Hetalia, because of some very regrettable circumstances involving a banana, a chihuahua, and a strawberry rhubarb pie, belongs to that Hidekaz guy, and not me. Too bad, too. Oh, well. C'est la Vie. Or something. I can't speak French.
"Don't either of you MOVE A MUSCLE," Spain shouted, directing Alfred and I over the general clamor ensuing in the other half of the kitchen, where Prussia and Canada were currently yelling at each other –well, Prussia was shouting, and Canada was sort of talking at a normal volume– before crossing over to stand in front of them, seizing the handcuffs, and dragging them bodily out of the kitchen, still arguing, behind him. "I will speak to YOU, Estadounidense, later."
Once they were completely out of earshot (read: we couldn't hear Prussia shouting about how "unawesome" everything in life was right now), Alfred breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and rested his full weight on my shoulder. I gasped and stumbled over against the counter under his mass, and became instantly pinned between his large body and the unmoving granite. The dough LONG SINCE forgotten, I prayed silently that he'd forgotten about the awkward erection I was sporting right now.
"…is that really a hickey?" Alfred asked after a moment, looking down at my neck curiously.
"No!" I said reproachfully, but pressed a few fingers to the skin on my neck to feel for one anyway. There was a sore spot right where… "I hit my neck on a door."
"Haha, nobody believes that one anymore, Roma," Alfred laughed, before pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose again. "But, ah, I know we were having tons of fun and everything, what with pretending we've got tension and stuff, but if I'm supposed to get hard off this, I just don't know…"
So he hadn't forgotten after all.
"Shit," I cursed, glancing down at my apron from between Alfred's arms.
There was indeed a bulge in that apron.
"Wow, it's still there and everything. That's kinda impressive," he remarked. "Not a bad size, either…"
"OH SHUT UP!" I hissed, smacking the side of his head, and attempting to shove his body away from me. "And for the love of God, will you get off of me?!"
"Why should I…~?" Alfred asked quietly, pressing his lips to my ear, and burying his nose in my hair. "Aren't we supposed to be… experiencing tension~? I'd call that little thing in your pants hella tension…"
I opened my mouth to curse him out, but my breath caught in my throat as a pair of fingers trailed lightly over the bulge in my apron, and a stream of pleasant sensations shot up my spine directly to my brain. Instead, some sort of "Hah…" noise came out. (How fucking embarrassing…)
"Mm, why don't I… help you with that~?" Alfred suggested, running his fingers over the apron again, before pulling my hips against his leg, and gently pushing up against it.
I bit my lip, very much on sensory overload at the moment, and tried to think properly.
Dammit, what was with this pink haze over my vision?
And erections don't grow this fast, goddammitall.
I should know.
Shut up, don't you DARE ask about that.
But… but why was I so horny, DAMN it all?!
And Alfred just kept nudging me with his fucking knee… dammit, what a fucking tease… hngh, fuck, so horny.
Not okay.
Ever.
At all.
"…Roma?" the American asked after a moment, pushing his glasses up on his nose and looking down at me, flustered.
"What?" I asked, not particularly caring about whatever it was he was trying to tell me now.
"You're kind of humping my leg."
"And?"
"Oh, okay. Well as long as you know."
"FUCK, WAIT, THIS IS NOT OKAY!" I shouted, clutching my forehead in frustration and stumbling backwards, away from Alfred, until my hip bumped the edge of the kitchen table. "Dammit, dammit, dammit, stop! I can't… we can't… this isn't right!"
"Well what are you going to do, then? Because I could totally get you off, but it might get a little awkward. Especially if Spain comes back," Alfred pointed out. "You should probably just go to the bathroom and take care of it yourself and hope it doesn't come back. I'm not even going to make fun of you for it, because I've had awkwardly-timed erections before too. They're not cool. Especially when your boss sees and gets really pissed about it."
"When- Never mind, I don't want to know," I said, rubbing at the bridge of my nose irritably. "Fine. O-Okay, so I'll… 'go to the bathroom,' and you'll finish this dough and get the other one in the oven, right?"
"Yeah! The hero can handle it!" Alfred brightened instantly, saluting me and grinning ridiculously. "You go… er, have fun with that."
"Shut up, dammit," I cursed under my breath, shooting him a dirty look before slinking back through the closet passageway and into the blue bathroom from before.
Once safely inside, and I had closed the section of wall that double-functioned as a door, I glanced in the mirror and rubbed at my neck. It really did look like a fucking hickey. Just my damn luck.
