Scared and Reckless

by Dreamcatcher38

After a forced divorce with Austria at the end of the war, Hungary runs from Russia into the arms of the one person who's always been there for her, her Gilbert. But having treated her childhood love terribly during her marriage, she has to prove to him she really cares. Will her guardian angel man up and save her? Or will he turn her away? PruHun, slight AusHun at the beginning.

HEY AWESOME PEOPLES. READ THE FREAKING ATTN. IT'S KINDA IMPORTANT, OTHERWISE I WOULDN'T WRITE IT, KAY?

Hey PruHun fans, here's a little one-shot bordering on kink for you, but isn't that always the way with Prussia? This is a sequel to my AusHun one-shot "It Can Wait Until Morning." Sorry to some of you for the wait, my hard drive melted on me and I lost the entire story. It was only salvaged through bits and pieces IM-ed to a friend. Thank you Kar-Kar93.

WARNING. While it never goes into detail and is never outrightly spoken of, sex is implied. And if you can't handle it, don't read it. That's why I'm warning you here. I hate spontaneous kink, and I tried my best to keep it as innocent as I could. Nothing outrightly described can't handle the T rating, and the rest is your own imagination. I can't control that.

This fanfiction is part of a larger "Choose Your Own Adventure" style story called "HetaVenture" on another site. But this section can stand alone on it's own. Please don't mind the OC. I promise he's secretly canon, but that'd be spoilers for the "HetaVenture."

Title: Scared and Reckless

Summary: After a forced divorce with Austria at the end of the war, Hungary runs from Russia into the arms of the one person who's always been there for her, her Gilbert. But having treated her childhood love terribly during her marriage, she has to prove to him she really cares. Will her guardian angel man up and save her? Or will he turn her away?

I hope you enjoy! And hang in there until the end, there was a bit unresolved in the first fic. I promise it will get to the PruHun action! Translations at the end.

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She ran. She ran as fast as her bare feet would take her through the rough underbrush, winding their familiar path through the trees, her skirts hiked up past her knees to avoid getting caught in the low branches. Her footfalls echoed hollowly through the forest like a heartbeat in time with her own, but clashing with the sound of her loud sobs that broke the evening hush.

Her heart ached more than any battle scar she had ever received, and perhaps, in a way, this would be the worst she would ever bear, a mark of her adventures, loves, and fights. God, she loved him. Why couldn't they see that?

The war had ended, and she realized for the first time that she was thankful for that. Her body was bruised and sore from all the lives lost, but her heart ached stronger for the one life now lost to her and her alone. They had taken her, tore her from his careful arms despite his protest and given her to Russia of all people.

So she ran.

She knew not where, but anywhere was better than the life crushing arms of the Russian psychopath, anywhere was better now that she wasn't wrapped in the gentle, protective arms of her Roderich, her Austria.

When she broke the treeline into the meadow, she collapsed to the ground and let her tears overtake her, skittering across the pond in front of her as they streamed down her careful face. She couldn't remember the last time she cried like this, if she ever had.

"No!" she cried out in heartbreak, curling in on herself in the long meadow grass, burying her face into her tangled chestnut hair, letting her sobs echo around the meadow. She clutched at her chest. "NO!"

She loved him, all of him, his dark, always slightly windswept hair, his regal cheekbones, his slender body and his pianist fingers. She loved the way he talked, the way he chose his words and how he knew how to speak without them, speak with his eyes, his touch, his kisses, his music. God, his music.

She held the thought of him tight in her memory, and scarcely breathed, as if too many breaths ticked on the time too far and she would forget, forget him. Forget the man she had grown to love. The man she still loved. The man they took from her.

Angry, she silently wished she had grabbed her sword and bow as she bolted out the mansion, as her fury ran hot in her blood, and she longed to kill something, kill many things.

Let's just go kill something already, and I'll feel better, she remembered, oh, from so long ago, but the voice rang in her head and through the meadow as if it were yesterday. His voice. But not her Austria's, no, the voice was rougher and louder, thrown about haphazardly at whoever would hear it. It was a friend's voice, a friend she had loved once, or so she had thought. Why was she thinking of Prussia? Why was she thinking of Prussia, of all people, now? But there it was, plain as day, his handsome face on her mind.

She rolled onto her back, her tears stilling as she fought with her inner turmoil. She wanted him, Prussia, right now. She wanted to stand up, get up, and run to him with reckless abandon. But why? She had just lost her husband, the thought bringing tears again to her eyes, but she wanted her childhood friend, her childhood love.

