Hetalia one-shots

Drunk Old Men-FrUk

   The title says it all, just France and England being drunk dumbasses. Leve recommendations if you like because there's gonna be a point where I don't know what to write. Please enjoy ladies and gentlemen and others of respected genders. I apologize for the shit grammar I'm one-third-American and yes I will continue adding pictures that are irrelevant to the plot. The music is relevant though. 

~France's POV~

    "Angleterre I'm home where are you." I walked into England and I's household flat.

   No answer, odd England would usually yell at me or make a snarky remark about how I came home late or him talking to his "mint bunny." I looked around the labyrinth of hallways just to find him asleep on the couch, a bottle of rum at his side, and the television turned on. I went to turn it on only to get yelled at by the snarky brit.

   "Oi, I was wotchin that," England yelled at me, his accent stronger due to being drunk.

   "No, you were not you were asleep with a half-full bottle of rum by your side. What's the occasion anyway Angleterre did your favorite show gets canceled." I said this in a tone I absolutely knew England hated.

    "Shut up you wanker this is my fucking house I can do whatever I dam, please frog." He took another swing of rum a few bottles of wine and champagne on the coffee table.

    "Hmpf, I know you never drink without reason or unless forced to at least did your imaginary friends go away."

   "They are not imaginary and I'll have you know that my favorite football team just lost happy now oh and." He mumbled the last sentence looking away from my face flushed.

   "What did you say? I swear I you-" I was cut off by the drunk brit.

    "I broke one of your favorite frying pans," he looked away to the floor not wanting to look at me, "Not like I care your fault for buying cheap stuff."

   "YOU WHAt? Bastard it better not be the one Italy I gave me or I swear I'll kill you."

"Of course not you twit, It's the one you bought when we went to America's place."

   "Still, you should be more careful this is why you burn everything you cook." I walked to the living room area and grabbed a bottle of wine. I took off the top and took a swig.

"Tch, British wine tastes terrible."

  "At least we can make a good tonic and gin you wanker."

    I turned away to the television that England had turned back on which was now on a random channel showcasing the news. We each took swings off the alcohol in hand while we watched the weatherman sells us about the untamable British weather

-Le Time Skip-

     "Non you idiot,*hic* you're not supposed to add the wine before you have cooked the steak, non, non, you've added too much butter. *hic* How the hell did you even get on this show your cooking is almost as bad as Anglettere's." 

     "I... am not... a bad.. fucking cook... you yank," England said angrily.

      "Non, you are not a bad cook, in fact, you're a horrendous cook, absolutely terrifying. What are you trying to make new torture methods." I sneered at him knowing I had won our little argument.

        "Well, fuck you... ye bastard." The drunk Brit hit me behind my head with his hand.

        "Hey, zhat was uncalled for you bushy-browed maroon."