\(^.^)/ - Spain…
S-So I won't even be telling you what happened in the bathroom.
N-Nope.
Because that's REALLY none of your business.
None at all.
Kinda like how what I was thinking of was none of your business either.
I-It definitely wasn't Spain, for your information.
N-Nope. Definitely not.
I don't even know what would make you t-think that.
C-Cause there shouldn't be anything that should make you think that, dammit.
N-Nothing at all.
I'm just a nice Italian doing certain things in a bathroom and thinking of nice Italian women.
…
O-Okay, so maybe they were Italian men.
…
Okay, okay, dammit, so maybe they were Spanish.
J-Just a little bit.
…
M-Maybe one particular Spanish man.
Shut up.
I-It's still none of your fucking business!
S-So there.
I didn't tell you anything about it.
And the mafia calls me a pushover.
Ha!
A-As if.
M-Me? A pushover?
Neeeeeever.
…
Shut up. I can fucking HEAR you laughing.
I-It's not funny, dammit.
And speaking of things that were not funny, that stupid door.
I found the tile again after a while… and made my way through that fucking passage again…
But I realized my phone was still dead. So I couldn't see anything. Again.
I really needed to replace these fucking light bulbs.
A-And I only stubbed my toe once. Yay.
You don't need to know how many brooms (I used to hide them in here from Spain so he couldn't make me clean) I knocked over.
O-Or how many times I hit my head on the low-hanging beams. (I wonder if it's still structurally sound in here…)
Or how many spider webs I walked through. (You'd think by now most of them would have been cleared out, but no.)
I got to the kitchen closet.
Eventually.
And heard Spain and America talking.
...
Fuck.
"S-So what if it was a hickey?" Alfred stammered.
…
WHAT.
Was he insane?!
He was actually trying to go along with that?!
Spain was going to castrate him!
"So, Lovi is my responsibility, Estados Unidos. He can't even remember world history, let alone what Italian-American relations are like. He's my amado and I will not have you taking him away from me suddenly because he lost his memory." Spain was practically growling.
I wondered what he looked like, right about now. Probably giving Alfred one of his darker glares. I remembered those from his pirate/conquistador days… they're scary.
"I don't like your sudden interest in him. I don't like you touching or kissing him. I don't like that you're leaving hickies on him. I'm sure he's confused, and…"
"No, I'm sure he's NOT confused, Spain," Alfred interrupted him, voice strong. "Roma knows what he's doing. Maybe he's just upset SOME people don't understand what he keeps telling them. Maybe he appreciates that I do, and maybe we've grown closer than you thought since then. Or maybe we were just a lot closer than you thought we were in the 1800s. I've known him since the 1840s, you know."
A cold silence followed Alfred's bold statement, and I held my breath despite my already-present state of lightheadedness. Was Spain going to hit him? I wouldn't put it past him... the American was pushing his luck.
"I've known Lovino almost his entire life as a nation," Spain said quietly, "Starting when I was part of Rome. I have been around a hell of a lot longer than you have, chico. If you think you can win over mi Lovinito, I welcome you to try, because I want what makes Lovi happiest… but if you hurt him, I will not hesitate to start World War III. ¿Comprendes?"
W-Well shit.
I can't decide whether I should feel loved or terrified.
I'm gonna go with terrified.
I can't feel my knees.
…
B-But… fuck, I can feel other parts of my anatomy quite… acutely.
There's no w-way it's Spain's possessiveness that's doing this.
A-Absolutely none.
Impossible.
But…
So much for taking care of this in the bathroom.
"Y-Yes sir," Alfred muttered.
"ANTONIO, I THOUGHT YOU WERE GETTING THE KEY AND THEN COMING RIGHT BACK! WAS ZUR HÖLLE IS TAKING SO LONG?" Prussia's voice rang through the kitchen.
"Jódete, me voy, Gilbert…" Spain cursed, slamming his fist down on a counter. "Don't fuck anything up, America."
I heard Spain's footsteps storm from the kitchen, before I even dared to open the closet door.
I peeked just my head out, glancing both ways to make sure the coast was clear, before slipping out of the closet (dammit, I'm STILL already gay) and striding quietly over to Alfred's side. I noticed right away that the first dough ball was gone, and the oven now contained both of the first pizzas, and then that Alfred was slumped against one of the counters, while the second dough ball was rising on top of the stove
"Are you alright?" I asked hesitantly, extending a hand to touch his shoulder.
