man truly believes that if you get enough praise you'll stop being shy.
-which might actually end up happening if we're being honest.
-France tries his best to not be TOO pushy, but totally fails whenever he hears a song he would love to hear in your voice!
-maybe he wants to be the one you sing to the most or at all
Russia:
-Now, Russia doesn't really understand social stuff.
-I mean, people are terrified of this guy and he's just like a big murderous teddy bear!!
-To him, he just wants to be friends, and all he knows how to do is threaten people.
-but he really loves you and is so confused on why you seem so happy singing, but have never done it in front of anybody!
-to him, your voice is an angelic sound, and he can't help but watch and listen as you sing.
-this man would walk in after you finished the song you were on and just give you the biggest bear hug istg
-he wouldn't even care if your voice had cracked or was quiet, he would tell you that he had never heard anything better.
-and to him it was true
-he might even ask why you never did it for others! ... though he's not complaining that he gets to be the only one to hear it.
China:
-China to me seems more like somebody who is also less subtle.
-he won't embarrass you, but he also won't hide the fact that he heard you and likes your voice.
-he would try to make you more confident, and also ask for you to sing traditional Chinese songs!
-he honestly wants you to feel better about yourself
-HES SO SWEET ABOUT IT TOO!
-like he may be old
-HE STILL A BABBYYYYY
-And if you do end up singing songs in his language (especially if they are traditional), he will be overjoyed!
Italy:
-Oh my god he is LITERALLY baby!
-he'll be so happy if he hears you sing
-he's probably never heard you sing before, so this is a first for him!
-he'll rush in, speaking quickly and happily, calling your voice so amazing.
-he'll probably ask why he's never heard you sing before.
-and get really sad if you try to say anything bad about your voice.
-to him, your voice is like literal heaven, how could anybody ever hate that voice of yours???????
-he'll probably ask for you to sing Italian songs, or even teach you his favorite songs.
-he won't be TOO pushy...
-but this is Italy we are talking about, he's gonna be pushy in some ways.
Germany:
-this man may seem mean and heartless, but he is such a cutie!
-he probably accidentally walks in on you singing
-he probably doesn't even recognize it's you until he peeks around the corner to see your face as you sing.
-and he's actually pretty surprised.
-he didn't expect it
-he kinda assumed he knew most everything about you.
-He isn't one to push, even if he truly liked it, but he would end up complimenting it.
-he wants you to know that he loves every part of you.
-and your singing is just a bonus to him!
-Kiku is a bit shy, but overall, again, A CUTIE!
-he would probably be looking for you
-and when he heard singing, he's confused and decides to see who is singing
-when he sees it's you, he'll probably stay quiet for a bit or until you notice him.
-if you don't notice him in time, he'll gently stop you to tell you that you sound amazing!
-this is the first time he's heard you sing and he honestly thinks it's great.
-he's a bit shy, but if you've been together a while, he'd probably be a bit more straightforward with how he feels.
-but he'd be willing to help you get better
-only if you'd want his help, though!!
thank you guys for reading! I recently broke up with my girlfriend of a few months as well as just getting surgery and finishing extra college work, but I'm trying to get on again! I'm also going to do more headcanons and stories to get my head off the breakup, since it was literally 2 days ago. I love you all and I hope you are doing amazing!!~
COULD YOU PLEASSEEEE DO ANOTHER ONE OF THE HORNY CANADA FICS??? I love him and I need a yandere type horny Canada pleaseeeee
Hetalia never actually leaves my mind, once you're wooshed away, you never return the same.
dark canada talking dark, thigh f*cking, c*m eat*ng, <- well kinda, suffoc*tion
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The first sign of alarm was the blue and flashing hue coming from under the small gap in your door. You didn't leave the tv on, you didn't leave anything on when you left the house for the day. The second sign was the sweet smell of ptsd from your kitchen, before you even opened the door.
