Blame It On The Cupcakes

By dP

Please note that I am only using this account to post fanfictions; it is not mine.

Hetalia is not mine. I am simply writing a fanfic. I like this pairing. If you don't, well, tough luck. This is for my dear friend, ChiChiChuRinSai, the owner of this account, because she loves this pairing and I am a good friend who loves her too. It is slightly AU because they're not human or nation, but rather supernatural beings, like demons and the like… I apologize in advance if I cannot write smut very well. Enjoy!

-Blame It On The Cupcakes-

Today was absolutely wonderful. It was sunny, there weren't too many or too little customers, and Elizaveta was stopping by today. She'd asked for a dozen cupcakes, which made it even better. Wonderful!

Oliver chuckled to himself as he stirred the batter; so many people favored his cupcakes. Even his rival baker, Francis Bonnefei, the vampire two blocks down, had asked him for a special batch of – dare he say it – aphrodisiac cupcakes.

The British demon had no idea why he himself – Francis, he meant – could not have made the cupcakes himself. Well, he was going to be paid for it, so he didn't mind… Much. Oliver looked up from his stirring when the door bells tinkled.

It was Elizaveta, smelling of the ocean again. Her green-streaked hair was also a bit damp. He could assume she'd just returned from an expedition with her Mer relatives, as she herself was a Siren.

"Halluo!" Sang Oliver, raising a flour-covered hand in cheerful greeting. Elizaveta chuckled and waved back, making a beeline toward the counter where his baking things were scattered. "Szia, Oliver dearest." She replied, sniffing appreciatively. "It smells delightful here."

Oliver ducked his head, making a noise akin to a purr. "Thank you, Eliza, love. Your cupcakes are nearly finished. It's so nice of you to come by and help me with the shop. You needn't do so…"

There was a short pause, in which Elizaveta looked reproachfully at him. "You know why I come here. To stuff my face with cupcakes, not help. Don't thank me."

The light blond put his latest batch of cupcakes into the oven and dusted his hands off. "Well, I still consider it help. Let me just box your cupcakes, alright? Then you can get going. You look as if busy or distracted."

Elizaveta laughed loudly, making the other haunting customers turn and look at her. "You seem as if you are in a hurry to get rid of me. If you please, then… Thank you for making them on such short notice."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Get rid of you? Far from it, love, I want you to stay as long as you like. I just thought you had something going on away from my shop." He turned to pick up the tray of Elizaveta's cupcakes, but it was nowhere to be found. Oh, there they were, never mind. He picked them up and began boxing them, adding a bow for the last touch.

Alas, they were not Elizaveta's cupcakes, as he'd presumed. They were Francis's, the ones with aphrodisiac in them. Both of them, however, were blissfully ignorant, and the Hungarian Siren departed with a thank-you kiss on the cheek, leaving Oliver flushed and hot all over.

-Timeskip-

Oliver had just closed the shop for the night and was heading upstairs to his little… house, per se. It was pretty much a house, with its living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. Not to mention the numerous closets which were like little rooms themselves.

Francis was out of town for the day, he would be back tomorrow, he had told Oliver, and said demon had nearly thrown a hissy fit. His cupcakes might be bad by then! But it was fine by him. If he got paid, it was fine. The Briton was just in the middle of the process of undoing his bowtie and tossing it away when his phone rang.

Sighing, he got up to answer it. The caller was Elizaveta. He glanced at the old clock on the northern wall – eight forty-three. What could she possibly want at this hour? Probably something about his cupcakes – ah, no, no! She'd already said enough nice things.

"Hello?" He'd finally picked up the phone. A queer noise floated out from the earpiece of the telephone, and he frowned slightly. "Hello? Eliza, is something wrong?"

There was a whooshing sound on the other end – Elizaveta was probably in her bed, reading those novels again. But what was that sound? "Oliver, did – ahn… damnit! Did you put somethi-i-ing in the cupca – aje!"

Oliver's frown deepened. There was something wrong with Elizaveta, definitely. She was talking strangely. Even now, little mewls drifted out of the telephone; it sounded as if she were… no. No, that was not possible. Or was it?

"I-in yours? I made them the way I make all the others…" He glanced at the clock again. She would probably throw a fit at him for coming to check on her, but he would still try to check anyway.

"Nnh… I just… a moment ago I ate one – damned sheets… I started to feel hot and… and…" Her voice trailed off, and for a moment Oliver thought she hung up. Then it hit him. He'd given her Francis's cupcakes instead of hers.

