(I've recently fallen in love with SuFin, with all the Nordics really. Hetalia in general too. Hence, this.
No warnings besides some slight language, kissing mentions, and implied themes, but really it's easy to miss. I don't own anything, and please remember that this is based on characters, not motivated politically.
Just a nice little SuFin drabble-esque story. Please enjoy)
It wasn't your first impression of the two, the words playful or loving. It wasn't your second, or even third. Because Sweden and Finland's relationship didn't count as normal, not with their personalities. Their relationship was one of quiet conversations that led nowhere, of occasional one-sided intimidation by the Swede. It was Finland chattering on, Sweden's nose buried in a book. It was Sweden mending a tear in a coat at the table while Finland made dinner. It was silent hours and unspoken communication. Odd couple, really.
But if you looked, if you payed attention, it wasn't odd or strained.
Quiet conversations were often carried out with fingers intertwined under the table, and intimidation was used to keep Finland out of trouble. Yes, Finland could talk Sweden's ear off, but if you looked you could see his smile at the other country despite the book; if you were really lucky you could catch him gruffly pulling the smaller man into a one armed hug by the shoulders, their lips catching each other's. The mending and cooking were often accompanied by humming, by shared smiles (rare from Sweden) and light teasing from the taller about the shorter's apron- reciprocated by the stealing of glasses that half the time wound up in a kiss that was only interrupted when the soup was burning, dammit Berwald. It was often silent and often strangely detached to the casual observer, but it couldn't be called heartless.
And then there was Sealand, who instead of the customary 'big brother' made them into papa- Berwald- and mama- Tino- ignoring all protests about masculinity. Who was an impossible rascal but one who meant well and deep-down adored them. Who brought back (after taking away) the days when they were alone the days when Berwald was bored, Tino had better be ready for some one-on-one time, minus clothing. Who got them used to kissing things better and going absolutely crazy with worry when he had a fever and reminding the boy that he still had quite a bit of growing up to do. Who didn't like to be wrong or be told no, who stood his ground, who Berwald couldn't ever manage to terrify. Who incurred Tino's own unique punishment when his 'mama' found out he'd been searching how babies came about. Who insisted that yes, he was a nation, and not even Uncle Denmark's brand of persuasion (the kind involving sharp implements) could change his mind. Who called Britain 'Jerkland' and 'Meanie' whenever possible, despite admitting to papa and mama that he missed him one teary night.
And in the midst of looking after the fiercely independent boy, both aware that they were getting older- not physically or mentally, but perhaps a bit more mature- there were still light touches exchanged, looks shared. Still nights spend tangled up in each other, saying nothing and everything at once. Still random kisses and spur-of-the moment personal times. Still jokes about soup and aprons and needlework, accompanied by burning food when they forgot their surroundings.
It was an odd relationship, a heartless autonomous one by all normal standards, but for them? For them it was perfect.