But she had scarcely spoken to him in years, not at least civilly. He had been around, he was always around, with his crimson eyes and snow white hair that startled her still. But he knew he was not welcome, her frying pan made sure that message was clear, and yet he always came back. He was always there when she needed someone, someone other than Austria to rant to, to run away from the world with for a moment, to stop being a lady with. Always, of course, being sent off again with a swing of her pan. Gosh, she had been a terrible friend.

She had completely abandoned him when he changed. She was terrified and confused, unsure of what was happening and what was going on. And she ran to the only other person she knew. It seemed she was always running from something. Until now, she was still running from the fact that she had abandoned him, run away from him.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she still loved him too. No, she shooed away such thoughts by reflex, a habit from her marriage. It wasn't the first time that Prussia had doted on her thoughts, when he would come round with that ridiculous smirk of his on his face, the one that hadn't changed in the slightest, a part of him still from her past. He was all over-confidence and fool's bravery; yes, that was her Prussia, as well as strength, pride, and passion.

But sitting up, she quickly changed her thoughts to ones of Austria, which only broke her heart, and she screamed at the night sky. But she was a married woman after all…

And then it dawned on her. She had repressed her love for Prussia in exchange and respect for the care and devotion that Austria had attended her with. And while it was true, she had grown deeply in love with her Roderich, there was always the other half of her, that crazy, reckless, boyish half of her, that loved Gilbert Weillschmidt heedlessly and greedily.

But, the main realization was this. While it broke her heart to say it, she wasn't married anymore. And there was no guilt, no wrong in running to her Gilbert right now, confessing her undying love to him and melting her heartache away into his kiss… except, she didn't have his forgiveness for what she'd done to him. She nearly killed him when she had abandoned him, and while he had not abandoned her in turn, she saw no reason why he would still love her, not after what she'd done. Not after she had shown him that she thought him a monster for what he had become.

The leaves rustled as something broke through the treeline, and Hungary was startled from where she had been silently watching the fireflies over the pond, her gaze loosely on the middle distance. Quick to her feet, she turned and saw a small boy, breathing rapidly as if he had run. His eyes were a rich ocean blue, and Hungary immediately recognized him as the sorcerer who had visited her the night before. But what had startled her was the bandage around his head that now covered one of his innocent eyes and tangled his pale hair.

"Oh, my child," Hungary immediately started fussing, a maternal reflex she had developed as she got older. "What happened?"

"Did the spell work?" the child asked, between rushed breaths. "Something went wrong, didn't it? You're so sad. What happened?"

"No, no, kicsi," Hungary fought to smile for the child, wiping away what was left of her tears with her sleeve. "The spell was wonderful, köszönöm. It was perfect. There were other things that led to my sadness. Do not trouble yourself with them. Now what happened to you?"

Hungary gently stroked the bandage on his head as the child replied. "Well, you know, the fighting and stuff."

"Oh no," Hungary gasped. "I am so glad the war is over. Such a terrible thing should not happen to children like you."

"It's not much really," the child explained. They stood in silence for a time, partially out of respect, and partially from being lost in their own thoughts.

"What were you thinking about?" the child asked softly. "Before, when you were lying by the pond?"

Hungary's face fell slightly as she was reminded of her heartache and the mistakes of her past. The child shuffled nervously in front of her as she kept her voice to herself.

"A friend," she said finally. "A friend I need forgiveness from."

"The one with the white hair?" the child asked innocently.

Hungary looked at the boy in shock for a moment. "Yes, do you know him?"

The child nodded profusely. "I met him once, when I was younger. I helped him with something, but it didn't turn out very well. I kind of owe him, I suppose."

Thought of her Gil's white hair on her mind, she thought of an idea. "Then, perhaps you can help me with something."

"Alright!" the child replied, enthusiastic.

"Is there any way you know how you can make my hair white like my friend's hair is?" Hungary hesitantly asked.

"Why would you want that?" The child looked confused.

"It's a long story, kicsi," Hungary patted the child on the head as she paced past him. "I wouldn't want it to be white forever, but just for a day, or a night."

When Hungary turned to face the child, he looked thoughtful. "Yes, I think I can do that…"

"It would be incredibly helpful," Hungary added. "What do you need me to do?"

"Umm… Can you sit down?" the child asked. "You're a little bit taller than me."

Laughing darkly, thoughts of her broken marriage still in the back of her mind, she sat on the grass in front of the child. Placing his hands on top of her head, Hungary closed her eyes as the child began to chant.

