Disclaimer: First, I saw a demotivational poster of Antonio holding a million and one (excuse the hyperbole) of his colonies with the words 'be fruitful and multiply', hence the idea that he has a metric ton of illegitimate children from all around the world of similar ages (he is a very busy man.) Then, I was for some reason reading TV Tropes page on succubae/incubi known as 'Horny Devils'. And then my mum told me that we might holiday in the Caribbean this summer. That's how this 'Antonio's one night stand while on holiday at the Greater Antilles was actually a succubus who years later leaves him saddled with an illegitimate child/children who've reached demon puberty and OMG, Arthur knows about magic crap, he should be able to help, story was made. I don't own Hetalia.

Prologue:

Laughing belatedly at a joke told to him by his friend Gilbert, the punch line of which he didn't remember except for the words 'goat', 'car battery', and 'nipple clamps', fifteen-year-old Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo stumbled drunkenly out of the hotel lobby and onto the beach.

Flopping onto his back while letting out the occasional chuckle, Antonio revelled in the slightly damp feel of the sand against his overheated body, unmindful of the granules digging into him. The Culebra night air was refreshingly cool and consistent, carrying with it the underlying scent of brackish sea water.

Overhead, the sky was a black canopy, festooned with stars that glimmered like diamonds against its velvety backdrop, although they seemed like a mere afterthought in comparison to the thin sliver of moon blindly smiling down on him from its skyward perch.

Antonio sighed contentedly, the sound in sync with the rhythmic lap of the waves rolling against the shore. "Nothing could possibly make this better," he said to himself. Then his nose scrunched up in thought. "Well, except for tomatoes. Ooh, or turtles. No, no wait: Turtles that have tomatoes for shells! Tomurtles!"

His rambling was cut off by the sibilant whisper of the wind, louder than before, followed by the distinct tinkle of a woman's laugh.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Antonio was greeted by the sight of what were either the result of party drugs being slipped into his drink or what was the simultaneously most beautiful and most horrifying woman that he'd ever laid eyes on.

At first glance, she seemed virtually flawless, her face looking more like the result of an obsessively dedicated and highly skilled artist's fevered work than something made of flesh and her figure the sort that no woman could ever hope to have regardless of exercise or surgery. In fact, that was the problem: Her face did not seem like a human's face in its perfection, her body unnatural in its unblemished symmetry. To be human meant to be flawed, thus her overly beautiful appearance screamed that she was most definitely not.

She smiled then, a small, close-lipped smile, and began to walk, or more aptly, stalk, towards him, the undulating movements of her limbs sensuous and vaguely serpentine. All Antonio could do was watch in a combination of confusion and fascination as she made her way over. It was, he would later recall, rather like watching a tiger coming towards you; admiring of the creature's graceful bearing and realising of the fact that it was most likely preparing to tear your throat out.

The woman was still smiling as she crouched before him, arms wrapped around her knees and head tilted to the side in a facsimile of innocence, but her eyes were a dead give-away: The sclera were hungry black voids, the pupils little more than red spotlights, and on top of it all, completely unblinking.

Now, all of this would send most people running for the safety of anywhere else conceivable, but Antonio was drunk. Really, really, piss-arsed drunk. Also, he felt oddly tranquil as she gazed into his eyes, as though he were floating in that undefinable limbo between sleep and consciousness. He felt flushed, too, and, he was embarrassed to admit, aroused. And so, rather than hightail it off of the beach and into the hotel, he instead found himself saying:

"Uh…Nice, nice novelty contacts. Bit early for Halloween, though, innit?"

The look that she gave him seemed almost pitying of his inebriated attempt at flirting, but she mounted him nonetheless, knocking him onto his back.

"Ooomph…Oh, we're…So, we're gonna have sex? Anonymous sex? On the beach? Right now? Wow. This is…Pretty cool, I guess. Kinda awkward, though. Say, what is your name?" Antonio asked the woman, well, girl, now that he was seeing her up close, she only looked around his age despite the large, seemingly pneumatic breasts and round hips…

"Your vocal chords aren't properly formed for the syllables of my people's tongue," she said simply as she unbuttoned his trousers.

Antonio blinked. "…Are Castilian Spanish and Puerto Rican Spanish really that different?"

