Requested story with FinlandxFemAmerica. Rated M for swearing and implied sex.
I own nothing. Rated M.
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It happened the night she got rip-roaring drunk, and ended up waking up in a room not her own. So very not her own, and Oh lord the world was spinning. America cracked open a bleary eye open and felt it was a mistake.
A terrible, horrible mistake.
She bit back a groan and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes while her stomach stopped trying to turn upside down on her.
She nearly slaps her face with a heavy hand because she's checking for Texas. It's not on her face. Where was Texas?
America rolls over and stares at the knocked over nightstand on which Texas is precariously balanced.
Oh no.
Why was the nightstand knocked over?
The answer to that question didn't seem as important as the realization that she was naked.
Why the fuck was she naked?
Someone made a sound next to her, and America looked at him.
Better question.
Who the fuck was that?
She sat up and winced. Ow. Geez.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed slowly.
Fuck she was sore.
Oh fuck.
Ow.
Geez what the hell had she been doing down there? Or how many times?
America winced as she walked to the bathroom. A small amount of mixed essence started to drip out. Ugh. Gross. Just gross. Well, she'd obviously had some fun. She squinted at the overly bright light in the bathroom.
Fuck. Who invented fucking florescent lights?
Her head was pounding, and she was throbbing down between her legs. Great fucking way to wake up. Just fan-fucking-tastic.
She and that unknown asshole on the bed must have really gone to town last night. America didn't really blame her mystery partner. She was simply in pain and irritated that this happened at all.
She took care of her needs and tried to clean up a bit.
She sighed softly. This meant she'd have to do the walk of shame. Damn. This was not shaping up to be a good day.
She stared, her mind sluggishly turning, trying to put a face with the lingering soreness.
The blonde hair, crap... so many nations had blonde hair. It really didn't narrow it down for her. At. All.
Okay, think. Think.
Alright. She had a few drinks with England...
Oh please don't let it be England. She could not handle that bullshit this early and mostly hung-over. She really need to lay off the beer. It would be safer to stick to soda.
No, wait, England had gone over to the pool table to challenge an equally boozed-up France. Then she'd been talking with Canada...
Oh Fuck! No her brother. Oh Dear God NO. What if what she'd just cleaned up was his...
She felt the urge to be sick.
America swallowed the bile, rubbing her pounding head. No... oh thank God. Canada had left with her weird bear thing, because no pets were allowed in the bar.
Okay. Okay. It was okay to breathe.
What had happened after Canada left? She remembered slapping France's hands away at one point, and the Netherlands had come around trying to talk business with him.
She looked at the hair color again. No... it was too dark to be the Netherlands. Who had hair that color?
Crap how many blonde nations were there?
Her brain refused to work for her and she stared at the wall for a few minutes.
Fuck this, she needed water.
Alright, America, think about this.
He's too big to be Latvia. Too small to be Sweden, who was also gay. She was pretty sure. It was a male so that ruled out Lichtenstein. They were too short to be Denmark... but Norway was a possibility,
Please for the love of fries tell her she didn't just bang England's freaky new friend. The one they could actually see.
Oh fuck... it could be Romania for that matter.
Damn. Damn. Damn. She thought to herself as she grabbed a cheap plastic cup form the bathroom and filled it with water, chugging it down. She refilled it swiftly and drank that too.
She need Tylenol, or Motrin, or aspirin... or...something. What else was a pain killer again? Advil? Advil was one right?
Who was she kidding? She didn't care.
She just wanted this to blow over. Okay, so she'd had some wild sex, judging by the state of the room. Her clothes were... ripped in a few places.
What the hell? She liked that shirt.
Damn it.
Now she was going to have to go out of her way to get a new damn shirt because this asshole in the bed that she didn't recall made her have to go get a new one. America knew there was a large possibility that she was responsible for the state of her shirt, but she was studiously ignoring that in favor of mentally bitching at someone else.
Focus girl. Focus.
It was hard to do that though when every time she moved, there was a twinge in her nether regions. It couldn't have been Poland, she'd shoot him if it was. No, the hair wasn't long enough. Who had short blonde hair?