"Erroribus sunt in utramque partem, saltus venti fregit in corde fila nix quid emendandum amissa pecunia pacem et noctis unum…" the child whispered.

Hungary felt the cool forest wind on her back and opened her eyes. She watched, perplexed for a moment, as thin strands of stark white hair waved at the corner of her vision. After a time, she pulled them down and stroked her hair softly with her fingers. So this is what it feels like, she thought, as her heart fell.

"Köszönöm," she whispered to the child with a hollow smile. She could almost feel the child smiling from ear to ear behind her.

"It should only last until tomorrow morning though," the child said nervously.

She turned to face the young sorcerer. "Then I think I have a friend I need to visit."

The child nodded, smiled, and bolted back into the forest.

Hungary sat in the meadow a while longer yet, pondering the decision she was about to make. Would Austria hate her for it? No, she thought. He had whispered Go, find him, with a broken voice in her ear as she was forcibly pulled from his side in the meeting room by Arthur and Alfred, screaming all the way. Before she had run. She knew she needed to find him. Prussia. Her Gilbert. Right now, she needed her childhood friend more than ever.

Standing, she brought the hem of her skirt up to her teeth and ripped it, carefully tearing away at the skirt until it fell no lower than her scarred and bruised knees, a long piece of fabric in her hand. Walking to the meadow's edge, she tied the piece of fabric to the branch of a tree, the first tree she had ever climbed with Gilbert, and it waved in the evening wind like a solemn promise.

Turning, she ran through the forest towards the arms she always thought of as home.

Stepping out of the forest into the streets of Berlin, or what was left of it, was terrifying. The roads were broken and cracked, the shops that lined them in ruins, and they were deserted and quiet, not a soul was out celebrating the end of the war. She walked silently past the occasional sad drunkard, and spotting a hat that lay lonely by the side of the road, she scooped it up and onto her head, hiding away her white locks beneath it. When she reached the strong oak doors of the German manor, it was just as likely she would meet Ludwig as she would meet her Gil. And if she wanted to get to Prussia, she could not afford to startle Germany.

The closer she got to the familiar place, the faster she walked until she was running down the dark streets, her heart beating with anticipation. With the war, and Austria keeping her as sheltered from fighting as was possible, it had been some time since she had seen Gilbert. It was only then that it dawned on her that he may not have fared as well as she had. Yet the thought only drove her faster, her heart aching at the thought of him injured worse than Austria had been.

With scarcely a hesitation, she banged loudly on the door, and could hear muffled German curses coming from behind it. There was a quiet pause, the night eerily still, until the door was thrown open to reveal a heavily bandaged Ludwig, leaning on the doorknob.

"Oh, my God," Hungary exclaimed, hands over her face. "Ludwig!"

"Verdammt, Hungary!" Ludwig almost shouted, his deep voice booming. "Get in here, what the hell are you doing?"

Stepping into the house, Ludwig quickly shut the door behind her, and Hungary fussed over his bandages.

"Ludwig! How could you let this happen to you?"

Germany's eyes were solemn when he spoke. "This is war, Erzsébet, do not act so surprised. Besides, my injuries are nothing compared to-"

Germany was interrupted by an ear splitting scream of pain, followed by a whispered, "G-germany."

"Feli!" Hungary gasped, and moved towards the source of the sound, the next room. But Germany stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. His jaw was locked, his teeth clenched as he turned his face away in regret and shook his head.

"I'll look after him in a minute," Germany whispered darkly, his voice full of regret. "Hungary, why are you here? You should be running, getting as far away from here as possible."

Hungary's face was serious when she faced him. "I need to see Gil."

Germany nodded, understanding. "Upstairs, room on the left. Just, be careful."

Hungary passed him a confused glance.

"Unlike you, not all of us were protected from the worst of this war," Germany explained, before turning and slowly making his way into the next room.

Eyes wide, Hungary sped up the steps, two at a time, grateful for her shortened dress. Stepping up to the door on the left, she could hear heavy, laboured breathing coming from behind it, and threw it open.

It revealed a familiar face propped up in bed, crimson eyes closed and scrunched in pain, slightly too long white hair sticking to his damp face. His chest was bare but for crisscrossed bloodstained bandages, and between them, Hungary could see the intricate pattern of scars not yet completely healed. Prussia's hand was on his side, and the moonlight through the windows was enough to see the blood ooze out from the bandage and drip between his fingers, even from Hungary's distance. Prussia grimaced, and Hungary gasped.