Quirking an eyebrow, the girl flipped them over so that their positions were reversed. "Sure, let's go with that." Seeing his confused expression, she sighed and locked her ankles around Antonio's neck, pulling him down to her. "You can call me Desirée, if you want," she relented. "All of the locals do."

"That's a pretty name," Antonio said as he positioned herself between her splayed legs. "Uhm, I don't have a condom…"

Desirée rolled her eyes upward. "That's fine," she assured him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Seriously? Because I don't know if I'll be able to pay child support-"

At that point, Desirée sat up, once again knocking Antonio over, and resumed the position with her straddling him. "Sit back, shut up, and enjoy the ride," she told him.

The following morning, Antonio awoke with the sunshine blaring into his face as though it were being filtered through a magnifying glass and he were an ant, the light threatening to melt his bleary eyes clean from their sockets and into a viscous white jelly. His head was pounding like a mouthful of gingivitis-infected teeth, his muscles were screaming in protest with the slightest of movement, he had sand in places that he hitherto didn't know even existed, he felt completely drained of any vestige of energy that might have once resided in him, and a tell-tale breeze around his privates alerted him to the fact that he was revealing his bait and tackle to the world. The only comfort that he had was the fact that the beach was empty.

Groaning, he forced himself into a sitting position, ignoring the sand wedging itself further into places that it should not be, and began to look around for his trousers. Much to his surprise, they were neatly folded beside him. Wait, folded?

The memories rushing back to him, Antonio massaged his temples at the sudden onslaught of recollections regarding last night's rendezvous. "So that's why I can't feel my legs," he muttered.

Now realising that Desirée had left, Antonio, hopeless romantic that he was, couldn't help but feel a tad disappointed that she'd up and left so quickly. Wasn't that more of a guy thing, anyway, loving and leaving?

"Then again, she did initiate things," he admitted to himself. And how, Antonio thought. He still wasn't sure about the safety of some of those positions…

His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar voices of Francis and Gilbert, their loud voices particularly grating what with his hangover from hell.

"Yo, Tony, where the hells were you last night? That party was insane," a very sunburnt Gilbert shouted practically into his ear, causing Antonio to wince.

"Oui, there were things done with jelly shots that should never be done," Francis chimed.

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "That was you."

Francis shrugged diffidently. "As I said, they should never be done. Heed my advice; lime jelly is extremely difficult to remove from one's-He stopped, wide-eyed, upon seeing Antonio's condition, a mischievous grin playing around his mouth. "Ohonhonhonhon, it looks as though our dear Antonio got up to his own, private party last night, eh?" He chuckled.

Gilbert began to snicker as well. "Kesekesekesekese. It looks more like he fucked a grain thresher."

Antonio stared tiredly up at his best friends. "Huh?" He said blearily as he forced himself to stand up.

Gilbert's eye began to tick. "Dude, put that thing away!" He said, throwing his arms up before his eyes. "Kids are gonna be here soon!"

"Oh, yeah," Antonio muttered sheepishly, and began to fumble around for his clothing, As he bent over to pick up his jeans, however, he felt a sudden flare of agony rush up his spine, and he let out a strangled groan. Francis and Gilbert were beside him within seconds.

"Your comment about the grain thresher wasn't mere hyperbole," Francis noted.

"No kidding," Gilbert muttered. "Your back, it's all fucked up," he said to Antonio. "Was the person you slept with into knife play or something?" He added.

Gingerly pulling his jeans on, Antonio shrugged, causing a new ripple of pain to run down his back. "She scratched me a bit, is all."

Francis drew back. "Scratched you?" He said incredulously. "Your back has been sliced to ribbons! What did she have, claws?"

Antonio smiled, although his heart wasn't in it. "You know, I think she did," he managed to say before keeling over.

Several hours later, they'd driven to the nearest hospital, where the doctor had taken one look at Antonio and bandaged him up like a macramé mummy and written him a prescription for antibiotics in case of infection.

It all seemed like a standard hospital visit until the doctor; a man in his forties named Vincent Morales, took him aside and whispered that he might want to leave the island a bit earlier than expected.

"Why?" Antonio asked, confused.