He jumped almost a foot in the air, pulled a fake karate move (What?!) on me, and then as if realizing it was just me, shaking his head and blinking, surprised. "Roma! Where did you come from? Yeah! I'm good! Haha, why would I be anything else?" Alfred grinned falsely, running his fingers through his hair before reaching for the towel covering the second ball of dough.
"Ah, no you don't," I caught his wrist before he could touch the dough, speaking softly. "You touched your hair. Wash your fucking hands, you unsanitary moron."
"Right, yeah, okay," Alfred muttered, pushing up his glasses once again and moving over to the sink.
"Seriously, burger bastard… are you okay? I heard that… i-it was intense," I admitted. "T-Thanks for sticking up for me. Even if we are only fake-interested in each other."
"No problemo," the Western nation grinned, as he turned the faucet on, and grabbed the bar of soap to begin scrubbing at his hands. "I can see where you're coming from. Not that I've ever experienced amnesia myself, but I've known a few humans who have. It sounds like it sucks."
"It does," I growl in agreement, reaching for the second dough ball, to rip it in half and shape it into a more crust-like shape.
"I sorta went through something… like it once," he mused, pausing after turning off the faucet, his hands wet but leaning on the counter, as he looked up at the ceiling contemplatively, body curved in towards the counter like a backwards crescent. I raised an eyebrow, and when he finally looked at me, he chuckled, and then continued, while drying his hands on his apron. "Well you know, I rebelled from England… kind of a long time ago. I didn't want to, I just wanted freedom. It was too much for him. Having all those colonies, and his own people to take care of. At some point, he stopped treating us like his people and started treating us like his property.
"When I finally accepted that for what it was… it was like my whole world turned upside down. I had to reconsider everything I'd known. England wasn't my older brother anymore; he was my oppressor. I had to decide whether I was going to live with it or push him off. And I had to decide soon. Because if he found out my people were growing even more restless because I was considering rebellion, he'd have sent in even more soldiers. So… I asked him over for dinner one night, hoping I could get him drunk enough to take him captive myself and end it right then and there. But in his letter in reply… it was like he wouldn't even consider coming over my place for dinner. It was crazy. He sounded absolutely paranoid. He didn't trust me anymore. And it made me upset. Upset enough to dump a load of tea into the sea to send it back where it came. Symbolically. Because I didn't want to drink England's tea anymore."
"That's… really deep," I admitted. And then, because I'm a bastard, and I couldn't resist, "And corny as hell."
Alfred cracked a grin. "I know. I did that on purpose, because I knew it would piss him off the most, not for any kind of symbolism. But boy, did it work!"
"Well… good for you, I guess," I shrugged, as I placed the dough into a pan, and slid it further onto the counter so nobody would knock it off.
Alfred stuck it in the oven with the rest of them, and I… was still really damn aroused. Fuck.
"I'm… going to go get Feliciano," I choked out, after bunching my apron to better cover the still growing bulge in my pants. "You're going to have to finish it with him, because I… um I need to go…"
"Again?" Alfred asked, his eyebrows arching as he glanced down at my apron. "Is this normal for you? Because it doesn't sound normal… did you eat something funny?"
"No, not that I…" I paused. I hadn't even eaten anything unusual. Bread. Pasta. Tomatoes. Bella's hot chocolate. More pasta. The wine.
WAIT.
Bella's hot chocolate.
And if she's been getting closer with Hungary…!
"Fuck!" I cursed, biting my lip as it dawned on me. "I think maybe Belgium put something in my hot chocolate."
"Belgium?" Alfred asked, sounding skeptical. "But I thought you were friends with her… why would she…?"
"Because of Hungary!" I snapped. "Why else? They want to catch me when I'm horny and take embarrassing gay pictures of me!"
"But I thought you were gay…"
"That's not the point!"
It was getting a hell of a lot harder to think with certain regions of my body throbbing insistently and demanding sex.
I DIDN'T WANT SEX!
No, I did. I did very much.
BUT I DIDN'T!
No, seriously, sex sounds good.
NO! FUCKING HELL!
I sound insane.
I'm going to stop now.
"Well… when did you have that hot chocolate?" Alfred prodded, after pulling one of the pizza crusts out of the oven and beginning to spread tomato sauce (fresh, of course) on it.
"Uh…" I tried to think back to this morning. Bella had given me the chocolate… when? "This morning. Around nine or so I guess. Just a few minutes before Feliciano called. Why?"