Fuck.

Now she was most probably overdosed with aphrodisiac and ho-… oh, God. God no. He shouldn't be thinking like that. They were nothing except friends in her sight, he was pretty sure, and here he was, having certain fantasies about pounding her into the mattress while she screamed out his name and begged for more. Fucking hell.

The British demon winced slightly at the almost-pained sounds drifting through the earpiece. What had he done…? Elizaveta would probably hate him forever and never ever ever ever get cupcakes again. The thought alone made him cringe and shake his head furiously. No. Do not think like that.

"H-hey, Elizaveta, I'm coming over, alright? I am going to see if there's anything I can do f-for you…" He mumbled at last, and was met with a shaky 'please' from the other end. Oliver couldn't help the shivers that ran up his spine at that. It was as if she were begging for him to – oh…

-Timeskip-

When Oliver arrived at Eliza's house, he was greeted by a red faced, panting, sweating Hungarian Siren. "A-are you alright, Elizaveta?" He bit his lip, twisting the fabric of his shirt in sweaty palms. Of course not. She was fucking turned on by his stupid mistake and he was going to try to fix it.

How the fuck do I do that?!

"Ahn… It depends on how alright you would call this." She managed, and stepped aside to make room for Oliver. He breezed past, attempting to look nonchalant but failing miserably. "It's good and bad in a way?"

He tried, and the Hungarian nodded. "Je. Do you… wish for anything?" She gestured toward the kitchen counter with what appeared to be a steady hand, but Oliver could see the tremors that ran through her. "I only came here to help."

His voice came out feebly, almost croaky. It sounded as if he'd swallowed a piece of sandpaper, perhaps. Elizaveta sat down on the chair across from him, chuckling weakly. "I wonder how you would do that, Oliver dearest, because I don't think there's an anti – mph!?"

Oliver had lunged forward and captured Elizaveta's lips in a sloppy kiss. That last sentence and he couldn't hold back anymore. She shuddered and bucked her hips upward to meet his, probably unintentional, but arousing nonetheless.

No more screwing around – or actually, a lot of screwing, if he was really going to do this. Elizaveta's salt-water-beaten hand had found its way under his shirt and was tracing patterns on his back at the moment. Yes, he'd do this for sure.

He hooked his arms around Elizaveta's midsection and pulled her up, and together they went, stumbling toward a more comfortable place. Elizaveta pulled away, gasping for air, and kicked open the door to her bedroom. "We-we're really doing this?" She panted, and Oliver nodded, finding her neck and nipping it several times.

It was dark inside her bedroom, and Oliver had to grope about quite a bit, eliciting breathy moans from the other one. "We're doing this." He replied, giving a surprised gasp when he was towed over to the bed and kissed again.

This time he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, nibbling on her bottom lip. She granted him entrance almost immediately, and Oliver was sorry because she was only doing this because of the effects of the aphrodisiac.

After a moment or two of messy, almost mindless kissing, Oliver broke away once again. "Are you sure you want this?" He asked, suddenly feeling a little chicken when she nodded. "I-I do." She murmured. Oliver couldn't help but moan as she drew a line from his left shoulder to his waist.

The fabrics separating them were hurriedly torn away, leaving them panting and bare. Oliver was starting to feel even more hesitant about this whole thing, but that hesitancy was forgotten when Elizaveta pushed herself up and began kissing her way down his chest.

The Brit let another moan out, but leant back and away from her. "Don't, I'm not the one that's aphrodisiac-ed, you are. Let me take care of you."

That said, he pushed her down onto the damp sheets and kissed her once more before pushing into her. She gasped and closed her eyes, pulling him closer by wrapping her legs around Oliver's midsection. Oliver let out a gasp of his own, pausing once again to press a kiss to her forehead.

"You okay?" He asked, and she nodded. "Y-yes, fine, just… goddamnit." At this, Oliver rolled his hips forward, slowly at first, but picking up speed as he went. Little moans and cries, light tugs on the other's hair, the speeding up of Oliver's thrusts.

And at last, with a cry and a pant, they came, and Elizaveta fell back onto the bed, murmuring something about not being able to walk the next morning. Oliver pressed a couple of kisses to her temples and lay down beside her, keeping his eyes open long enough to let the beautiful picture that was Elizaveta sink in.

Beautiful indeed. Let's hope she didn't hate him forever after this.

Fin.

dP – I told you I couldn't write smut despite this being a smutfic but you read it all the way to the end you little bitch.

No.

I love you for reading this.

Spasiba!