Vincent looked around suspiciously, settling back only when he noticed that Francis and Gilbert were preoccupied with flirting with a nurse and batting with a vending machine, respectively. "Let's just say that you're not the only one who's come in here with certain parts of his anatomy sliced and diced after sex with a beautiful stranger." A mirthless smile crossed his face. "You should count yourself lucky. A number of others, the ones who were with her several times…Let's just say you should be grateful to still be alive and leave while you're still breathing. Most men aren't so lucky."

Antonio stared at him in slack-jawed horror, although the moment was quickly defused by Francis getting bitch-slapped for groping the nurse and the vending machine falling on top of Gilbert as an act of revenge for him kicking it when it didn't yield his packet of pretzels, necessitating another visit into Dr. Morales' office.

Needless to say, after this fiasco, the three of them found themselves standing in the middle of the airport, ready to crash at Antonio's house in Madrid. When he asked the other two why it was his house that had to be overrun, Francis and Gilbert said that they had to protect him in case-

"The scratch-happy bitch tries following you," Gilbert exclaimed whilst wearing a 'duh' expression on his face (and a cast on his left arm. Vending machines do not show mercy.)

Antonio sighed, feeling the itch of the healing wounds beneath his bandages and wishing desperately that he could scratch them. "I doubt that she would stalk me. She left me naked on the beach as soon as I fell asleep. Hell, she didn't even ask for my name or give me her real one."

Francis stroked his stubbled chin. "Hm. What was the name that your rough little paramour gave you again?" He questioned.

"Desirée," Antonio said, cringing as the half-healed scratches began to throb.

"You didn't find anything dodgy about that?!" Gilbert exclaimed, letting go off his valise to dramatically wave his good hand around, causing passer-by to throw him dirty looks when his flailing fist almost struck them. "That's a freaking stripper name! Chris Rock has a whole segment on strippers and how they're bad news!"

"That bit of his routine really just degenerated into a rant against plastic heels," Francis said dismissively. Turning to Antonio, he said, "Pay no attention to Gilbert, he's still angry about bursting into flames two days ago."

Gilbert scowled. "I did not 'burst into flames'. It was a gradual scorching. And it's not my fault I have albinism and can't tan!"

"No, it is not," Francis agreed, and slapped him directly on the bright red burn stretched across his right arm.

Wearing an expression of mingled rage and fury, Gilbert could only let out an undignified screech of pain. "What the hell was that for?!" He demanded.

Francis smirked. "That was for replacing my condom supply with a package of balloons that had the phrase 'Happy Birthday Grandma' printed across them."

"Meh. You needed to give your dick a break, anyway. You banged five different girls-

"That's not such a large number-

"The first day we arrived in Puerto Rico!"

"I reiterate; that is not a large number. Right Antonio? Antonio? Bonjoooour? Francis said." He turned to Gilbert, eyebrows raised so that they disappeared into his hairline. "What's wrong with him?" He demanded.

Gilbert shrugged. "The hell if I know." He began to wave his hand in front of Antonio's face. "Oi, Tony, what're you staring at? Is it the old lady with the spandex short-shorts and the thong again?" The only response that he received was in the form of Antonio lifting up a shaking finger in the opposite direction.

Flabbergasted, Gilbert and Francis turned around, their eyes widening to the size of dinner plates at what they saw.

The swarms of people bustling about the airport terminal had been frozen in place. A woman leaning over to tie her shoelaces, a man with his mobile pressed up against his ear, three tow-headed children running towards a concession stand; all of them stood stationary, caught in mid-movement as time stood still, hanging over them like a frozen awning. Even a crumpled bit of paper being tossed into a bin hung motionless in the air, stuck in mid-arc.

"What. The. Fuck?" Gilbert said blankly. Tentatively, he stepped over towards the piece of paper floating in the air and nudged it with his finger. Rather than falling to the ground like it would have under normal circumstances, it instead moved sluggishly forward a few centimetres, than once again stood completely still, suspended in the air.

"Awesome," he muttered.

"Indeed," Francis agreed as he took advantage of the situation by peeking down the blouse of the woman who had been tying her trainers.

