Quick warning: there is some lime-ish content (implies lemon action but nothing explicit) and some foul language. If that bothers you, then I'd recommend not reading it.
Sorry for the brevity, but I hope you enjoy the update. I should have a few more shorter stories coming your way soon and one that I'm planning on turning into a longer story involving Soviet Russia... Please look forward to it! ^_^
- Turtle-chan
You
hum to yourself as you wash the dishes from dinner. For some reason, this one song has been stuck
in your head for weeks, playing on an infinite loop. It’s quite ominous and
that fact combined with the continued strange behavior of the boys and your
lack of sleep has put you on edge.
“Dünnes eis…
Ein Paradies für jeden… Der zu tanzen weiss…” you sing under your
breath, shivering at the hissing nature of the song. “Tanz
in den tod!”
“What’s
that you’re singing, (y/n),” a high voice asks from behind you. You jump slightly before turning around to
meet Italy’s eyes. Yes, to meet his
eyes. He’s had them open more and more
lately and they’ve started to look less hazel and more… pink. Or maybe red.
You’re a little too unnerved to look at them for very long. It’s like staring into an empty void.
“Oh,
just a song that’s been stuck in my head.
Was I disturbing you?” you respond, trying for a light, flippant tone
despite the tension gathering in your shoulders and stomach. You still have a bruise from the last time
you said the wrong thing in front of him.
“No,
I suppose not,” he says, walking toward the door. “I’m going out. I’ll be back eventually.”
“Alright,
Italy. Have fun,” you respond, turning
back to the dishes. As soon as he’s
gone, you feel yourself shiver. He’s
been going out right after dinner every night and not returning until sometime
in the early morning. He’s also been
insisting on making his own pasta sauce, saying he has a special ingredient he
wants to put in it.
Lost
in your thoughts, you once again don’t hear footsteps as someone approaches
from behind you. A pair of strong arms
wraps around your waist, pulling your body against something hard and
warm. You let out a gasp as you feel a
pair of lips caress the crook of your neck.
“G-Germany?”
you exclaim, confused and shocked.
“Mmh?”
he growls, planting soft kisses up to your jawbone.
“W-what
are you doing?” you ask him, feeling your face heat up as you slowly dry your
hands on a towel.
“Vhat? I’m not allowet to kiss you?” he asks,
pausing for a moment before trailing kisses back down your neck. His hands have slid down to your hips and he
is rubbing small, slow circles on them with his large thumbs.
“W-well,
it’s not that I mind really, but why?” you ask in response. You’re struggling to keep your head clear,
trying not to focus on his lips on your neck and his hands on your hips. His hard, muscled body against your back.
“Bekause
I vant to,” he tells you. “Kome vis me.”
He
takes your hand and leads you down the hallway and into his office, only
bothering to lock the door and turn on the desk lamp before pulling you to him
and kissing you, on the lips this time.
His lips are rough and hungry against yours, crushing and frenzied. He licks your bottom lip seductively and you
start to pull away, embarrassed. He only
pulls you closer, pressing his tongue harder and harder against your mouth
until you have to open it to breathe.
Taking his chance, he snakes his tongue inside, caressing every surface
of your mouth.
You
don’t realize you’ve been moving backward until your legs hit the edge of the
sofa. Germany leans over you and you
fall backward onto it, Germany supporting your body and slowing your fall. At this point, your mind is blank and all you
can think about is Germany’s kiss and how much you want him. Your hands reach up to slide through his soft
blonde hair.
“Ah~!”
you moan as he breaks away for air and starts kissing down your neck and
collarbone, feeling heat rush to your cheeks but unable to keep the noise in.
You
can do nothing but lie on the sofa and stroke his hair as he traces his lips
lower and lower. As his kisses move down
your body, so do his hands. They started
out at your waist, but they’re slowly moving toward your hips. His lips are at your collarbone now and he’s
kissing and sucking at the delicate skin.
And his hands keep moving as well.
They’re at your hips one moment, now they’re almost to your… To your…!
You
let out a gasp and push Germany away, sitting up suddenly. “I-I’m sorry!” you exclaim as you stand up
and run to unlock the door. When you
glance back at Germany, he is sitting on the sofa, looking disoriented. He looks up at you as you leave and you have
to hold back a scream when you notice that one of his eyes is blue while the
other is now violet.
Without
a second glance, you charge up the stairs to your bedroom, only focusing on
your goal. Your bedroom door is in sight
when you hear Japan speak up.