Her eyes wandered over the man's sleeping form.
The absence of long hair meant he wasn't Switzerland either. Oh thank goodness. That would have made banking transactions a fucking nightmare. Knowing he'd pounded her like a damn whack-a-mole while she asked after her investments would have been unbearable.
Well, that was one bullet dodged, she supposed.
America combed her finger through her hair, trying to smoothed the tangled mess. Poor Nantucket looked like it was a birds nest.
As she did so, she noticed in the mirror her neck was covered with hickies.
Oh God Damn it. Really? Fucking really?
She whined softly, trying not to be torn between being pissed and stressed. Did he have to make it look like she was a damn leopard? America even had love bites on her chest.
Had he been trying to freaking eat her?
She shook her head, regretting it instantly.
She needed a fuck ton of coffee, and foundation or concealer. Geez look at this shit. Everywhere!
America narrowed her gaze at the other nation on the bed. He had to do this? Seriously? She smelled like a damn brothel of cheap booze and stale sweat combined with sex. This was a little disgusting. She needed to make her little walk of shame out the door, as soon as she found all her clothes, and get back to her room.
After that, then she could swallow an entire pot of coffee, and take a couple of pain meds then pretend that this never fucking happened.
She quietly crept out of the bathroom and went on the prowl for her shoes first. If he woke up, as long as she had the shoes she'd run out of here buck naked if it was less embarrassing.
However...running around naked...would be less... embarrassing.
You know what? Fuck it. She was America. It would be heroic if she streaked at this point.
Somehow.
As she looked under the nearby chair, which, why were their scratches in the desk next to it? It almost looked like someone had scraped at it with their fingernails-
Oh no. She thought with an internal groan.
She winced and scrunched up her face. America did a lot of things last night then. Because if she wasn't mistaken there was an item on the ground that would vibrate if she touched it.
Where the hell had that come from?
If the other nation ever spoke of this, she'd kill him. That was the only solution. She was going to have to kill him, quietly.
Her blue eyes stared at the still sleeping man. Her hand twitched toward him. Damn... she couldn't do it. He hadn't said anything... yet.
IF he did... oh... she'd destroy him.
How the fuck was she going to explain this to her boss? 'Sorry I'm was late to the meeting Sir,' she could imagine herself saying, 'I was too busy being fucked six-ways from Sunday'.
Oh yeah, that'd go over like a lead balloon.
Then she saw it, and it made her blood run cold.
A blue shirt.
A blue fucking button down shirt.
Blonde hair.
Blue fucking shirt!
Oh no. Oh no. Oh. FUCK!
America froze, her eyes wide as she stared at the bed in horror.
No, she wouldn't have.
No.
She.
He walked up to her with a smile. He asked if she was doing well. America laughed and touched his hand flirtatiously, calling him sweet to ask after her. She'd just been a little tipsy, but then he'd ordered a drink. She felt compelled to order one herself.
Two more drinks and she was fiddling with the silver cross he had on. She squirmed in her seat, feeling the heat on her cheeks. Her inhibitions lowered and he had the same rosy completion on his face.
Fuck.
She didn't...
America leaned in and whispered a naughty suggestion in his ear, all but taunting him to act on it.
The other nation laughed, and grabbed her to him. He pressed her flush against his body. She could feel a hardness already there. America wasted no time in caressing it was a hand she snuck between their bodies.
"Let's find something to do about that," she said with a temptress smile.
He'd pressed her hand more firmly against him, heedless of the other people in the bar.
"Joo," he replied in a seductive whisper.
Oh...
Hell.
America stared in horror as the man turned over, his face peaceful in rest.
Her heart was pounding in her ears, her face was aflame. America felt her hands shake.
"Oh shit," she whispered to the empty air.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," she repeated like a mantra.
What was she going to say to Sweden? How could she even talk to Sweden ever again? The guy was stuck hard on Finland. It wasn't like she could walk up to him with a huge smile and say 'Hey Sweden buddy. How've have you been? What's new? Me? I let your 'wife' fuck me like a two dollar whore.'
