One thing has always been clear about Russia and America: They hated each other. It was no surprise; after all, their parents had despised each other, so naturally, their children would hate each other as well.
Russia and America had just gotten ou...
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Headcannon right here^
I hate it when people say white people have no culture. Like, have you heard of the entire continent of Europe? Also when they say that the only spice white people use is salt. Europeans literally fucking journeyed around the world in search of spices. Plus, some of the best types of food is made by white people (ex: Italy, Switzerland, Germany [sometimes; there's a very fine line], Belgium, Spain, etc.) I hate it when people use stereotypes as their only basis of knowledge.
Thank you for reading my rant and enjoy the story!
(Also, yes, I am editing some chapters, which explains why the names are different.)
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-*America's POV*-
Every single curse word America knew ran though his head. (A/N: Me when school)
Although, he couldn't deny that he liked the idea of being called Russia's boyfriend. The oddly pleasant feeling in his stomach was more intense than he had ever felt it—even stronger than when he hugged Russia in the forest after confessing his childhood trauma.
Not that he would want to be Russia's boyfriend. They were total opposites. Besides, despite the fact that America was trying to be kind to the Russian, the larger country was still an asshole to him. So, even if HYPOTHETICALLY America did feel something for him, there was no chance Russia reciprocated those feelings. Again, emphasis on hypothetically.
Ukraine and Canada, meanwhile, sat quietly in the corner, patiently waiting for the two rivals to finish their mental breakdowns.
"Ahem." Ukraine said calmly, clearing her throat. "Are you two done yet, or do you need another minute? Because America over here looks like he's going through a crisis right now."
That's because I am!, He resisted the urge to cry out.
Instead he just nodded, trying his best to appear calm. "Nope. I'm perfectly fine." He said, trying to sound cheerful. In reality, though, he felt as if someone had set fire to his insides, and the smoke was rising in his chest, beginning to suffocate him.
Yet, it wasn't a bad feeling. Overwhelming, yes, but not bad. In fact, he quite liked it. He knew that he probably shouldn't, but he did.
This feeling wasn't completely new, though. It had only begun recently, appearing for the first time on that night in the forest where Russia had shown him the frozen lake, which had ended with Russia falling on top of him, putting them in a compromising position. From there, the feeling had begun to occur more recently.
After Italy's truth or dare question.
When they talked in the forest, which had ended in a hug.