“What
is the rush, (y/n)-san?” he asks. You
stop dead in your tracks and turn around to see him leaning against a wall,
blending into the shadows with his black clothes. When did he start wearing black?
“Ah,
Japan,” you breathe, pasting a shadow of a smile on your lips. “I just felt like doing a little practical
training. That’s all.”
“Hmm…”
is his response. He pushes himself off
of the wall and sidles over to you, examining you closely as he does so. In one swift movement, he’s standing in front
of you, holding your chin in one hand and forcing you to look at him. “I would like to draw you. That blush and the fear in your eyes… Yes, I would like to make you hurt
more.” He shows you a sly, sadistic grin
before letting you go. You notice what
looks to be a tattoo peeking out from under his kimono and you wonder how long
it’s been there since you had never noticed it before. “Well, carry on.”
You
wait until Japan walks away, back into his own bedroom before charging into
yours. You lock the door firmly behind
you and then curl up on the bed.
Eventually, you manage to drift off to sleep and as you do, your mind is
haunted with the words, “Alles löst sich
auf… Alle Gefühle - alle Visionen… Komm und küss den Lauf… Öffne den Mund und lass dich belohnen…”
~ ~ ~
It
is pitch black when you wake up again.
You sit up and rub your eyes slowly, stretching out your cramped
muscles. You aren’t quite sure what it
is that woke you up, but the air feels heavy and thick. You stand up, wrapping a blanket around your
shoulders as a defense against the cold that seems to be seeping in from under
your door, and look out the window into the darkness.
The
moon is full and red and it hangs bloated over the horizon, a barren tree on
the hill silhouetted against its eerie light.
You don’t see any stars in the sky and you entertain the brief, gruesome
thought that the moon ate them all.
Shivering at the image, you turn away and start to go back to bed when
you hear a knocking at your door. Realizing
you locked it earlier, you quickly shuffle over and unlock it, opening it to
peer out into the darkness.
“Hello,
sunflower,” a familiar voice says to you from the pitch-black hallway.
“Russia? Is that you?” you call out in the direction
of the voice. You can’t see a thing, but
it feels like there’s more than one person outside the door.
You
see a large, black-gloved hand emerge from the darkness, palm upward and
fingers outstretched toward you. “You
will be coming with me, da?”
Hesitantly,
you take his hand and allow him to lead you out of the relative light and
safety of your room and into the darkness pervading the rest of the house. Even through the glove, his hand feels cold,
the same cold of the house. You begin to
shiver through your blanket.
It
doesn’t take long for the two of you to reach the door in the kitchen and all
you can see of Russia as he leads you out is the shadowy outline of his
back. As soon as you step out of the
house, however, you know something is wrong.
You try to pull your hand away, but Russia grips it tighter. When he looks down at you expresionlessly,
you notice two things. One, his hair is
now a dark color, either brown or black.
Two, his eyes are blood-red.
You
start to scream, but a hand is clapped over your mouth from behind you until
you are silent. The hand is removed
briefly and something small and saccharine sweet is stuffed into your
mouth. A cupcake? You try not to swallow it, but you can’t help
it and it doesn’t take long for the world to start fading away. The last thing you remember seeing is the
huge moon in the sky burning to the soundtrack in your head. “Nimm
meine Hand… Lass uns brennen…”
~
~ ~
When
you come to, you find that you are unable to move. Your limbs are bound, your arms behind you
and your legs tied at the ankles, and a gag is in your mouth. Immediately, you begin to panic, thrashing
around to no avail. The flailing does
nothing, however, and the gag makes it hard to breathe so you’re forced to hold
still and wait.
Looking
around the room, you notice that it looks almost exactly identical to the one
from your nightmare a while back and the bone-chilling cold is even worse than
back at Germany’s, which you didn’t think was possible. You can literally see your breath in the air
and you’re willing to bet that your fingers are blue, but you’re tied up and
it’s too dark to tell anyway. The only
light entering the room comes from the blood-red moon outside of a small
window. There are iron bars covering the
window and the moonlight makes a pattern on the floor. There is no furniture in the room at all
except for an old, disheveled mattress.
You inchworm your way over to the darkest corner of the room that’s the
furthest from the door. You’re almost
positive that it’s locked and you intuitively know that you don’t want to find
out what’s on the other side. Fate would
have it otherwise, though, and you hear the sound of the door being unlocked.
You
cower further back into your corner as the door swings open to reveal more
darkness. You can’t see them, but you
feel like there are at least two people in the hallway. You hear footsteps approaching you and you
feel like your heart is going to beat right out of your chest. Someone is standing right in front of you,
but you still can’t see him. A large,
calloused hand grips your upper arm and you’re thrown into the pool of
moonlight. You land on your knees, but
lose your balance and go sprawling across the floor on your stomach. Tears prick at your eyes as you try to push
yourself back up without being able to use your hands.