"Nope!" Alfred said cheerfully, shaking his head. "I've studied biology and chemistry for the last hundred years. That's not it. First of all because you'd taste an aphrodisiac in that because hot chocolate is a mixture, and the aphrodisiac would have combined with the water to make a thinner solution, so it would have tasted like crap or chemicals, depending on what was used, and second because it would have started working a lot sooner no matter WHAT it was. So the good news is Belgium didn't drug you!"
"Then who the fuck did?!" I demanded, rubbing irritably at my forehead, where I was beginning to develop a pounding headache. Was I dehydrated or something? What was this shit?!
"Well I don't know," Alfred laughed. "I only got here at three, after all. The only thing I watched you drink was the wine. Maybe you just get horny when you're drunk."
"The wine…" I muttered, trying to think. No, I didn't get horny when I drank, but this little wine shouldn't affect me at all, let alone this much. I'm a bastard when I'm drunk, but it takes a lot to get there. "Well I'm not DRUNK. So someone had to have put something in the... wine... Which has been open, in the fridge... Oh, fuck, that could have been anyone..."
"Oh yeah," Alfred intoned. "'Cause everyone was just over your house! Wow, that sucks, dude. You don't know who drugged you."
"Who the fuck would want to?!" I demanded. "Spain doesn't have the brains, Prussia shouldn't care, as far as I know, France... well, he could have, but he was sick so probably not, England would have no motivation to do that, the piano bastard wouldn't do that, Bella would have done it in the hot chocolate, the Netherlands... he's a dick, but he wouldn't waste the shit if he actually spent the money to but it..."
"Mattie wouldn't have done that, that's mean..." Alfred mused. "I don't think your brother would have either, Hungary probably wouldn't have done it herself... who else was over?"
"I thought that was everyone..." I frowned. "Wait..." I was remembering my solitary stroll through the mansion...
"RUSSIA!" Alfred and I both exclaimed at the same time.
"Oh, fuck," I squeaked, as Alfred growled something unintelligible. "I was drugged by Russia! He told me to have some wine later! Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck!"
"Ve, when will dinner be ready?" Feliciano called, poking his head around the corner from the living room. "Is everything alright?" He asked, stepping into view. "Big brother France and England heard shouting... We weren't sure if..."
"No!" I screa- shouted in the most manly of fashions, and ducked behind Alfred so he wouldn't see the oh-so-infuriatingly-present bulge in my apron. "Get out of my fucking kitchen! W-We'll have it soon, dammit! Go back to whatever the fuck you were doing!"
"Ve, if you say so, Lovi~!" Feli chirped. "I'll just be waiting hungrily~ It wouldn't take me so long to make a pizza~"
"Fucking-!" I snapped, and went to lunge for his retreating back, but Alfred seized me by my shirt collar, and held me back.
"Hey, leave him be," he insisted, dragging me back a few feet with an ease that made me sick to my stomach. "We should try to figure out how to make you better before we have to serve dinner. It'll be REALLY awkward if you're hard while we're eating."
"Oh..." I frowned, as I realized he was right. "Shit, it will be. Um... Fuck. Can we let Feli finish the pizzas? Maybe we should... act... like a couple... or something...? I don't want to drag this out any longer than possible. Spain's pissed. If we can just get the tea bastard to fall for it, then..."
"Then that's a half success right there! Brilliant, Roma! Alright! Feli said they heard us... So they must be in the sitting room with him. HEY, FELI!" Alfred shouted. "Come finish the pizzas, will you?"
It was less than a second before Feli was back in the kitchen, beaming and tearing my apron over my head. "Ve, alright~! You two go have fun! Shoo! Seriously, get out of my kitchen!" I scurried from the kitchen, part wary of Feli's intense reaction to being allowed to take over the cooking, and part nervous he'd see the bulge in my jeans, but I don't think Alfred was moving fast enough for my brother, because he received a sharp smack on his ass with a wooden spoon. I winced and Alfred yelped and sped up his pace, joining me outside the kitchen, in the hallway by the stairs.
"Ow..." He whined, and I huffed in amusement, before turning and dragging him down the hallway with me, away from Feli's prying ears. He really did have a knack for hearing things he shouldn't.
"So..." I started, once I deemed us far enough away from the kitchen. "How are we going to do this shit? Because Spain is pissed. I know he is. Already. So I want to... speed this up. If I told him I really wanted him, not you, I'm sure he'd be fine -or at least better- with this, but he's also a shit actor, so England would catch on."