The worst one was no indication of forced entry, only the simple twist of your handle showing that it was correctly unlocked. No one else would be here, no one else but him. You consider even continuing this path, facing him, hearing what he's pulled to get to you. You also think about leaving, dropping the little stuff you've collected and dipping. It's only been about a month, you were hoping for longer but maybe this length is more than generous.
Your decision is made for you when you step back and feel the prickling presence of none other than his bear friend, small and sitting on the floor, looking up at you with a wondering stare. You know better than to sound the alarms, his being alone probable to cause panic in the building, and you'll probably get into far more trouble if he has to push you inside than if you walked in on your own.
So, you awkwardly turn and pat his head, "Ah, hello, kumama...hi...ro..." To be fair, even Canada doesn't know his name properly, or he never says it. America told you it was something like "Kumajiro" once, but, you don't know how creditable that is. Neither does he, if he's honest.
Entering your temporary home feels more like walking yourself back to your cell, the imaginary handcuffs are heavy on your weary wrists. Once Kuma walks in, you shut and lock the door out of habit, but there really wasn't going to be any difference once he had you in his arms again.
You round the small entry and stand in the doorway of the kitchenette, waiting for him to acknowledge you first. Which, to his ever loving credit, he does quite quickly. His smile is bright, blue eyes soft and endearing as he turns to face you. Today, he wears a casual, brown and black flannel shirt, unbuttoned with a white tank underneath and black pants. He really is a gorgeous man, you just wish that compliment was accurate for his brain, too. "(Y/n)! Come here, I have something to show you."
It's hard to find the ability to say no, the only hesitance you show is because you're exhausted and want to get this over with. You relent, dropping your bag to the floor and seeing what he's cooking in your kitchen. Surprise surprise it's... Wait, pancakes? It smells like pancakes and it kinda looks like pancakes. To the side is a wok, something you did not own, as well as various ingredients that you hadn't purchased. Inside the wok are two, small dishes with maple syrup and jam.
Canada wastes no time in slipping one arm around your waist and pulling you into him. He begins by inhaling your hair, muttering under his breath how much he missed your scent, before using the spatula to introduce his creations, "Taa-daa~! Scrambled pancakes! Austria taught me them at the last meeting, he calls them Kaiserschmarn, that's pretty neat, eh?"
You awkwardly rub at your arm, unable to make eye contact with him, "Y-Yeah, that's really cool. They look good," you add onto the end, hoping some honeyed words aid in your reunion.
He hums, shuffling them around before turning off the stove, "I was excited to show you when I got back but... Well, you know as well as I do how that went." Without letting you go, he lifts the pan and mingles them into the wok, allowing them to fall around the little dishes and fill up the area. Afterwards, he sets it down and sighs, turning to you to place both hands on your shoulders, now forcing you to look at him as he shakes you gently, "How many times are we going to do this song and dance, mon minou? I can't keep coming back to an empty house..."
You have to bite back the remarks you want to say. How many more times am I going to find cameras in places they don't belong? How many more times am I going to get weird texts from my friends about you showing up out of nowhere? It's an endless cycle, one you never wanted to be a part of, you didn't even want this stupid relationship in the first place.
Canada takes your pained look as a token of regret, his fingers raking over your cheek and behind your ear to bring your face up, "I missed you..."
The kiss is mostly tongue and longing. His thumb naturally leads to the corner of your lips to keep your teeth parted so that he can indulge in everything you have to offer. Lips bruising, tongues fighting, teeth clacking. He pulls you forward so that he can grind his erected cock against you, pants straining but you just looks so. damn. beautiful.
'Not now,' he has to remind himself, after all, you just got back together and there are treats to be had. So, he finally let's you go and sprinkles some powdered sugar on the cooled pancakes as you wipe your face. He's somewhat delighted, somewhat mocking at your helplessness, "I had to buy everything here, you know. You hardly had anything for yourself to eat, just a block of cheese, butter, moldy bread."
You look to the grocery bag on the floor, frowning, "I bought stuff today..."