Antonio shivered, feeling cold all of a sudden. The dull ache in his back had turned into a full-fledged throbbing that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and he felt oddly lightheaded. Letting go of the handle of his suitcase, he sat down on a nearby bench, dropped his head into his hands and attempted to still his breathing.

"Guys," he said weakly, "something's not right."

"I sort of figured," Gilbert said dryly as he gestured towards the stagnant crowd of formerly active people.

The pulsating in the wounds increased, as though fuelled by a disembodied heart, and Antonio was nearly sick all over the polished linoleum. "No," he choked out. "I mean-

His words transformed into a prolonged scream as the throb became a burning agony the likes of which he'd never felt before. There was the wet rip of flesh followed by the snapping of impeding bone being unceremoniously pushed out of the way, and Antonio collapsed onto the floor, writhing and screaming.

Francis and Gilbert rushed to his side, drawing back in horror and revulsion at what they saw: A bloodied hand jutting out of a gaping hole in Antonio's back.

They could only watch as the hand squelched its way out of the wound, followed by another, then as the upper body slowly unfolded out, its bones and joints snapping wetly back into place from its formerly contorted position.

And then, just moments later, she stood before them, blood-splattered and terrible in her perfection.

The moment was then ruined by Gilbert's declaration of "You're doing it wrong! You're supposed to have ripped your way through his chest, not his back!"

Francis shook his head at his friend's idiocy and wondered if Gilbert's inability to remain serious was the result of immaturity or a desperate need to remain laughing in the face of danger lest he give in to despair. He decided that it was a little bit of column A and a little bit of column B, with a dash of batshit insanity thrown in for extra flavour.

"Desirée," Antonio murmured, somehow still conscious despite having a full-grown woman rip her way out through his back.

Francis and Gilbert gaped up at her nude form, unable to comprehend what they were seeing. True, she was far more beautiful than any human woman could ever be, but she just looked so completely…Inhuman at the moment, that it was unfathomable how anyone could consent to sleep with her.

Membranous wings, claws that looked capable of slicing through steel, horns curling away from her head, and those eyes, blank, dead voids besides the flickering red slits that passed for pupils, she looked like a clichéd metal album cover.

Seeing their questioning gazes, Antonio, whose wound, now free of its former corruption, had sewn itself shut with surprising rapidity, pushed himself to his feet, albeit somewhat tremulously. "She didn't look like that last night," he assured them.

"Comforting to know," Francis said dully.

Desirée, apparently in no mood to suffer any more of their conversation, rolled her head and let out an ear-piercing noise that was somewhere between a roar and a screech, revealing teeth as sharp and numerous as those of a shark.

"Oh man. I'd rather waylay myself in the balls with a sack filled with bricks than let those chompers anywhere near Mini-Gilly," Gilbert managed to squeak out in spite of himself. Antonio would've laughed at the look of annoyance on Desirée's face at Gilbert's lack of fear if she hadn't chosen that moment to hurl a handful of what appeared to be black fire in their direction.

"Quick, commence hellfire-dodging formation!" Gilbert shouted as the three of them threw themselves to the side. The carelessly thrown stream of flame overshot them, though Antonio felt the heat of it graze across the top of his head.

"Good thing we worked on that last summer, eh?" Antonio said as they got to their feet.

"Quite," Francis said in agreement.

There was the sound of a hand slapping against flesh, and the three of them turned around to find Desirée in the human form that she'd assumed whilst seducing Antonio, palming her forehead and looking disgusted. "For Christ's sake…" She began, only to be interrupted by Antonio.

"Wait…You can say the name of Christ without bursting into flame?" He said bewilderedly.

Desirée raised her eyebrow. "Er, yes?"

Gilbert ran a hand through his snowy hair with his free hand, looking as perplexed as Antonio felt. "But…Don't demons get all marshmallow-y whenever God is mentioned? You know, 'the power of Christ compels you', and all that?"

"What the…I'm not a demon! I'm a succubus!" Desirée snapped.

Francis raised his hand, as though they were having a classroom discussion rather than facing a paranormal creature. "Isn't that a type of demon?" He asked. "Except sexy," Francis added as his eyes scanned her ample chest.

