Hetalia - Axis Powers Fan Fiction ❯ High Hopes ❯ Part One ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

OOC: I do not own any rights to ‘Hetalia’ or its characters. This work is not for profit. Alright everyone. YES this story is totally cliché, it’s like a mushy romantic drama thing, it’s the first fanfic I ever wrote. If you read the others you’ll notice I got a bit better. YES the only entity in the story whose name is ‘canon’ is Spain (because I adore the name Antonio), France is Miles because I HATE the name Francis, it’s lame. While Arthur is a great name for England, bear with me, I did not know when I wrote this that the characters already had names. I hadn’t read any fan fiction for Hetalia. I just happen to think the anime is amazing. And yes I made Netherlands a feisty redhead, they happen to have them there, I’ve met several. And Misti is a totally made up ‘fancy-lady’... just to make that clear. Also note that America is not male or a blonde... mostly because I’m American and I’m not a bloody blonde!
IC: :On with the show:


:It Begins:

England stood by the fire blazing in the hearth, looking back at the crying form on the bed with no remorse. The girl was sobbing brokenly into her hands, she felt awful, she’d believed his lies and given herself to him. Now she was ruined, she knew that her big brother would not forgive her.

England had finally had enough. “Take your things and leave my house. You and France are no longer welcome here. Tell him that for me, will you?” England was sickeningly sweet.

Morocco gathered her things and left.


:In Germany:

A few years later France and England were having a beer in Germany.

“So Andrew, why did you lie to my little sister?”

England sighed, “At the time I made the promise it wasn’t a lie.” France waited in silence an incredulous look on his face. “The 1720’s were a crazy time. I loved her, or at least I thought I did. I made her the offer of marriage intending on following it through. But then she came to me, ready to give herself to me without the legalities taken care of. I’d already been thinking that I’d been too impulsive in offering for her-.”

Frances tankard hit the table hard, sloshing beer all over his hand, “So you took her virtue anyway!? You lowly son of a-“

“Miles! Please, I wasn’t finished.” England curtly interrupted France’s outburst. “As I was saying; she came ready to give herself to me just as I had decided to call the whole thing off.” France twitched as if fighting for control. “I told her that I thought we should call it off, but she insisted on us seeing if she could change my mind. I got angry and took her at her word. I don’t feel sorry for it, I won’t. It was her fault. A lady should never throw herself at a man and expect to be denied.” England’s hand on his tankard had tightened with his rage and for fear of him breaking it France kept his silence until England’s hand relaxed.

“You know I still hate you right?” France said flippantly.

“Ha! Miles, no worries there. I don’t much like you either.” And England held his tankard aloft and France clinked his own to it in a salute.

“Was that really all you wanted to ask Miles?” England queried after a while.

“No.” France’s face turned pensive and stand-offish. “You know that the twins are becoming more and more difficult to handle. Both have left out homes and participate in their own countries’ politics.” France paused not sure how to go on.

“Yes, America was rather decisive when she stormed out last fall. I haven’t heard a thing from her since. Though her brother sends me many letters complaining about her antics.”

France smiled indulgently. “Yes, Canada does have a rather large complaint streak. But his latest quip caught my attention. It seems that America has finally picked a name for herself-.”

“Ahh, and what would that be?” England smiled an eager look in his eyes.

“Bell Smith.” France’s dead-pan voice carried the weight needed to crush England soundly. France watched as England’s face fell and then ire took its place.

“What!” England exploded.

“Apparently we’ve been hearing much more about her than we thought, no?” France asked quietly.

England was stunned; the woman he’d been dying to meet was a little girl he already knew. “But she’s only fourteen! She couldn’t possibly be…” England spluttered shaking his head in shock.

“Well if you had let me finish mon ami you would know that I did not learn her name from Canada’s letter.”

“Then how do you know!?” England groused petulantly.

“Canada simply informed me that his sibling was all grown up and on her wayward way. When I wrote back asking what he meant by all grown up he said that she had to be at least twenty-four years old, and then whined about why he wasn’t that old too.” France shook his head in disgust. “But the fact remained that she was, apparently, now twenty-four. So I went ahead and found a recent picture of America that showed her as a highly sophisticated thirteen year old and sent it to Paraguay.” England’s eyes snapped at him and his grip tightened again. “I sent it along with a letter asking him if the girl was familiar to him.”

“Why!? Why would you do that?!” England was furious.

