I don't own Hetalia
Hungary looked at the Guy with some admiration; Europe really had pulled out all the stops this year. The celebration on November the Fifth had been adopted by all the nations in Europe from England, and they enjoyed creating and burning the Guy immensely, followed by an outrageous firework display designed by China himself.
The Guy was huge, over twenty feet tall, and twelve feet wide. As she looked closer, she smiled as she saw the different things people had put on. The old mahogany furniture, that was clearly England. The beech planks were obviously Sweden, and she could see all her old dresses that no longer fitted her sewn together to create clothing.
However, something caught her eye and she looked up - before bursting into laughter.
Forming the nose of the Guy, was a certain book by Stephenie Meyer.
"I hope you don't expect me to act like ze boy in zat... zing, Erzsébet." A dangerous voice slid into her ear, but despite his sudden appearance, she wasn't frightened.
"Oh," she mocked, "didn't you like it, Dumitru? I leant it to you because I thought you might be able to relate."
She heard him scoff, and some of his strawberry blond hair appeared in her vision. She turned her head to the left, and found herself staring into bright red eyes. Unlike that idiot Prussia, these orbs seemed to draw her in, and she felt herself melting into his taller form which was now pressed against her back.
"Hm, I should zink not. I found the book on a whole to be voefully..."
His nose trailed a path from her chin to her left temple, leaving her speechless. When his teeth pressed themselves gently to the delicate skin of her neck, she sucked in a deep breath and her eyelids fluttered shut. The colour in his irises flashed as he whispered against her pulse.
"Inaccurate."
He looked down at her pulsing neck with some hesitation and a lot of thirst.
She looked up at him with frustration, and began to tap the bedsheets.
"Are you going to do it, Dumitru, or do you need a straw?"
He glared at her. "Patience, Erzsébet. This izn't something to be undertaken lightly."
She huffed and glared right back.
"I can handle it."
He cocked his eyebrow. "Can you?"
"I now call this meeting to order!" England called imperiously, raising his hand in the air. The atmosphere was tense, the three cloaked figures who stood in a triangle only emphasising the sense of mysteriousness.
The silence continued, and England coughed.
"Anyway..." He paused, before the room lightened as he snapped his fingers. The many candles burst into life, revealing a large cushion at the feet of each person.
A smile grew on his face. Almost in unison, they pulled off their cloaks and laid them to the side of the fire (how England had managed to build an open fire in his basement was a puzzle to all, especially America). They all then sat down on the cushions comfortably, with practice.
England looked around at the other blonds in question, now easily able to see their individual features.
"How have you all been?" Norway was the first to answer, scoffing almost immediately.
"I have been well, Arthur, unless you count being mauled by a fleskepanne!" He ended with a snap.
A half-hearted cackle echoed, and both turned to Romania, one angrily and one curiously.
"Vat do you vant ze man to do, Nikolas?" Romania continued to snigger - quite pitifully compared to usual - ignoring the deathly glare he was being sent by the Norwegian, and the concerned one by the Englishman. "You vant him, zen you don't. You vant him, zen you don't. I feel sorry for him, as he must have quite ze case of blue-"
"Alright that's enough!" England intervened, desperate to stop the first meeting in a month from ending in bloodshed within minutes. It had happened before.
Norway snorted and folded his arms, looking away. England then turned decidedly to Romania. There was something wrong with him. And England was sure he could pinpoint what.
"How are you coping, Dumitru?"
The strawberry blond froze for a moment. He knew shouldn't have came. But these meetings were compulsory, and he couldn't have stayed there...
He then looked away, and mumbled.
"Fine."
England knew the signs, and frowned. "Dumitru..."
The usually humorous blond refused to look him in the eye. "Fine!"
Norway abruptly slammed his fist down on the concrete floor, his magically increased strength causing a large bang to erupt, instead of the muted thud it should have been.
His voice returned to its quiet murmur as he spoke. "Human or nation?"
Romania looked down, suddenly feeling the shame he had been suppressing. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered him, but these were his closest friends (showed how sad his social life was, didn't it?). His guilt was also beginning to swallow him, the condition he had left her in, no matter how willing - oh, she knew. She had always know, the first to know, and the first to accept it - she had been last night, was horrific. She had been sleeping when he slipped into the night, unable to look at her. It didn't matter if she was alright with it, he should never have let loose. She deserved better, so much better than him - a man who was slave to his basic instincts. Who couldn't even control himself around the woman he knew he loved.
It was worse when he thought back, and remembered the exquisite taste of her, and how easily he could drain her dry. She was so irresistible, and that made him feel so sickened.
"... Nation." Both other men sucked in a surprised breath at this, and exchanged an unreadable look with each other, one Romania didn't see. This was an odd turn of events. Never before had they had to deal with Romania biting a nation. Really, all they had to concern themselves with was the humans the blond had a habit of sucking dry - and ensuring he had disposed of the bodies correctly (read: secretly).
They only asked 'nation' out of the need to cover all the possible bases. Because out of all the nations - as far as they knew - they were the only ones who knew of Romania's little drinking problem (as they referred to it in public). Having experience in dealing with mystical creatures, they were the only ones who could truly understand and help him.
