Iceland had dressed and acted like a boy for most of History. At first, the other Nordics brushed it off, assuming that their little sister simply wanted to be included in the sausage fest that was the rest of Europe. However, as Iceland aged it became apparent that there was more to their fashion choices than met the eye.

By 15 Iceland had made it clear that he was not a girl. He threw fits when Norway asked him to wear dresses to balls, refused to eat dinner when the other Nordics slipped and called him 'sister', bound his chest tight with rags even when, to his brothers horror, his ribs broke from the pressure of the cloth, and boldly claimed that he was 'more of a man then Denmark could ever be'. As the 17th century dwindled on the older Nordics realized that the only solution to these problems was acceptance. They worked hard to be supportive, making sure to refer to Iceland as a boy, hiding his assigned gender from the other nations, providing him with men's clothing when needed, but even with his family behind him, it was clear that Iceland was floundering. He had no friends who shared his experiences and no vocabulary to describe himself. This fact left him feeling isolated and alone, and left the rest of the Nordics feeling frustrated and guilty at their inability to care for their youngest brother.

But luckily for all of them, this problem worked itself out about halfway through the 19th century when Iceland was finally gifted with a word he'd been searching for for decades.

"Transsexual," he announced, slamming his hands down flat on the dining table, "that's the word."

"The word for what?" Finland asked the rest of the Nordics looked up from their coffee.

"For people like me. For people who have one set of parts, but feel like they should have the other."

The other Nordics all nodded, glad that Iceland finally had a word to describe himself.

About two decades later, during a conversation about gender equality, the older four learned a new term.

"You must have some opinions Ice," Denmark commented, "I mean you are transsexual."

"Dan!" Norway scolded, "you can't just say thing like that!"

Iceland ignored both of them, and instead mumbled out a single word.

"Transgender."

"Huh?"

"You shouldn't say transexual anymore, you should say transgender. It's a more accurate term."

"Oh alright."

So the older Nordics corrected their terminology and moved on with life.

As the world moved into the 21st century, Iceland went on hormone replacement therapy. His voice deepened, his muscles grew, and as his body changed he became more comfortable with himself. It was clear to his brothers as his confidence grew, that is was what Iceland needed to be happy, and it made them all incredibly glad that they now lived in a time where he could be himself. Even if that meant hiding a few things from the other nations.

****America's house, modern day****

The music thumped through the crowded house erratically. The air smelled like booze and weed, the floor was covered in a slimy cocktail of spilled drinks and there, in the middle of it all, was Iceland. Iceland, who was drunk on Kentucky bourbon and in the middle of a heavy petting session with the United States of America.

Tomorrow morning Iceland would insist that he never did things like this. He would claim that he wasn't thinking straight, that he was a good kid who only went to parties once in a blue moon and who really just liked to read, knit and keep out of trouble. Tomorrow morning America would believe him because Iceland was a good kid who loved books and knitting and they had both been too drunk for reason. But tonight- tonight Iceland was brave on too many drinks and he was straddling a superpower on top of a pool table

"Ice," Alfred moned, flipping them around so he was on top, "You're real hot."

He leaned down and gave the younger man's neck a series of wet, slobbery kisses, before drunkenly fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. The other people in the room didn't notice, they were all to sloshed, too stoned, or too involved in their own make-out sessions to care.

"Takk," Iceland mumbled, carding his fingers through the other nations hair in a way that seemed more urgent than intimate, "you are too."

America gave him a lustful smirk before reaching his hands down Iceland's skinny jeans to grope at him.

"Hey man, where's your dick?" America asked after a few seconds, looking up at his bedmate with confusion.

"I sold it to a sea witch for a cool rock."

America snorted, "that's one hell of a story bro."

"Yeah, well so's bigfoot, and you believe in him. Now stop stalling already and fuck me."

The supper power laughed and unzipped his pants, "Can do."

Iceland woke up with a terrible hangover and chalk dust in places it shouldn't be. He took a few minutes to soothe the headache that was pounding in his forehead, and then slowly opened his eyes to look around. The room was covered in passed out nations. There were clothes strewn across the floor, hickies strewn across his chest, and he was lying naked on top of a pool table with a bomber jacket strategically placed over his groin. America was nowhere in sight.

Iceland rolled off the pool table with a groan and began to look around for his clothing. He found his pants and chest binder and pulled them both on. He found his shirt too, but it was drenched with an unknown liquid, so he decided to leave it there.

Checking to make sure his phone and wallet were still in his pants pocket and deciding that he had enough clothes on to go into the outside world, Iceland made his way towards the door.

He was halfway there when he was interrupted by a mug of hot coffee being shoved into his hand and a firm hand on his shoulder. Iceland turned around to see who had stopped him only to come face to face with a shirtless America

"Mornin'," America said, pushing the cup of coffee further into Iceland's grip.

"Oh..uh, yeah. Good morning," he replied nervously.

"I know you're on your way out the door," America said, taking a sip of his own coffee, "but before you go I just wanted to say, I won't go telling people you're trans. I know people think I'm kind of a blabbermouth, but your secrets safe with me, so don't go worrying that I'll out you or anything."

Iceland nodded at the statement, "Thank you, I appreciate that."

He really did too. He hadn't been thinking about it at the moment, but a few hours from now, once his hangover cleared up, he probably would have been an anxious mess over the possibility of America outing him.

"Course dude, no problem," America said nonchalantly. Then, with that conversation out of the way he smiled a the other boy cheekily, "So...you do that sort of thing often or am I special?"

Iceland just blushed.

AN: Woop! First story on this account.

Anyways, just so we're all clear, there will be mpreg in this story. Like the guy who's getting pregnant is a trans guy, but it's still male pregnancy so if you're not into that this story might not be for you. I thought I should let y'all know before anyone gets invested.

Anywhoo, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Reviews are always appreciated!