“Andrew, we’ve both heard the rumors about Bell Smith; about how beautiful, fresh and intriguing she is, not to mention the line of broken hearts, empty bank accounts and limp dicks left in her wake.” England just stared at France numbly. “Paraguay wrote me a rather heated letter, saying that if I ever saw that hell-cat again to string her to a tree by her pretty little neck and be done with her. That he would have nothing more to do with Bell Smith.” France looked down at his drink, debated with himself for a moment, took a long swallow and continued timidly. “So I took the liberty of calling on her in Washington.” England twitched, “She’s just as lovely as we’d heard and certainly not a fourteen year old child. She’s grown up; much like Northern Italy did to Austria. She… she…” France turned bright red and couldn’t continue.

“She what?” England was harsh.

“She hit on me.” France squeaked; England looked confused. “Normally I wouldn’t mind a woman making the first move but this, this from a woman I helped to raise.” France shook his head, “I… J’ai couru rapidement. Je ne…” France stopped at the annoyed look on England’s face. “Que?”

“English Miles, English.”

“Oh, I ran away, didn’t look back. I’ve never been afraid of a woman before.” France’s gray eyes were lost and scared as he gazed at England.


:That Night:

Later that night, back in his town house in London England got out all of his newspaper clippings that he’d collected on Bell Smith. “No wonder no one’s been able to get a picture of the little minx, she wouldn’t have allowed it. She probably knew that I would hear of her exploits and find a way to stop her.” He mused aloud.

“Do you always talk to yourself like you’re talking to someone else?” A soft feminine voice carried to him from the chair before the ornate fireplace across the room.

England spun around, “Who’s there?!”

“Now, now England is that any way to speak to a guest?” A lithe redhead stood up and came around the chair swaying enticingly.

“Netherlands, what are you doing here?” England groaned inside.

“Well France mentioned that you might be, out of sorts tonight. So I decided to come and comfort you.” Netherlands gave England her most winsome smile, “You know you won’t be disappointed. You certainly weren’t when I ‘helped’ you last fall when America walked out on you.”

Now England was angry, “I do NOT think of America in such a way! I was simply in need of company! For Christ’s sake! She’s only a child! And I want you to leave. That little affair last year was nearly the death of me! Get out!” England shouted.

Netherlands’s face fell, “Fine! Have your precious little Miss Bell, just like everyone else!”

England flinched at her parting remark as she stormed out. England walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a brandy, downing it in one swallow he slumped onto the floor as it burned its way down his throat. “Shit.”


:Meet America:

Bell was having the time of her life! As America she had been invited to a ball in London by some old friends from school. She wore a demure blue evening gown in the current English style with her auburn streaked chestnut hair pinned up in cascading curls - curls that had taken hours to obtain. America loved the party life, and that was the very reason she had left England for home in the first place. She absolutely, had to make sure that her own people did not turn out as sour as they’d started, or worse - become as dull as the English they had escaped! However, there was a slight damper on the whole thing; America had accepted the invitation without first thinking up an explanation for how old she suddenly was. So the shocked looks on Finland, Spain and Belgium’s faces was like cold water in her own; until Czechoslovakia came in and explained the way things happen when a nation finally decides to grow up - since she herself had done the same thing during school had she not? Which, of course, she actually had. However since America was so much older now, ten years in fact, she would have to stay somewhere else.

So America bluffed, “That’s alright Spain. England knows I’m here; I’ve actually been avoiding him all day. But I’ll be staying with him, after a reaming of course.” America smiled sheepishly and her friends laughed as the party began. When America could no longer feel her legs from dancing she decided it was time to go. “If I’m not dead in the morning I shall see you all again.” America smiled warmly at her friends.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to escort you to England’s house?” Spain asked.

“I’ll be fine Antonio, but thank-you my friend.” And she left, disappearing down the streets of London. A few blocks down she was paused outside of beautiful ornate blue door, America raised her hand to ring the bell, “Please don’t hate me.” She prayed as she waited for the door to open.


:Going Home:

England had just finished filing all of the news clippings and the bottle of brandy; he was on his way to his bed, undressing along the way when the bell rang. “Who the bloody hell could that be!?” He cried out. “If Netherlands is back I’ll choke her.” He muttered on his way to the door. England paused before the door and looked down at himself in dismay; the bell rang again, “Bloody Hell.” England yanked open the door wearing nothing but his slacks. “What!?”