He holds the wok with two hands, leaning down to nuzzle your cheek with his in a cheeky affection, "Then you can bring it home with us, tonight."
Your gut clenches in pain at that statement.
Canada has been so nice as to make you both coffee as well, sitting at your small table, knees touching, he looks out of place being so tall and broad; at least, comparatively to your small apartment. He urges you try one first and of course, it's one of the most delicious things you have ever put in your mouth. "S'good," you as you chew the fluffy yet outer-crispy treat. Psychotic behaviour aside, Canada is an amazing cook.
Happy with your input, he tries one himself and moans in delight, "Austria really does have some good ideas, eh? I'd love to take you next time but-" he cuts himself off, suddenly very solemn as he frowns, "How can I trust you won't run away?"
Honestly, you don't want to be in an unknown country with him. He's taken you a couple of times to places and it usually ends up with you stuck to his side out of possession or necessity.
He doesn't expect an answer, merely picking up his coffee cup and leaning back in his chair, "I mean, take today for example! You move without even telling me, I couldn't reach you, barely any food in the fridge and-" he shuffles his hand in his pants pocket, pulling out a key, "Do you know how easy it was for me to get a key to this place? If you're going to take money out of our account, at least get enough to stay in a more secure lodging."
"Not many landlords take cash nowadays," you spit, a little more spiteful than you were hoping to sound.
It doesn't go unnoticed by him, however, you do seem to open the gates for more emotion. He places the key on the table, his hand clawing into the wood as he looks over his glasses to stare deep into your glare, "Don't think I'm all eager beaver about this because I haven't said anything about punishment. To be honest, I'm pretty pissed off."
"Punishment?" You question, eyes wide and a little desperate, "Why would I need to be punished? You said I could spend the money on whatever I want, and I am a grown girl, I can take some time for myself if I 'oh so desire'. Or, is that not allowed anymore?'
Hearing the commotion, Kumamonjiro gets up from the floor of the lounge room, stopping from watching tv to see what's going on. He sits between you on the tiles, and to show everything is okay, Canada hands him a bit of pancake dipped in jam, not taking his eyes off of you. "You're taking this too far, mon minou. Everything you did was to intentionally avoid me, don't think I haven't seen it those other times, either," he looks into his cup, thumbs tracing the rim as he continues, "I know what it's like to be invisible... I know the difference between mistakes and intentions."
It's a hopeless conversation, it always, always is. But you still fall for the emotions rising inside you, you can't help but want to cry your heart out until someone hears. The only someone you ever get, though, is him. "You're too controlling!" You tell him, holding your hand up to list things off on your fingers, "If I'm not in your line of sight then I'm being bombarded by texts and calls. If I don't answer those then you send a fucking bodyguard out to find me, that is if you haven't already had one tailing me the whole time! You won't let me have my own bank account anymore, you won't let me enjoy the-"
"Nize it," he finally bites, taking his hands off the table to rest in his lap. After Kuma finishes his pancake, he takes more look at both of you before heading back to watch tv, leaving you alone in a tense silence. His expression takes a sadder tone, eyes downcast, "I'm sorry I just- I always get so scared. I don't want you to get hurt and I... I don't want to be without you."
What can you even say to that? I'll always be here, I won't get hurt, words of uncertainty only lead to worse behaviours. You open your mouth to say anything, to get off this sorry topic but, he doesn't let you.
"But you get it, don't you? And no one understands you like I do, eh?" His frown turns into an endearing smile, eyes looking from you to the scrambled pancakes, "Oh! Mon minou, are you struggling with your appetite again? I know we rarely fight, but, arguments in any relationship are important, too."
You lock your muscles when he stands, walking to station himself behind you and lean over your shoulders. "Canada..." You whine, not wanting to have all this swept under the rug again.
He doesn't listen, he never does. Instead, he reaches over and picks up a pancake, dipping it greedily in the syrup and pressing it to your lips, "Come on, say 'ahh~'."