Someone
grabs your hair and uses it to wrench your head back roughly. You find yourself staring up into the
smirking face of a teenage boy with short brown hair and deeply tanned
skin. “Fuck yeah! Look at this bitch! How’d you know crying girls all tied up
really get me goin’?” he exclaims, his teeth standing out a bright white against
the rest of him. “Maybe yer not all bad,
ya fuckin’ Commie bastard.”
The
last is directed at the second person in the room, the man who is Russia but
not Russia. He stands there impassively
by the door, a look of faint disgust on his otherwise expressionless face. “I am locking the door. Just knock when you are finished,” he
responds, not even glancing in your direction as he leaves the room. You hear the locks click back into place and
you look up again, wide-eyed, at your new enemy.
He
smirks down at you, crimson eyes sparkling behind his dark sunglasses. He picks you up and slings you over his
shoulder in an instant before throwing you down none too gently on the
mattress. “Let’s just see what kind of
trouble we can get into, huh, bitch?” he grins as he slips off his battered
leather jacket. “We have time, but I
don’t know if I feel fuckin’ patient today.”
You
close your eyes and tense your muscles in preparation for what you know will
amount to one of the most horrific experiences of your life. The man climbs on top of you and begins
undoing the buttons on your shirt slowly.
You stare up at the ceiling blankly and wonder if you’ll ever see
Germany, the Germany you know and love, again.
The song is there again, on an infinite loop and you focus on the words
and images in your head to block out reality.
“Tanz in den Tod. Kommst du mit mir, spielst du mit mir. Tanz in den Tod. Im ewigen dunkel, werd ich dich wiedersehen?”
~~~
You
feel violated in every sense of the word.
The things you’ve endured, the tortures and the brutalities, aren’t fit
to be repeated. It’s something no one
should know, no one should feel. As you
lie there on that mattress, your limbs bound and numb, your naked body covered
in cuts and bruises, blood trickling down your cheeks like tears, you feel
broken.
Everything
is blank. Your mind is empty and you
feel nothing. No emotions, no pain. It’s all completely gone. Decimated.
Maybe you should be grateful for the numbness, but is it really such a
blessing? You’re like a completely
different person now. You’ve died. The old you is gone and a newer, stronger
version of you is being born.
Downstairs
you can hear the sound of a struggle, breaking and crashing and shouting. Footsteps pound up the steps and down the
hall. The doorknob giggles and you hear
a deep voice that was so familiar to the old you calling out, “(y/n)? (y/n)!
Just holt on, (y/n)! I am komink
for you!”
How
fitting. The hero arrives just at the
moment of the heroine’s death. A last
goodbye is even stolen from them. You
let out a hoarse, croaking laugh and begin to sing through cracked and bloodied
lips. “Alles wird vergehn. All deine
schmerzen --alle Dämonen--und die zeit bleibt stehen. Liebe kennt mehr als vier Dimensionen…”
~~~
The
pounding on the door and the shouts from outside continue for what seems like
hours but in reality is only a period of about fifteen minutes. Then, the noise ceases and you hear the locks
falling away. The door bursts, open, but
you don’t bother to look at the person that enters. Footsteps swiftly approach the mattress and
someone kneels down next to you. Your
eyes slide listlessly over to his face.
Blonde
hair, disheveled. Blue eyes,
emotional. Strong jaw, sharp
cheekbones. Yes, you recognize him. The old you would know him anywhere. As your eyes meet, he lets out a sigh and
smiles tightly down at you, relieved.
“Thank
Gott,” he breathes, bending down to embrace you. “You’re alive.”
As
soon as his fingers brush your skin, you feel something in your snap. The new you begins to take over and you let
out a piercing shriek, curling in on yourself after slapping him away. You tangle your fingers in your matted hair
and pull at it frantically. “DON’T. TOUCH.
MEEEEEE!” you scream, gripped with indescribable terror. His touch brings back all of the memories of
the things you endured at the hands of… the others. Your brain can’t handle it and you just shut
down.
You
notice, somewhere, somehow, the look of confusion which quickly melts into a
look of sorrow and pity and hurt on Germany’s face when you first slap him
away. Most of you doesn’t care, however. In the back of your mind, the new you
chuckles at the last thought the old you had.
“Nichts auf der Welt kann uns
trennen, indeed…”
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