America’s mouth fell open in astonishment, England never looked like that! Well he had once, just after she won her independence from him, but she’d been a child then. America stared in wonder at him finding it hard to believe she’d never noticed how amazingly sexy England was.

“Who are you?” England was getting angry, this woman was just staring at him and not in an ‘You aren’t decent’ way but in a way that was making him horny.

“Sorry,” She looked up into his eyes; the never-ending green startled him, he knew those eyes. “Andrew, are you drunk?” America couldn’t believe it, she’d never seen him like this before.

“America.” England sighed her name sending chills down her spine. Suddenly England’s eyes focused sharply on her face, “Why are you here?” He was angry now.

America stepped back as though he’d hit her, “S-Spain invited me to his ball tonight, but I couldn’t stay there. There wasn’t any room, so I came to ask if I could stay with you.”

England stepped out the door and she backed up a couple of steps, clearly frightened. “You’re afraid of me!? Me!? I’ve done nothing but take care of you.” England growled moving to stand in front of her, this time America stood her ground, though she didn’t know which was affecting her breathing worse: his bare chest inches from her face or how angry he was. “You, who’ve made such a lovely name for yourself,” He spat.

America flinched, “Paraguay deserved what he got! And I’ll have you know that I’m still a virgin!” She screamed in his face, fighting back tears.

England reeled, “But the news…”

It was America’s turn to be angry, “You’ll believe anything if it’s written in that stupid paper of yours, won’t you! You wouldn’t bother to write me and find out the truth, hell you haven’t answered any of my letters!” She was crying now, angry little tears of disappointment.

“Hold on, what letters?!” England was lost and it was starting to snow. “Here,” He wrapped an arm around America’s shoulders. “Let’s go inside.”

Once through the door America took off her long coat and hung it in the nearby closet, then removed her shoes. England closed and latched the door, “I’ll be right back.” And he headed off to his room, picking up his discarded clothing as he went.

America smiled as she watched him, he really was adorable sometimes; she could see why Netherlands liked him so much. America’s smile faded, thinking about Katrina made her angry all over again and she nearly stormed back out the door. But England came back just then, “You could have gone in and sat down silly.” He informed her smiling.

“I…” She blinked, England looked amazing. He’d put on the turtleneck she’d got him when she was eight; England hated turtlenecks and had never worn it before. “I thought you hated those.” Was all she could say.

England’s smile faded into confusion, then he looked down at himself. Suddenly he felt self-conscious, “I, well… I like this one.” His lamely coated excuse made her smile; he decided then that he would die before she knew it was the only one he owned. “Anyway,” England gestured to the fireplace and America went and sat on the stool in front of the chair Netherlands had been in earlier; where England himself usually sat.

“It smells of sea foam over here.” America scrunched up her delicate little nose in annoyance.

“Yes, I suppose it might,” America flinched, something England didn’t miss. “Netherlands decided it was perfectly alright to break into my house while I was gone, scare me half to death when I got back and then be angry when I made her leave.” England growled remembering the nerve of the little she-demon.

America’s head was bowed, she was trying very hard not to cry and feel sorry for herself. She’d worn this particular dress to Spain’s ball because she’d been hoping England would be there and she’d thought that maybe now he would see her as something more than just a little kid he needed to take care of. But she was wrong, he had Netherlands, the stupid bitch, England didn’t want her. America had always thought that she would marry England when she grew up, and now that she was a grown woman she still wanted that to happen, but she wasn’t even going to get the chance. A tear slid down her face.

England had gone and grabbed the big quilt America and Canada had made for him when they were nine off of his bed and spread it out on the floor before the fire, which he’d started back up. England didn’t want to sit in that chair until he’d cleaned it, the thought made him shudder. England looked back at his all-to-quiet companion and saw the tear. With a concerned frown on his face he raised his hands to cup her cheeks and wiped the tear away with his thumb. “What’s wrong crumpet?”

America gave him a watery grin, “I hate crumpets.”

England smiled, god she was beautiful, the dress hugged her curves and made her eyes pop. Staring at her, it took England a minute to realize that she was wearing his favorite color and it took him another few seconds to realize that he was still holding her head in his hands and that he was staring at her like a love-struck fool. England took his hands away and looked down sheepishly.

America was breathless; England had never looked at her that way. America looked down at him curiously, reaching out she ran her fingers through his shaggy dark blond hair.