"Alright, well after the ground rules you set down, I don't wanna lose my junk, so it's your call, Roma," Alfred grinned. "Although if you want this fast... I'd say the easiest way is to just make out in front of Iggy. France is sick so he can't do the same. He'll see that I can, and that I'm perfectly willing to do so! No economy troubles here!"
"Do we really have to...?" I grimaced. "Fuck. I... I don't want to make Spain any madder. Maybe it would be better if you stopped when Spain comes around so Spain thinks he has you afraid of him, but England sees that Spain's seriously pissed AND you're seriously afraid."
"Sounds good!" Alfred beamed, shooting me a thumbs up.
"A-And, I'm still horny as fuck. So do you know anything about cures to aphrodisiacs, since you're so good at scientific shit?"
"Not if I don't know which one it is," Alfred sighed. He sounded genuinely sorry. "Sorry, Romano. I would get you a cure, but I don't know what's in it, so I can't. But I can probably manage to get you off before Spain finishes un-cuffing Prussia and Mattie, if you like! It'll give Iggy a show, anyway~"
"W-What?!" I spluttered, as he began to drag me down the hallway towards the sitting room by my wrist. "N-No! Not in front of the fuckface! I can't! You can't! And y-you'll be breaking all the damn rules!"
"Roma, where would we be if we didn't break any rules?" Alfred asked, pausing in his rush to the sitting room and sighing dramatically.
"I don't know! I lost my memory!" I exclaimed. "The fuck are you talking about?"
"I'd be England's colony, and you'd be Austria's!" Alfred said, as if this should be obvious to me. "So come on, if we want to get this over with quickly, let's just break the rules!"
"I suppose..." I grumbled, crossing my arms sullenly.
"Yeah, that's the spirit!" He cheered, taking my arm and starting down the hallway anew. "And look at the bright side! If Spain gets REALLY jealous, he might just attack me, steal you, and ravish you in a bedroom somewhere!"
"...that's the bright side?" I groaned. That sounded good to me, and yet... Was I ready for that? "Oh, fuck."
Thankfully, Alfred had no idea where the fuck he was going, so I had time to reconsider the situation.
I was pretending to have some kind of thing going on with Alfred. A DAY after getting back from the hospital. With AMNESIA.
Maybe we should have thought this through more carefully before just... doing it... Wasn't this too soon to start messing around with someone else? Especially considering I'd been in a relationship before I lost my memories?
Yes, yes it was.
So I don't think there was any way around that... But dammit, all I had to do was explain it to Spain! I could tell he was already insanely fucking mad at me... or America... But what the fuck, I wasn't doing this because I LIKED the fucker!
Was he hot? Sure, but he was also a fucking oblivious moron most of the time. And so was Spain. But Spain was more hot than oblivious moron. And less moronic than adorable. S-So I chose Spain over America, yes I did.
I just had to explain to Spain that I was only doing it to help Alfred break up England and France because France was one of Spain's best friends, and I didn't want England around all the time... because he scares the shit out of me...
Oh... Wait.
Back up a second.
France is one of Spain's best friends.
Well... shit.
He probably won't want me breaking up his best friend's relationship.
Especially by pretending to have something sexual going with America, of all people.
S-So maybe this would be a little harder to explain than I had initially imagined.
Or a LOT harder.
It's definitely gonna be a fuckload harder to JUSTIFY to Spain, that's for sure...
But I'm pretty sure England still loves America, if the look he gave him in the hallway, after he saw us, was any indication.
Alfred said himself they broke up over something stupid, and I assumed it was just their pride stopping them from getting back together. They both had seemed pretty volatile, even back in the 1800s. Why should that have changed by now?
Now... don't get me wrong. I'm sure England does care about France too. Fuck, their histories pretty much went together. All that shit in the Middle Ages between all their kings and shit? I think William I, the first king of England with the bloodline that actually continued after that, was from Normandy, France. So... They're close. They've been close. France has helped England, England has helped France. And I don't know anything about "World Wars," (Spain mentioned a three... I assume that means there have been two already?) but I'm sure they helped each other out with that shit too.
But I think... France is like a big brother to England. Sort of. They have more of a rival relationship than England and America.
But England and America... They are like brothers. Because England raised America. And France sort of did that for England... But they also fight. Like, all the damn time. And not just... one and done, like America's revolution. Like, whole fucking wars. The Hundred Years' War, for example.
