You scowled, slacking a sigh as the Danish duke stepped up to you. Why did it have to be him of all people! You grumbled, your cheeks flushing pink slightly. The blond had been teasing you for pretty much your entire life and now your mother asked him to be your dance partner?! Wat was she thinking?
Following the usual routine and scowling as usual at his arrogant smirk, which you wouldn’t admit made your heart skip a beat, you curtsied to him – though only sinking through your knees a micromillimeter.
He bowed, one of his hand reaching to embrace yours. Stepping closer to you, he placed his other on your waist whilst you softly touched his shoulder.
A sidestep here, a delicate twirl there – just the usual. It was so boring, making your mind race with possibilities to make it more interesting. Suddenly you had what you thought was a brilliant idea and you immediately set about to complete it. Tightening your gip on his shoulder, you smiled wistfully at him and pressed your chest to his.
A twitch quirked your lips when he faltered slightly, a faint blush tinting his sculpted cheekbones. He fought back though, his eyebrow curling up. You stared at him indignantly, your eyes widening when you felt his hand creep lower than your waist. His fingers cupped the crescent of your behind tenderly for a moment, before squeezing it with a throaty chuckle.
Your cry of indignation echoed around the room and you threw the doors open, fuming heavily. Matthias lay on the ground with one hand on his jaw, a lopsided, almost dreamy grin on his face. “Totally worth it.”
You hummed under your breath, scribbling down conjugation after conjugation absentmindedly. The low table you were sitting at was cluttered with your papers – essential notes for your upcoming German exam. And speaking of Germans….
“Guten Tag!” You let out a small ‘oof’ as Gilbert collided with your back, chuckling softly when he kissed the crook of your neck enthusiastically. “Hey,” you murmured back, tilting your head back so you could flash him a tired grin. “Still working?” he asked, his arms wrapped around your waist as he settled himself behind you – his long legs enveloping yours.
His pale toes wiggled as he smirked at your pout. “Shut up… it’s easy for you.” He laughed and nodded vigorously, nuzzling your cheek at the same time. “Don’t worry! You’re awesome so I know you’ll do well!” You cringed – he’d almost succeeded in deafening you. Your pout intensified.
He cocked his brow and smiled. “C’mon Kätzchen, I know you know one phrase properly without having to think about it.” Shooting him a glance, you leant back onto his chest. “Really now…. and what would that be?” You asked rhetorically. Now it was his turn to pout. “You know.” He nudged you - yet you still feigned ignorance. Tsk-ing under his breath, he bit at your cheek.
“Ich liebe dich. Now repeat.”
You giggled and turned so you were facing him. “Ich liebe dich.” You murmured, gazing at him as if in reverence. Tenderly you caressed his pinkening cheeks. He snorted and chuckled under his breath. “You need to work on your pronunciation.” He told you, tweaking your nose. You shrugged lightly in response. “Nobody’s perfect.”
Gilbert held you closer to him, closing his eyes as he relished the hug. “You’re right. But I think you’re doing a pretty good job.”
A delicate growl left your lips, your body stiffening to the touch of an unknown assailant’s arm. A throaty chuckle left the person, your expression turning sour as you put one and one together, realising who it was. “Get off,” you growled in irritation, shoving the German rather harshly. The smirk on his face only succeeded in pissing you off even more.
“Come mein Kätzchen, stop resisting already.” He almost purred, leaning into your neck. One of his hands held both of yours, restricting your movement. His other gloved hand kneaded your hips hungrily. “Ich bin dein Kätzchen nicht!” You spat out, baring your teeth at him in warning. He whistled under his breath, one of his brows quirked. “Resistance is useless. Become German territory already.”
Struggling under his tight grip, you squirmed and protested loudly, rattling off insults like the fire of a machine gun. He winced at a couple of low insults, his temper coming short. His fingers tightened and squeezed, making you cry out in pain.
Using your temporary distraction Lutz dove in, moulding your lips to his. With a particularly loud yelp, you flung your hands at him, successfully breaking away from him and scratching his face.
He hissed, clapping his hand to the bleeding gash on his cheek. Strange, you noted absentmindedly, I didn’t realise I could do something of that calibre. “This isn’t over,” he vowed, glaring at you in such a way that made you cringe, but you stood your ground.
“I will have you, mein Kätzchen, mark my words.”
You murmured nonsensically in your sleep, rubbing your cheek into the creased white cover of the pillow, burying it in the fabric somewhat deeper. Briefly registering the arm around your waist, you shifted onto your side, coming face to face with the Norwegian that was sleeping beside you.
His pale hair was ruffled over his forehead, his longer bangs caressing the side of his pale face. Softly and peacefully, he continued practicing the equal in and exhale – still exhausted from your prolonged nightly activities. To be completely frank, he’d been a complete beast – something that had surprised you the first time, but now you relished the fact that you were the one to send his mind in such a frenzy.
A soft smile traced your bruised lips and you leant towards him to plant a chaste kiss to his own chapped lips that had seared your skin only the night before. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, before he slid them open to gaze at you with those stunning blue eyes of his. People always had always said that your Norwegian was cold, not only because of his lack of expressions but also because they claimed his eyes were cold and ruthless-looking.
They couldn’t have been more wrong. Unless it was his love for you that melted the iciness of his glance – for you had yet to witness his so-called ‘tundra stare’. “Morning,” you whispered, smiling tiredly again whilst your fingers danced down the plane of his jaw, tracing the line of it meticulously. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards slightly and he reciprocated the tender gesture, murmuring a ‘good morning’.