England looked up at her and grinned, “Why don’t you join me?” And he gestured to the quilt he was sitting on.

America looked down at it and blushed, “You still have that?” America’s eyes flashed back to his.

“Of course I do, I also still have that poncho you made me.” England chuckled at the memory.

“But it was too small!” America couldn’t believe it; she sank down next to him in a daze. Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him close, planting a happy kiss on his cheek. England smiled and hugged her back before remembering that a proper English gentleman would be flustered by this sort of thing.

England grinned and pulled away, “Would you like some tea?” He asked, America looked indecisive, “Or hot chocolate perhaps?” He relented on a sigh.

America’s green eyes shown, “You actually have the makings for that here?” She teased him. England leaned in and kissed her nose smiling. “Yes, actually I do.” And England got up and went to the kitchen, he didn’t miss America’s startled look. “I wish I could make her look like that more often.” England said to himself.

“You really shouldn’t think out loud you know.” America’s voice entered his reverie as her arms wrapped around his waist; it was his turn to be startled.

“I-.” England had been in the process of reaching into the cupboard for mugs; he slowly brought his arms down and laid his hands over hers. “I missed you America.”

America smiled against his back, “I missed you too England.”

England closed his eyes for a moment then turned in her arms and looked down at her. “Then why did you leave?” He could barely make the sounds over the lump in his throat.

America looked up at him as his arms encircled her, “Because I didn’t want to become you. I’m not your copy.” England looked aghast. “I knew I had to get away or I’d always be in your shadow. I didn’t want that. I wanted, want, you to see me for myself. So I had to go and become myself.” America paused for breath but at England’s darkening expression she hurried on. “And before you start spouting about Paraguay having anything to do with it; I’ll have you know that I emptied his bank account in a game of cards and his dick was limp because it will never be hard again, because it is no longer attached! No one tells an American that women are useless, empty-headed fools, only good for bedding and gets away with it!” America stomped her foot in emphasis.

England was looking down at her flushed face and dagger throwing eyes in wonder, suddenly he bent down and kissed her, full on her angrily set mouth. America squeaked in surprise and he raised his head a soft look on his face. America blushed and England turned away to grab the mugs down, a smirk on his face. “So, why did you hit on France?” He queried lightly.

America’s blush deepened and she went to sit at the table. “Well, I actually wasn’t serious. But it was so much fun to see the shock on his face!” Her eyes twinkled at the memory. “He’s so used to people falling all over him that I couldn’t refuse attempting to make him uncomfortable.”

England beamed, “Well you certainly succeeded.” England brought the steaming mugs to the table and sat down.

After a few minutes of companionable silence America asked, “So, if you never got my letters, then how did you know I was the one who trounced Paraguay? And I thought you no longer spoke to France.”

England paused looking at her over the rim of his mug. “Well, I,” He hesitated, put his mug down. “I was in Germany gathering information on someone who has been causing a lot of trouble lately.” England leaned back in his chair. “France was there as well, “visiting” Boris. When I stopped by to say hello Boris foisted Miles onto me.” England chuckled. “So we decided to grab a beer. And as to your exploits with Paraguay, that happens to be all over the news.”

America looked up sharply, “What happened to him sure, but there’s nothing that says America did it. When did you learn my name?”

England flushed, “I… Miles told me.”

“Ahh, right, you did mention that I flirted with him.” She gave an impish smile. “Anyway, would you mind if I stayed here a while?”

England smiled, “Not at all, stay as long as you like. Your room,” England paused, “Your room is just the way you left it.” England rose and gathered their mugs, cleaned them and put them away. “Goodnight.”

America was in shock, when she’d left her room had been a disaster! England was a neat freak, that’s actually why she’d left it in such bad disrepair. America got to her feet and warily ventured down the hall to her room and pushed open the door with her eyes closed. When no awful smell met her nose she cracked her eyes open. Her room was clean, everything was how she would have had it put away if she’d done so herself. America growled, “Nearly gave me a heart-attack!”

England smiled from his doorway down the hall, “Guess I’m not the only one who talks to themselves.” He smirked.

America whirled around. “You, you cleaned it.”

“Yeah, well, I thought you would be back.” England was looking at the floor.

America walked over to him, leaned over and kissed his frowning lips. “Thank-you.” She turned and went to bed. England stood there frozen for a long time before he turned and went to bed as well.