His eyes shot open, deep and red, and stared into hers, welling over with tears. For once, his emotions were plain on his face, a mix of embarrassment, pain, surprise, and longing.

"No, no, no, no!" Hungary shouted, her eyes streaming tears, marching towards the bed, her hands shaking. "I may have lost Austria but I'm not kibaszott losing you too, damn it!"

She reached forward and grabbed his hand off his side, and he winced, but grabbed her wrists to stop her, leaving bloody fingerprints on her arm. She shook, and tried to break from his grasp, but even fighting a weakened Prussia, her tears made her frail and even weaker.

"Lizzie, what der heilige Hölle happened to you?" Prussia asked, his eyes frantic as they raked over her. She could feel his grip loosen.

Breaking away, she said angrily, "The fucking war happened, you idiot, now let me help you!"

She reached forward and unwrapped the over soaked bandage from around his torso, and she saw Prussia's teeth clench as the wound opened to the air. It was a severely deep gash right below his ribcage, and it was bleeding profusely with no signs of stopping, blood as crimson as his eyes dripping down his side and staining the bed sheets.

"Damn it, Gil! Why do you do this to yourself?!" she complained, her voice breaking with tears as she quickly pressed a folded bandage to his side with one hand, and unrolled another bandage with the other. The folded bandage quickly soaked through with his blood.

Prussia didn't reply, his face paling, and she ripped open a large piece of gauze with her teeth and pressed it over the bandage. Carefully, she began to wrap the other bandage around him, tying it off on his other side. His breathing seized as she pulled on the knot, and he winced, but some of the colour slowly returned to his face. Her heart beat wildly as her fingers brushed his skin.

Her tears completely overtaking her, she collapsed on the bed next to him beating her fists into a pillow, her hands covered in his blood.

"Why, damn it?! Why?!" she screamed between her sobs.

"Shh…" Prussia whispered soothingly, grabbing a bucket of water from the table next to him, and gingerly taking hold of her hands, beginning to wash the blood off them. She simply lay there watching him, crying silently as he worked, her breath catching every so often at his touch. She could see his trademark smirk split across his face in the moonlight, and her heart raced. She wondered if he could feel it pulse through her hands. She hadn't thought he looked this beautiful since he had fought to defend her, all those years ago. Her eyes settled on the star shaped scar on his shoulder, a haunting memory of when her other love had pinned him there. It had worried her how dark Austria could be sometimes, but her Roderich was never anything but careful with her. She wondered if that would change now.

Placing the bucket aside, Prussia leaned back into the pillows, his face thoughtful and his haunting crimson eyes half lidded. Her tears still blurred her sight, but she let her eyes wander down him, around the muscles swelling under bandages, along his thin sides, up to the hollow at his throat between his collar bones. Her eyes wandered upwards to his face and studied his hard jaw line and angular cheekbones. His stark white hair almost glowed in the moonlight, and she was sure her heart stopped in awe. Something at the back of her mind was whispering that he was an angel.

She longed desperately to shuffle over and lay her head on his chest and just listen to his breathing and his heartbeat until it fell in time with her own, to feel his arms around her again, the careful weight of his hands on her waist, fitting like puzzle pieces into her curves. She had never forgotten the way it felt to have his hands on her. She wanted to kiss his split lips and beg his forgiveness. And she just wanted to lie there and cry away the pain.

But her dreams were interrupted when Prussia asked, "Lizzie, what are you doing here?"

She sat up, and wiped some of the tears from her eyes with her now clean hands.

"Do you know what happened after the war ended?" Hungary asked, watching his reaction to her words. He faked disinterest poorly, she knew he was doting on her every word. "Politically, I mean."

Prussia just shook his head, looking away, and the profile he cast in the dark begged her to just leap at him and kiss him already. She had to dig her fingers into the bed sheets to stop herself.

"West knows, but he's being not awesome and won't tell me. Keeps saying it's for my own good," Prussia explained. "Who's older here?"

Hungary laughed hollowly, still deeply upset, and turned her gaze to the awkward lumps his feet made under the smooth sheets. She couldn't look at him as she said it.

"Well, to put it simply, I sort of belong to Russia now," she explained. "And… I'm not married anymore."

She didn't look up him as her heart fell and she didn't cry, her tears long since spent. She clutched at her chest and choked back the empty sobs. She could feel him turn his eyes on her and study her. He didn't say a word, simply waited for her to finish.