Unless you want sticky syrup dripping down your front, your only choice is to somewhat obey. It's only a small but, your mouth still needing a good, few chews before you can swallow. Yet, all the while, he keeps his fingers over your lips, waiting until you swallow to dig two of his digits inside and over your tongue, forcing you to suck on his sweet tasting fingers.
He shudders above you, pulling them out to dip a third finger in the syrup, though instead of going back to your mouth, he drizzles it on your neck. The fingers wet with saliva and syrup are held out of the way so he can dive into your throat before you complain, sucking and licking and biting as you cringe. He groans heartily, his clean hand coming to your stomach and groping upwards, "I love you so much, I just wish I could devour you whole."
"That's..." You trail off when he gets invested in your neck once more, his hand now on your breast over your clothes, "That's creepy, Canada."
He chuckles at the way you cringe, the sound of his zipper making your ears twitch, "It wouldn't be the first time someone said that to me."
Fingers are shoved over your tongue again, shorts and underwear pulled down enough so he could rut his cock between your thighs. Canada murmurs something about it being too dry, his syrup and saliva covered fingers wetting your flesh and the head of his member so he could have a bit less resistance. You have to brace your hands on the table, panting along as he stimulates your pussy and bites possessively at your throat.
"Marde, mon minou, you have no idea how much I love you. You're perfect, so perfect," he can't help but whimper into you, your breath caught behind his digits, almost gagging as drool pours from the corners of your lips. Eating that pancake had already, sufficiently, moistened your mouth, so being restricted like this only made it more messy. Your shirt was ruined, despite your efforts, pussy clenching over nothing every time he caught your clit. Your head was tilted back when he reached the far end of your throat, eyes widening with tears as he massaged your tongue so deeply, so slowly that you choked. His words were low, arm wrapped suffocatingly around your waist to prevent you from struggling, "We could die right now and I would be the happiest man in the universe. As long as I have your eyes on me - as long as you see me - then I don't need anything else."
"Unguh-!" your throat constricted his fingers, arse pushing back into him, the head of his dick popping out with every hard, slapping thrust.
Canada groaned throatily, letting you struggle until you eventually gave up, going limp as the corners of your vision started to blur from stress. Despite the harsh treatment, his lips tenderly kissed the bruises on your neck, "That's why I won't leave you alone. I'd rather chain your limbless body to darkest corner of my cellar before I let you run."
You couldn't respond, even if you had the ability to. Tears ran depressingly down your cheeks, mixing with the drool on your chin. The relief wasn't as grand as you thought it would be when he finally came, thick ropes of cum pulsing from your thighs and over the table, landing messily on the cutlery and over the desserts like a glaze.
When he removed his fingers, you coughed and sputtered for dear life, collapsing nicely in his arms as he sat down on your chair and pulled you into his lap. Cooing and laughing was his way of sympathizing, wiping at your face when you let out a pathetic sob, "I think I've been too nice to you. Perhaps it's time to shorten the leash a bit, eh?"
It's scary to think how much worse he could get- no, will get. You knew he had issues, you were aware already walking on a tight rope. You thought... You thought maybe if you could just get some distance that you'd be fine. You didn't realise how far gone he actually was. "Am I in trouble?" You murmur, hoarsely, your head falling into his chest with utter defeat. Screaming won't work, not in a dingy apartment fall of criminals anyway, and certainly not when there's a literal polar bear and a country that had ten times the strength of a human.
He hums for a moment, as if in thought about it, "Well, I must admit I feel a lot better after letting off some steam." His eyes wander, landing on the Kaiserschmarn. He practically jumps with joy, picking one of the cum-coated treats, dipping it in syrup and bringing it to your lips, "Oh! You haven't finished your share, mon minou! If you eat up like a good girl, I might be a little more lenient when we get home."
You understand it's not the first time you've had his semen in your mouth, but eating it like this makes your stomach twist in a way that had you frowning in disgust. Even so, you slowly part your lips, praying that the sugar makes up for any cold, salty flavour that may push through.