Somehow, amazingly, she doubted that would fly.
Fuck.
Just fuck.
God this was so lame. She attempted to quietly smack her forehead with the palm of her head over and over.
Damn it!
America looked around for her undergarments, she needed to get dressed. The walls were starting to close in. How the hell could she sleep with the nation who dressed up as Santa during the holidays?
Her mind happily, in a masochistic sense, provided the scenes from the night before. America bit her tongue to keep from whimpering.
Wow. They had done a lot in a short amount of time. Damn.
That certainly explained the soreness. Crap.
Alright, it was time for a patented America tactical evaluation. This situation was fucked up beyond recognition. Therefore it was time to enact an exit strategy. Thus was born America's most amazing plan ever constructed by her genius.
Plan. 'Oh shit'.
She found her articles of clothing. Her bra had somehow managed to crawl under the bed, and she kept glancing up at Finland to make sure he didn't fucking wake up while she was trying to hightail it the fuck out of here.
Okay stay calm. Stay calm.
There was a chance, small chance-most likely the desperation talking-, that Finland might not even remember any of this. He may not recall her moaning and rubbing against him like a cat in heat. Or the multiple forms of sex...
Or...
Please God, if you ever loved America, don't let him remember. She pleaded, much like she had on her knees last night, for leniency.
America hurriedly shoved herself into her pants. She put her bra on, snapping it into place, and shoved her arms in her torn shirt. She would have to hold it closed on the way back to her room, but she could deal with that.
Not this shit.
Fuck! Why did it have to be Finland? Now she was a home wrecker and shit. Not that Finland was entirely blameless. He was such a gentle nation normally. He was certainly not gentle last night. Not that she'd wanted him to be.
America winced again. She felt a twinge in her nethers.
Shut up you. This is all your fault.
America slipped her socks and shoes on. She carefully avoided the fallen nightstand and quietly slipped out of the room.
She would have bolted down the hall, but she was too sore to even think about it.
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She's clean, all traces of the things she'd done the night before are gone. She's practically hooked an IV of coffee to her system, and she'd downed a couple Tylenol. Her hair is brushed and she's dressed in business attire because the meeting is in twenty minutes. She's had the time to stop at the local drug store and get some make-up to cover her 'spots'.
Seriously, like a fucking Dalmatian or Leopard. She'd covered in the marks he gave her. If anyone asks, she's going to lie and say someone tried to strangle her. Hopefully that was a good enough excuse for the bruises.
Only, they do not look like they came from fingers and...
Fuck! Stop thinking about it.
America swept into the meeting, looking rather presentable and well.
Internally there is still quite a bit of soreness that has eased to a constant ache. Sitting down is going to be a real bitch. She is not looking forward to it. America gingerly sits in her seat. If she tries, and she is utterly fucking silent, most countries might ignore her for the duration of the meeting. It is unlikely she'll be the only one unhappy with loud shouting this morning.
She thought about crossing her legs, but after a twinge, she decides against it.
It was just a stupid drunk mistake. It will all blow over.
The other nations start trickling in. America keeps her mouth shut, and prays for it to end quickly so she can go back to her room and lie down. She reaches for the pitcher of water in front of her. She pours herself a glass.
She shifts her gaze to Canada who she waves at, and takes a sip of water.
Sweden walks in, and America feels her heart go very still. She was not going to make any sudden movements or draw attention to herself. Breathe.
Fucking breathe America!
She fights the blush down mercilessly. She will not give away her position. She isn't sure if Sweden sees by movement or heat signature. Kinda like the Predator, only without the mandibles.
Subtlety, she spares a glance toward Sweden, who takes no notice of her.
Thank the lord.
She just had to get through the meeting.
England starts a fight with France even before Germany arrives. She takes that moment to slouch into her chair a bit. She winces at the action.
Ow.
Mostly the ache is just annoying, but it makes itself known when she moves.
As if her discomfort summons him out of thin air, Finland walks in.
It must have been her imagination, but she thought for a moment that it would more aptly be called 'swaggering'. She bites back a whimper of distress.