So... it's for their own damn good, dammit! Because it's not healthy for America to be single. He gets himself into stupid shit and is in a TERRIBLE mood, and bashes Prussia all the time (which I don't really mind) but America is fucking STRONG, dammit, and I'm not going to lie, that could be dangerous. Him being in a terrible mood I mean, not bashing Prussia. I don't care about that bastard. I care about what happens if America decides not to leave Spain, or even worse, go back to Italy and do something incredibly fucking stupid, and destroys part of my fucking country. Like crashing an airplane into a field or a car into a building or something equally DUMB.
N-Not that I haven't likely done shit in the past like that because I probably have... Even more than what I can already remember... Klutz that I am...
But!
My inner rant was cut short, as Alfred finally found the door to the sitting room, stopped outside it, fixed his hair, then pressed me up against the wall (Again! What the hell, was this becoming a pattern?!), causing me to gasp.
One of his hands found its way behind my back, and pulled my torso close against his. My breath hitched in my throat at the contact. His other threaded carefully through my hair, but when he pulled it out to repeat the action, just as he leant in to kiss me, his fingers brushed the curl protruding from the front of my hair, and I moaned desperately.
Pleasure shot from the base of that hair down my spine and straight to between my legs, causing my erection to swell further. My knees buckled out from beneath me, and I actually slid down the wall for about a foot before America caught me, gripping the back of my shirt in one hand, and giving me a curious look.
"What in the bloody hell-?" England's voice echoed from the sitting room, before he was there, standing in the doorway, emerald eyes widening in shock.
Alfred gave a decisive tug on my curl just then though, and I whimpered loudly, causing England to flinch and more footsteps to approach, what sounded like two from the living room, and one, louder, but farther away, and on the hard wood floors of the hallways leading elsewhere in the house. Moments later, the French fuckface stood behind England's left shoulder, and Feliciano behind his right, both with similar expressions of shock to England's. But France's morphed into anger, and Feliciano's into something unreadable, almost like despair, but with a splash of... was that fear?
What the hell was Feliciano... afraid of?
Alfred didn't stop tugging and stroking that damn curl, even though we had an audience now. He'd buried his face in my neck, and was shifting, to make it look like he was kissing it, but was in reality doing nothing, for which I was grateful. But he made up for it by touching the curl, which had more than enough of an effect on me on its own. He kept at it determinedly until that third pair of footsteps, the footsteps of Spain's nice shoes on his nice hardwood floors, reached the corridor near us, no doubt leaving dark black streaks in their wake. My pulse sped in anticipation, and my head rolled over onto my shoulder so I could watch him come, watch the nation I'd had a crush on for decades see me being held, touched by another nation, see what he'd do...
But when he came... all I felt was a sensation of dread form, and drop, like a rock off a boat, until it fell to the pit of my stomach. But there was something else, too... excitement. I was disgusted by it. I shouldn't be excited by this, because Spain was obviously distressed... but he was seeing me like this and mio Dio, I was just so fucking horny, and...!
I don't know... but think I whited out.
But I do know... When I opened my eyes again, I was on the floor, Feliciano was kneeling down in front of me, expression frantic and tears streaming down his face, and someone was shouting. In Spanish.
And then I heard the sound of a fist connecting with flesh, and officially panicked.
A/N: Yeah... I'm really sorry this took so long. I always say this, and I'm always gonna be terrible about it, but I promise you guys, I'll keep updating, even if it takes a long time. This story is just so hard to write without inspiration lol. But, yay for all the diehard Spamano fans out there, the Romerica should end soon! A lot sooner than I'd planned, but I regrettably had to brutally murder all my old plans for this story a couple weeks ago when I started working on it again, because... that's how my inspiration works. If I wait too long, it dies a slow horrible death. So I kill it myself and start over, yay for gruesome metaphors~! Ahaha, sorry this chapter was a little... darker? Less fun? I don't know. Just go with it, kay? I'm going to try to let this story run itself, and I'm trying to stay up really late tonight (don't ask) so I'll write some more, and get a jump on the next chapter! Okay, lovelies? Hope you all had a nice Valentine's day, by the way! (I didn't, in case you cared~)
Also, you all need to LOVE me. Do you know how fucking annoying it is to upload this shit from a phone?! HARD. It takes FOREVER. So enjoy this, dammit.
Translations:
Estadounidense – American (from the United States)
Estados Unidos – United States
Amado - beloved
Chico – boy
Mi Lovinito – my little Lovi
Comprendes? – Do you understand?
WAS ZUR HÖLLE – (German) What the hell
Jódete, me voy – Fuck you, I'm coming