"And," she continued, hesitantly lifting her hand up and removing the hat from her head. Her now bright white locks tumbled down around her face. Prussia gasped, his crimson eyes wider than she'd ever seen them, and he cut her off.

"Scheiße, Lizzie!" Prussia swore, cradling his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth. He growled and punched the mattress, but instantly regretted the action, cradling his bandaged hand. "Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße, not you too! No, not you."

"I'm sorry," Hungary explained, standing and walking away from the bed, her back to him. She wanted to crawl into the corner and hide, melt into the dark walls. "I treated you terribly, and have been a horrible friend. I should never have abandoned you because I was scared. I know that now. And I couldn't think of any other way to prove it."

Prussia looked at her, and his eyes full of hurt, he said, "Lizzie, this is not awesome! Why would you do this!? Now you're stuck like me forever."

"There are worse things," she said, turning to meet his eyes, not wanting to tell him the change was only for the night. "And… Gilbert, I love you, all of you. There is nothing and no one I want more right now. There's a part of my heart that's keeping me sane right now through this, through everything that's just blown up in my life, and it's because it belongs to you. It's safe, I'm safe, because of you." They held each other's gaze as a cool breeze ruffled the curtains. She watched his face with anticipation, searching every corner for some sign, some show of forgiveness, or permission. The thought sent shivers down her spine, though that might have just been the breeze.

He closed his eyes and sighed, throwing off his bed sheets and standing up out of bed. Hungary noticed he was wearing nothing more than a pair of black and white striped shorts, and she felt slightly embarrassed, feeling the flush creeping into her cheeks. Prussia walked around the bed, leaning heavily on the bedposts, his thighs wrapped tightly in more bandages, and Hungary could see from the stains where the gashes fell on his legs. She quickly rushed to his side, and his trademark smirk lightened his face. Snaking his hands around her waist, he pressed his forehead to hers and breathed deeply. She could feel his heart racing through the pulse in his head. Her breath caught and she rested her hands on his arms, gently stroking the bandages.

"You didn't have to prove it to me," he whispered to her, almost seductively, but she could have been imagining it. "You never had to. I know nothing in this world more awesome than you, Lizzie. Ich liebe dich. Ich werde dich immer lieben. Always."

He opened his crimson eyes, and staring into their depths, she lost herself, her heart racing. On the edge of her vision she saw his lips part and redden under his racing pulse. She couldn't hold back any longer. The crazy unladylike half of her wanted him badly.

"Szeretlek, Gilbert. Bazd, szeretlek, szeretlek, szeretlek," she sighed, wrapping her hands around his neck, pulling him into her and kissing him. It was deep and greedy, emotions locked up for too long running wild. She was conscious of his hands twisting in the fabric of her dress at her hips, and she leaned into him. His lips were bitter with the taste of beer and the sharp tang of blood. Slipping her hands down to his chest as he broke away, she could feel the taut muscles beneath the bandages. His breathing was ragged and uneven and butterflies fluttered in her chest as she felt the rise and fall of his chest below her fingers. She absentmindedly rubbed the slight blush in his cheeks with her thumb as she drowned in his eyes.

"Oh, Lizzie," Prussia breathed as he leaned into her and met her lips again, forceful with her like he always had been.

She parted her lips slightly, and breathed, "Gil," before running her tongue teasingly along his lip.

She could feel him smirk beneath her tongue, and his lips parting in turn, their tongues fought for dominance like they used to fight as children. His hand slipped down off her hip and brushed down the side of her thigh, sending shivers along her spine, and he won dominance.

Giving in, she ran her hands down his torso and rested them on his hips, tucking her thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. She could feel him tremble under her touch, and she smiled under his lips. Every fiber of her being was invested in him, in this, her worries and heartache melting away. His one hand ran up her side and gripped her ribcage, while the other gathered her dress in his fist at her hip. She could feel the cool breeze from the window graze her exposed skin and she shuddered. Suddenly Prussia released her and crossed the room, leaning his head and fists against the far wall.

A little hurt and confused, Hungary whispered, "Gil..." trailing off the unspoken question.

"Verdammt, what the hell am I doing? You're fucking married!" Gilbert shouted as he knotted his fingers in his hair, the white almost brown with dirt and blood.

"Not anymore," Hungry breathed, and surprised herself with the confidence with which she said that statement.

Sighing and dropping his arms, Prussia turned to face her. "But you still love the verdammt loser, don't you?" Even though he tried to hide it, Hungary could read the pain in his eyes like a book.

Hungary sighed in turn, and turned her face away in defeat. "Yes," she admitted.