Calm down girl. Just calm down. He doesn't remember.
Even if he does, she isn't going to talk to him about it.
His eyes meet hers and America looks away, but not before she catches his smile. It is the same gentle smile he always has. Not the one he wore when they had their night together.
She was so fucked.
Well, she'd certainly been fucked, hadn't she?
Did she just make a joke at her own expense? Fuck this was getting messed up.
America leaned her head against her hand, elbow on the table. She couldn't look at him the rest of the meeting, and for her, she's rather quiet. America doesn't interrupt a single nation, and Canada is eyeing her worriedly.
She's fine.
She's royally screwed, but otherwise fine.
When it ends, she goes to leave, wincing slightly as she moves to stand. Her gaze lands on Finland, and she notices that he's looking at her.
He smiles. Looking as friendly as he normally does. No hint that they'd knocked boots just hours before. Finland is a mild-mannered nation and it shows right now. He hasn't tried to speak to her at all, but as he waves at her...
She bolts.
Heroically, of course.
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She swore to herself that it would never happen a second time.
And yet...
Two months later, and she wakes up knowing deep in her bones that she's made the same mistake again.
Her blue eyes open, and Finland is asleep with his arm around her.
GOD DAMNIT!
She successfully keeps herself from twitching. What the fuck did she do? Again.
America tries to slowly move his arm off of her so she can regain her senses. If she doesn't have her head explode all over him in a trillion pieces.
What the hell happened this time?
She had made sure not to get drunk around Finland. Had made fucking sure!
She winces as she sits up. Sore once more.
Oh for crying out loud. Was the guy hung like a damn horse?
Her memory told her that yes, yes he was.
Fuck.
America covered her face with her hands. Okay, she just needed to find Texas, her clothes, and she was getting out of here.
It was an exceedingly slow process.
How the hell did her underwear end up on the ceiling fan? God, this is about as bad as the stories she's heard about sleeping with Denmark.
Crazy fucking gorgeous Dane.
America sighs to herself. She isn't the one-night stand type. Honest she's not.
Though this nation was certainly making a liar out of her.
She has a soft spot for Finland, she likes him sure. He was the only one to pay her back during the Great Depression. She respects Finland and considers him exceedingly honest. She's never considered that he was capable of, but now she knows.
The throbbing between her legs will be a reminder for a day or two.
She's finishing getting dressed when she hears the covers rustle and she looks over at him with fear coursing through her veins.
His eyes are open.
His eyes are fucking open.
And he is staring. Right. At. HER.
Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh fucking shit.
America feels her lips twitch into a smile out of reflex.
Finland stares at her for a moment, before he offers her a smile of his own.
"Hyvää huomenta," he says kindly.
She swallows and tries to figure out what the hell he just said. He looks sort of happy, so it likely isn't an insult.
What the hell should she say.
"Hi," she says forcefully cheerful.
Yeah, that was scintillating.
Oh God this was awkward. Finland didn't appear bothered in the least. He lazily stretched and the sheet slipped further down as he sat up.
America quickly looked away.
"It is nothing you haven't seen," Finland said with a laugh. He was teasing her, and yes, she knew he was right.
However, she was so fucking embarrassed.
Wasn't it protocol not to talk to the one-night stand afterward? She didn't know, but it sounded like a good rule right about now.
She gave a nervous laugh, and nodded, still not looking quite at him.
"Would you like some kahvi?" He said still in a pleasant tone of voice.
Was he coming on to her? Not that he hadn't come-
No. No. Stop that. No jokes.
She blinked.
"America?"
"Yes?" She bleated out, clearly startled.
"Coffee? Do you want coffee?"
No. No. NO.
She wanted the fuck away from this situation.
Like now.
Go all coyote ugly on this shit. If she could, but he was already awake and FUCK!
Fuck.
Damn it. She mentally hung her head.
"Sure," she said in spite of herself.
Fucking hooray for forced acquiescence!
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Translations.
Joo: Informal 'yes'
Hyvää huoment: Good morning.
Kavhi: Coffee