“Sleep well?” You asked him, wanting to hear that melodic voice of his some more. He nodded, then added something in a hushed voice. “Like a log.” Letting out a quiet laugh that passed from your body to his, you nuzzled your noses together in a string of eskimo-kisses.
“I don’t want to move from this spot,” he confessed, allowing his eyes to fall shut again. Nestling himself closer to you, he sighed and smiled. “Let’s not then,” you replied, leaning to kiss the underside of his jaw. Lukas pecked your lips sweetly and rubbed his forehead against yours. “Let’s not.” He repeated.
“Gilbert!” You called, hitching the washing basket higher up your waist. “Ja?” He answered, sticking his head out of his office. “Help me?” You asked, already walking outside to the hang up the damp sheets. Without protest, he followed like a happy dog. Elizabeta would have said you’d trained him well, but to be honest there wasn’t much to be trained. Gilbert was almost always happy to help you, no matter how obnoxious or annoying he acted towards the Hungarian in question.
“Here!” You vaulted the pristine sheet over the washing line, hearing his strange laugh cry out in success. Standing on your toes, you pegged the sheet onto the line, running your hands down it absentmindedly, tracing Gilbert’s silhouette. He was doing the same, smiling softly when he felt your clothed fingers touch his.
Grinning he pulled you against him, trying to wrap his arms around you – except that he was hindered greatly by the washing. With a pout he pulled back, ducking under the sheet and tackling you to the ground. “As I thought, I like hugging you like this a lot more,” he murmured almost as if to himself. You blinked in surprise, caressing his silvery hair with a chiming laugh.
Romano scowled, wetting his dry lips over and over to the rhythm of his tapping foot. This lift was taking far too long! Not only was it cramped and stiflingly hot, the music was god-awful. The grumpy Italian spouted some profanities in his native language, the old lady behind him staring at him.
He scowled, having felt her disapproving stare on his back, but instead of apologising he stormed out of the doors the moment they ‘ding’-ed and slowly slid open. Nervously, he tugged at his silk tie, glancing at his reflection in the windows he passed on the way to the restaurant. Everything had to be perfect and so far he was doing good, save for the fact that he might be late. Oh well, he thought, throwing his nervous thoughts out of the window, you knew what he was like.
Entering the restaurant hastily, he quickly found his way to where you were sat, sipping some red wine absentmindedly whilst you twirled a lock of hair around your finger – watching it spring loose when you released it. “Hey,” he murmured sheepishly, feeling his nerves get the better of him. “I thought you weren’t coming.” You replied dryly, shooting him a somewhat disappointed glance. In any other case he’d have started shouting loudly and excusing the hell out of himself in way that would have drowned you in sarcasm, but now he dropped his gaze to his hands. “I’m sorry, the meeting got drawn out and the traffic was terrible.”
You blinked in surprise at his excuse – he hadn’t sworn a single time. …. Okay, there was definitely something wrong with him. “You alright?” You asked in concern, leaning towards him to press your hand to his forehead. “Of course I am.” He muttered with a sideways glance, his cheeks flushed. Clucking your tongue in response, you smiled warmly at him. “Alright then.” Lovino felt his heart speed up. It was now or never. “Hey (Y/N), could you do me a favour?” He asked suddenly, you glancing at him in confusion.
“Eh, well yes, what is it?” You replied, cocking your head in that insanely adorable way of yours. He felt his face flush darker. “Can you tell me…. What kind of material this is?” He tugged at the collar of his shirt nervously. “What… kind of material?” You frowned in confusion. “Well, silk or cotton I guess.” Lovino’s curl bobbed as he shook his head. “It’s…. husband material.”
A searing hot blush painted your cheeks and you froze, watching his hand retreat to his inside pocket to retrieve a smallish box. “Do you think…. You could say ‘yes’ to me?” He bit the inside of his mouth as he waited for your answer. “Lovino….” You murmured in awe. “I-I don’t think I-“ Lovino took this as a rejection, his hand trembling as he moved to push the box into his pocket again. “Right, it’s so stupid of me- too early-“ he muttered under his breath, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “I don’t think I could ever say ‘no’ to you.” You finished, reaching to take his hand. He froze. “Y-you mean it?” Grinning, you nodded.
A look of relief and happiness spread over his face, him standing and going towards you to cradle you tightly to his chest. “Thank you!”
“What is there to thank?” you replied, kissing his cheeks. “Thank you for choosing me bella, thank you for being here and for meeting me, thank you!” he explained, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you!”
“You’re very welcome!”
Drunk! Norway is affectionate
“C’mon Luke,” you complained, trying and failing to pry the Norwegian off of you. “Nooo!” He wailed, tightening his arms around you and nuzzling into your stomach. “For goodness sake,” you muttered, grinding your teeth. Honestly, for someone so skinny he sure had some strength. “You need to let go now Luke, otherwise I can’t go home.”
“Why would you need to go home?” He asked curiously, rubbing his cheek up against your side. “Because I have to!” An adorable pout graced his flushed features, him pitching backwards and taking you with him. “No, you’re not allowed to leave me.” He whispered, one of his hands pressing against the back of your head. You didn’t realise what he was planning until it was too late. Pressing his lips against yours, you cringed – he tasted like alcohol. “Drunkard,” you chastised, pushing him back to which he whined in displeasure. “Perhaps if you call me big brother….”
“Are you for real?” You asked in exasperation, trying to free yourself of his grip. “Fine, big brother can you pretty please let go of me?” He stiffened slightly, a darker blush adorning his cheeks. “There’s no way I’m ever letting you go after that.”