kllb
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The second time he lays back on that couch, under Misha's slippery fingers, they press and ease out the tightness of overused muscle, from the back of his knee up his thigh.
And Misha tuts at him that he's getting old and “Seriously, Ivan. You don't even heal as fast as you used to,” which is still notably quick, except for these blunt pains, that unlike sharp wounds he can't seem to tune in to just the right source of, “you can't keep acting like you do.” As if Ivan is even registering all he's saying.
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There's a lot they could've said in front of that railing, watching the water flow by. It was all useless, but Mihail wished he could've said it anyway. He wished he could've said “Natalia, the Dnieper is so beautiful. Thank you for being my friend.”, but he would've had to start with "I'm sorry you're not sailing it with me. I'm sorry it's Ivan instead."
IN LOVING MEMORY OF: rețeaua autonomă de transport București
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like fucking a cremeschnitte (creamy-soft-sweet and slightly wrong) by kllb
Fandoms: Hetalia (Anime & Manga)
02 Jun 2025
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“Haha. An alpha, a beta and an omega get snowed in together. This is like-”
“A horror movie.”
“The worst porn ever.”
He stares blankly, first at the former than the latter.
“...a sitcom. Can you guys chill out a little?”aka ohh nooo russias scent blockers make him go into chemically induced heat at canadas house and he's paranoid and sickly! and america has(?) to fuck him for health reasons! and canada tries to not kill himself and stop them from killing each other! ohh nooooo!
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“I don't dislike it.”
Another lie, from Ivan this time. He does, just almost but not quite enough to make him actively refuse to do it. He has a feeling that if he explains this to the other he'd say they do something else. Or go to bed. But he doesn't want that. He wants…
It had been Ivan who asked that the other feed from him. That, he wanted. Maybe he just wants to do something that Mihai wants him to, or that would be good for him. Maybe that's it. It feels weird.
“Okay.”
“...Okay. I can try.”
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Canada had something to say when he came in, had been thinking about doing it the whole way back. About how he never wants to pretend to be America ever again, and how it makes him feel ridiculous and exhausted. He could probably rock himself into the best sleep of his life thinking, worrying and hoping that he's not the only person made to feel this way. He doesn't want to say what he wanted to say anymore, so they just don't say anything.
In the silence of the apartment, he goes in for another taste of stale smoke and a good handful of soft skin. He's so tired, he wants to crush America to bits. He'd feel bad for it, though.