"Then what, for the love of God, do you think you're doing?" He cried, his voice breaking slightly, as if he fought desperately to utter the words.

It was quiet for a moment, until Hungary tucked a lock of her snow white hair behind her ear and looked him in his crimson eyes with all the ferocity she had, a ferocity kept hidden for a long time now. She could almost see delight leap into Prussia's features, but he fought to keep his countenance.

"Yes, I've come to love Roderich. He's careful and calculated and predictable, yes, but he cares for me, the careful, calculated, girlish side of me. A side of me you blatantly refused to accept existed," Hungary explained.

Prussia rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Hungary continued, taking a step closer to the pale face she loved as a child, and she still loved now. "They took that from me, Weillschmidt, ripped that side of me from my heart, destroyed it, burned it, and tried to break me. But it can never work, because my heart belongs to another, to the... to the guardian angel, yes, who's never left my side for a minute."

Hungary watched as Prussia's eyes widened slightly, and she closed the gap between them, continuing to stare him in the face with fire in her eyes. "Roderich is not you, Gilbert Weillschmidt. He doesn't have your... your charm, your chaos, your passion, your foolish bravery, or your pride. He doesn't understand the anger, the rage, the raw emotion the way you do."

Prussia made to speak, but Hungary put a finger to his lips, silencing him as he looked bewildered and slightly terrified back at her.
"What's left now is not the careful, ladylike Erzsé, no. What's left is a heartbroken, terrified, reckless Lizzie running to the only átkozott person left in her hülye life. And right now, she doesn't give a damn about Roderich. Right now she wants the boy she loved as a child and still loves now. And if you're going to stand in my way, then God help you Weillschmidt. I need my Gil, and I need him to man up and save me, because I'm more scared than I've ever been in my life."

Hungary's voice broke on the last few lines, and her finger slipped from his lips. She turned to leave, but Prussia caught her arm and whirled her back around.

"There's my Lizzie..." he breathed. "My Lizzie with the fire in her eyes, who doesn't give a damn what that prissy, Austria, or the awesome me, or anyone thinks. She's very well going to have her way, and nothing in this world can stop her. There's the fearless Lizzie I fell in love with all those years ago." His trademark smirk split across his face as he leaned his forehead against hers, closing his red eyes. "Who was I to imagine I'd ever get her back? Yet, here she is, plain as day, in the flesh."

Hungary watched as his face fell for a minute, and his eyes flicked to the side as if considering something. She waited patiently, resting her hands on the rough bandages across his chest, her fingers stroking the star shaped scar on his shoulder. He sighed and shook his head, releasing her arm to run his fingers through his hair. When he stepped away, his back to her, she assumed she wasn't wanted and made to leave again. But as she reached the doorway, his voice stopped her.

"And, I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but, if it's alright with her, the awesome me would like to have his way with her." He turned to look at her expectantly.

Hungary smirked as she looked at him over her shoulder. Turning, she marched up to him and punched him in the arm, hard, though she knew he would scarcely feel it.

"Ow! What the hölle was that for?" Prussia asked incredulously.

"That was for being obscene," Hungary explained, a mischievous smirk cut across her face. "Be glad I didn't use my frying pan. And this," she slammed him against one of the bed posts, her hands on his shoulders pinning him there. "This is your answer."

Hungary brought her lips up to meet his, and kissed him hungrily, relishing in the metallic taste of war, the tang of blood, and the bitterness of beer that clung to him. Prussia pushed her off him with ease and picking her up, tossed her on the bed as she screeched and giggled.

"As you wish, my lady," Prussia said, mock bowing to her as she reached up and pulled him onto the bed after her.

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Sorry, could help going a little Princess Bride at the end there... Here's your translations:

Hungarian

kicsi - little one
köszönöm - thank you
kibaszott - fucking
Szeretlek - I love you
Bazd - fuck
átkozott - damn
hülye - stupid

German

Verdammt - damn
der heilige Hölle - the holy hell
Scheiße - shit
Ich liebe dich - I love you
Ich werde dich immer lieben - I will always love you
hölle - hell

Hope you enjoyed the story! This about wraps up all the Prussia, Austria, and Hungary I've planned so far for the HetaVenture except for cameos. "It Can Wait Until Morning (AusHun)," "Scared and Reckless (PruHun)," and "Be Careful What You Wish For (childhood!PruHun)" are the three stories. Next on deck is Spamano.

Thanks for any reviews and follows. They give me the will to finish the HetaVenture after a hard drive meltdown midway through this one.