And he had kept to himself well, only interacting with people when necessary, so he had been gradually gaining good control. Norway and England had been optimistic that he would be completely safe by the end of the next thirty years (they had only found out around a century ago; and it was a slow process). That he would be able to hide it without suspicion.
But now, things had changed. Nations couldn't be killed, which meant they could heal, which meant they could talk.
England was the one who asked.
"Who?"
"I didn't mean it!"
"WHO?"
"I can't tell you!"
"Who. Was. It?"
"Nu!"
Hungary shivered and moaned in pain as she awoke.
The bed was empty, and she felt cold; inside and out.
Her whole body ached, her skin felt shrivelled and dry.
Most of all, her neck felt like someone had viciously dug into it with a serrated knife.
A tear ran down her cheek as she tried to move, a terrified gasp escaping when she couldn't.
She felt used, but such a thing didn't match up with the man she loved. She was so confused.
"I can handle it."
"Can you?"
'... No.'
'Dumitru... where are you...?'
Four hours later, she woke once more after crying herself into a troubled and restless sleep. The pain in her neck was to her bones and carried an imprinted sense of nausea; she had to resist the unbearable urge to wretch.
However, this isn't what had woke her.
No, it was the shaking of the mattress, and the foreign warmth of a body lying next to her. She was barely able to turn her head, but after biting her lip hard, she faced her companion.
"I am so sorry, Erzsébet." The accent was familiar, and her next breath was shuddering in an attempt to withhold the instinctive fear.
She watched as his crimson eyes - much closer than she had presumed opened and bored into her own, trying in vain to see anything which might give away how she was feeling. She could smell the blood which stained the pillowcase and part of the sheets, but it didn't seem to affect him. He wasn't hungry any more.
"Dumitru." Her voice was quiet and rasping, but he seized her hand and squeezed gently.
"Te iubesc, so much," he paused for a moment, before the floodgates opened. "I should never have vent along with it! How stupid! Of course you couldn't handle it! Imbecil! And now you are hurt, and it is all my fault. I'm so sorry!"
She flinched when he buried his face into her chest, yet only out of the sudden movement, not because of his proximity.
She knew that last night she had been devastated and alone, terrified and lost. She had felt hurt, but more so by his absence. But he was here - he had come back. All of the growing bitterness and dislike melted away into dust.
Despite the fact she could hardly move, that she was completely unable to defend herself, she felt no fear. Despite the fact he was the one to hurt her, to inflict such damage upon her, she still felt safe in his presence - like nothing else could touch her. He wouldn't let them.
She wondered, as her other hand finally regained some mobility and began to stroke his messy blond hair, if this made her more than a little insane.
Probably, but she didn't care.
She had accepted this man for everything he was. Erzsébet knew herself to be many things, but a bigot was not one of them. She loved him - all of him, and that included the parts that hungered for her in a way that wasn't very pleasant. She was the one who had instigated things last night, and therefore it was her fault.
She knew where the blame lied, and it most certainly wasn't with him.
Anyway, she had been injured worse in past battles, and in those times she hadn't been downed for longer than two days, three maximum. She wasn't a weak woman. She would survive.
Her quiet voice grew in volume slightly, and her fingers ran intimately through his warm hair.
"I'll be alright, Dumitru, I'll be fine. It's okay, Dumitru."
She freed her other hand from him and cupped his face, before slowly pulling him up towards her. His body lay to her left, yet when she stopped pulling, his hands were on either side of her head, holding up his upper body. She could see his eyes were slightly red, as if he had been trying to stop himself crying, and very nearly - but not quite - succeeding.
Ignoring the sharp stabbing feeling, she pulled his face to her own, and sighed loudly when his lips touched hers, albeit to begin with unwillingly. They moved slowly together, both careful of her wound but unable to stop the pulling sensation between them. She let her lips persuade him, and she could tell when she finally won him over.
His hands slipped up her nightgown, and she didn't protest as things progressed the slowest they ever had, yet losing none of the passion they both shared.
However, everything must come to an end, and she ended up sprawled out naked with Dumitru between her legs, sleeping with his head on her bare neck (the untainted side), her own sticky hand clutching him to her as she breathed heavily. She stared dazedly at the closed curtains as she felt her skin begin to stitch itself together. By the next morning, she would be completely healed, and the only remnants of the event would be in their memories.
Her mouth touched his ear, and she whispered into his dreams.
"Mindig szeretni foglak."
And she would.
No matter what, she would endure this, to be with him.
Second Hallowe'en fic! I'm on fire!
Adapted from the mini-series in my fic Unforgettable, with an extra bit added on and some of the text changed. I've suddenly grown a much bigger liking for this pairing, and I couldn't just leave it there, rotting in the failed prompt fic.
Don't take offence that I'm "dissing" Twilight - everyone does it at least once in their life, and while I find it to be a rather(ish) good series, the vampires suck. Epically.
Fleskepanne - Meathead (Norwegian)
Nu - No (Romanian)
Te iubesc - I love you (Romanian)
Imbecil - Fool, idiot, imbecile (Romanian)
Mindig szeretni foglak - I will always love you (Hungarian)
Hope you all like my RomHun - this pairing needs more love! Come on people!
Please remember to leave a review, I really appreciate them!
Happy Samhain!