2p!Hetalia Boyfriend Scenarios

46: What Happy Accidents

46: What Happy Accidents
He gets a tad bit too excited (ifyouknowwhatimean)

Warnings: Feels, Filth, Funny Situations 👀
Notes: Hello, everyone!~ Sin is back! ~~~ Before I go to Hell for writing this devilish thing, have a good glimpse of the tragic events that occur when you provoke a certain resident of his pants! ~ Have a sinful day and enjoy today's dose of i-need-a-life-but-i-have-none-so-have-this-instead!~ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

P. S. This is also just sort of a little flashback or side-track to your story with subtle nudges to Scenarios '31: Caught Red-Handed' and '32: The Day After'. I think we'll continue on with the plot for the next scenarios. So, enjoy it while it lasts, or maybe, just maybe, until I get another idea for fluff and take a break from the stuff that's about to go down. Enjoy!~~~ 😘😘😘

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Francois Bonnefoy
Having been fully informed of what happens after long days with your oblivious self and your suffering lover (coughscenario31/32cough), I will safely assume that it'll be fitting to give you the reason that sends the Frenchman to the edge of the abyss.

Like any other deceitful day, the both of you were just innocently lying on your shared queen-sized bed in utter peace—peace that often meant you being asleep and not being on your phone watching whatever it is that you find amusing on the internet. Today must bring grand good things as Francois had miraculously woken up calm without the need of complaining about the burdens of waking up. To add madness to the rabbit hole, it seems to be one of those days where he awakens before you—though, to be fair, nearly everyone in the mansion is aware that you sleep late waiting for Francois as you read stuff online. Nonetheless, the sun shines so brightly that Francois finds it almost offending.

The calmness he found himself with seemed to brought forth other things as his laziness began to kick in. Turning away from the arsehole that is the sun, Francois' gaze found you after attempting to rub the sleep off his eyes. Sleep still had you in it's clutches as he fully rests on his side to observe you.

His heart began to pick up some pace at the sight of you—something he still doesn't quite understand after all these years. How can he, the king of ice cold hearts, be rendered helpless and in awe at the sight of you in mere loose shirts, wrinkly sweatpants and messy monstrous bed hair with a slight trail of drool running down the corner of your lips?

Others would easily rate your current state as 'an unfortnate soul who lost their way' and address your mess as a homeless hobo, but not him. Some might say he's been blinded by love, others might say he's grown too soft, either way, he must step off his throne now. The king of ice cold hearts is no more.

Somewhere down the figurative road of him thinking too deeply and nearly burning a hole through your soul with his eyes, you shifted to a more comfortable position, a hand and leg of yours, by pure chance, brushing ever so slightly against his thigh. Francois ultimately freezes like a deer in front of bright headlights, his brain shutting down all the argument he was having within his own head.

A futile situation occurs as nights with you suddenly came to mind, courtesy of his wretched libidinous thoughts. It wasn't those nights of simply limbs tangled in a cuddle—no, it was nights of your clothes thrown haphazardly in a little puddle. To which I say, 'wink, wink, nudge, nudge'.

Suddenly, he felt a little tight. Panicked he was, Francois was still a stubborn bull, refusing to submit to the effects of your deed. In lieu of what his conscience cried, he turns to the other side and tried to sleep the thing off—I suggest to put a heavy emphasis on the word 'tried'. The Frenchman tossed and turned around, attempting to ignore the rush beneath the black fabric of his pants.