Desirée let out a groan and sank onto the bench. "Fools! Have you the brain worms?! My kind are a species separate from humans, yes, but we are most certainly not fallen angels, nor are we always chaotic evil! We're an offshoot of vampires, if anything, but we're not un-dead corpses, either! My God, where'd you get your knowledge of monsters from, Dungeons and Dragons?!" She demanded.

"…Yes," Gilbert said.

She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "Look, I'm just here to give Antonio-yes, I know your name, don't ask-A message. Now can I please just get on with this without it turning into twenty questions?" She begged.

Once again, Francis raised his hand, waving it around in the air like a pedantic schoolboy for good measure.

Desirée sighed and nodded towards him. "Yes?" She said tiredly.

"Can I cop a feel?" Francis asked her.

"…No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"Oh, don't be like that, mon cherie!"

"Piss off. Seriously, go take a hike."

Francis folded his arms. "Hmph," he pouted. "Some succubus you are."

At that, Desirée's eye began to tick like a bomb. "For God's sake…My chest is not the make a wish foundation!" She hissed.

"But, just look at it!" Francis cried, gesturing towards the heaving mounds as though they were priceless antique paintings and he an overzealous art dealer. "Those are the sort of breasts that give people hopes and dreams!"

Desirée was unmoved. "Hardly. All succubae have them."

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Holy shit, an entire species of inhumanly hot chicks with gargantuan tits." He turned to Antonio and gave him a thumb up. "I take it back. Congratulations on tapping that undoubtedly fine arse. It was a great one, right?" He asked.

Antonio, still a bit groggy from the whole succubus-using-his-open-wounds-as-acatalyst-to-ent er-the-human-world thing, simply nodded his agreement. (And in all honesty, it was indeed a fantastic arse, which was really saying something, because Antonio was well aware that his own was renowned amongst his social circus as being the stuff of dreams.)

By this point, Desirée was banging her head against the wall in frustration. "Shut up and let me give my message or I'll peel the flesh from your dicks like a banana!" She shrieked, flexing her claws in a manner that clearly stated that they'd be flaying their junk within the next two seconds.

Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis all fell silent. "You have our attention," they declared simultaneously.

"Finally! I'm pregnant," she said, pointing at Antonio, who promptly lost all traces of colour from his face. Ignoring his obvious shock, Desirée continued with " You'll be getting our hybrid children when they turn fifteen and have the choice of either embracing or rejecting their alu-fiend status. Have a nice day," in a deadpan tone of voice. Disregarding Antonio's rather girlish shriek of surprise, Desirée disappeared in a spiral of black flame, leaving only a pile of oddly shimmering ash in her wake.

Antonio fell dramatically to his knees as the formerly frozen airport goers were released from their stasis and once again began to hurriedly mill about the terminal.

"I'm too young to be a father!" He wailed.

In response to his friend's soap operatic reaction, Gilbert rolled his eyes. "You don't even get the kids until you're thirty!" He reminded him. Then he scratched his head. "Oh shit, she said children. As in plural. Huh, apparently succubae have like…Litters, or something. Wow, good thing you don't have to pay child support."

As Antonio continued to lament his situation, Francis patted him on the shoulder. "Well, think of it like this," he said gently. "Your children are going to be gorgeous!"

"I…Guess that is kind of nice," Antonio admitted. "But how come you're so pleased about that?" He said curiously.

Francis grinned. "Because in fifteen years, Uncle Francis will be more than happy to fall into a comfortable May-December relationship!" He declared.

Antonio burst into renewed tears. Gilbert rolled his eyes and conked Francis on the head. The three of them were so busy commiserating that they wound up missing their plane and were forced to spend another three hours in the airport. Worse, they had nothing to eat but airport food, which everyone knows is overpriced and highly constipating.

Meanwhile, in an undisclosed but nearby area, Desirée was sprawled in an overstuffed chair in front of the telly, wearing a Ninja Turtles T-shirt and shovelling ice cream into her mouth straight from the container. "Only ten thousand years until menopause and then I can hopefully lose all of my biological imperatives," she muttered.

A/N: I decided to go the Rosario + Vampire route with succubae and just give them the general description of monster/not exactly human rather than demon, mostly just to lighten things up. Also: Antonio gets paternal rights (sort of)!