#frukspa

I tried to draw Francis and Antonio trying to make Arthur jealous to practice posing and expressions, but I'm not sure it worked out well (Ugh, hands and expressions are hard af).

okay so,, not really gone for love triangle but it is definitely frukspa what a lovely decision hehe

Reunited

“He should be out of there by now. What’s taking so long?”

“Yeah, but don’t forget he’s also probably waiting for luggage, and there’ll be a queue at border control. His flight only landed half an hour ago.”

Francis gives a tut and begins to hold himself. While he looks cold, it is probably because he wants a hug that is likely still waiting to have its passport checked. Arthur would have… offered him some kind of comfort, if he had even the slightest belief Francis would accept it. But he wouldn’t. So he doesn’t.

@aphfrainweek​

Relationship: Frain (France x Spain) with a bit of Spuk and Fruk with hints of FrUkSpa I guess?

Summary: Spain and France are laying in bed together after a bout of lovemaking and Spain asks France about England.

Word Count: 850

Mature: Mention of sex but nothing too explicit.

Anyway enjoy!

Title: Let's bitch about England because fuck him!

France was smoking a cigarette in bed, occasionally huffing out a cloud of smoke as Spain was laying against him playing with the hair on the man's chest.

"Say, Francia, what do you think about Inglaterra?"

France stopped breathing for a second and frowned.

"Mixed feelings. Why?" he asked, confusion clear in his voice.

"He was shouting to me about something today," Spain said, sounding subdued.

"Doesn't surprise me, always complaining about something. What did you do that led to him being a nuisance again?" France snorted.

"Forgot some paperwork or so, I don't even really remember what he said." Spain shrugged.

France raised an amused eyebrow, "and why is it bothering you?'

"Did you ever notice he has a nice mouth and pretty lips?"

What me posting another one so late? I started this and then kind of forgot so here it finally is!

@aphfrainweek

Relationship: Frain (France x Spain)

Summary: France and Spain ask England to choose which one of theirs is the true language of love!

Word Count: 1066

Mature

Disclaimer: I’m aware this is not what a love language is but I felt uninspired for that, while for language I’m mega inspired, which is why it took me a while.

Thank you to that one discord user that believes himself to be Spain ;) I wouldn’t have had the Spanish to do this without you!

Anyway enjoy!

Title: To simp for Spanish or to simp for French? That is the question. 

"Obviously having hung around both of you and associating that with you both I find neither of your languages to be particularly attractive." 

"Menteur" Liar

"Estás mintiendo." You're lying.

Arthur rubbed his brow in annoyance, cheeks heating up as he looked over to the two Mediterranean countries standing in front of his desk.

"Look, if you don't trust me to be honest how do you want me to end your dispute?" He sighed, frustrated.

"Angleterre, we need someone neutral. You pretend to hate us both equally-" France started, making air quotes with his fingers.

"Pretend?!?" Arthur interjected with a raised eyebrow and Francis ignored him with an amused eye roll. 

"Yes yes, You are thus the best judge to aid us I resolving this debate." 

Antonio nodded next to his partner in crime. 

"It had to be you, Inglaterra." 

England groaned. 

"What about Belgium?" 

"Would choose Spain just to annoy me." 

England snorted, "seems like her. What about Germany?" 

"He'd choose France because he is his neighbour and it would be good for neighbourly relations." Spain sighed. 

England snorted once more, "Sounds like him, true. One of the Italies?"

Both Spain and France shook their head vigorously. 

England suddenly understood, "ah, yes, can't make the debate even more complicated by adding Italian into consideration." 

France and Spain nodded sagely. 

England was about ready to bash his head against his desk.

"So how are you two planning to figure out which one is the uhm…" he hesitated, having trouble getting the words past his lips, "sexiest?" 

Both countries in front of him snorted. 

"Which one of our languages is the true language of love, obviously." Spain clarified. "And for you to understand I managed to grab one of the automatic translators we use during the meetings." The man passed him a little gadget that must cost a fortune before crossing his arms.

"Does Germany know you stole one of-" Arthur was cut off. 

France scoffed, "yes, a dumb competition because Spain refuses to accept that it is widely agreed upon that it is mine." 

"Yeah well Spanish and seduction start with the same letter," the Spaniard deadpanned and Francis groaned.

"I don’t think.." England started once more before being interrupted. Again.

"Antoine t'es un putain d'idiot parfois je te jure…" 

Antonio you're a fucking idiot sometimes I swear…

England glared at the Frenchman before the machine in front of him translated what was said.

"Now that's not very ni-"

Interrupted once more by the Spaniard this time,

"Language of love?! My ass." The Spaniard muttered "compared to something like-" and Spain's frown got replaced by a grin while the man moved his hand trough his hair, taking up what was clearly meant to be an attractive pose,

¿Puedes hablar un poco más? Es que dicen que la música cura el alma."

Could you talk a bit more? They say music heals the soul.

England received the translation and raised an amused eyebrow as he watched France's cheeks turn a little pink. 

"Obviously, I hadn't started yet." The Frenchman huffed out, annoyed before suddenly undoing some of his buttons and giving the Spaniard a cheeky grin. 

"Si j'écrivais un poème pour toutes les choses que j'aime chez toi, mon cher, j'ai peur qu'il n'y ait pas assez de papier."

If I were to were to write a poem for all the things I like about you, my dear, I fear there would not be enough paper anymore.

England whistled, impressed.

Seeing this Spain upped the ante, removing his jacket and opening his shirt as well before moving closer to truly look Francis in the eye. The Brit just hoped they wouldn't start a physical fight, he's not really in the mood to risk collateral damage trying to stop them.

"No sabía que te gustara la joyería, esos ojos son los zafiros más hermosos que he visto nunca."

I didn't know you were into jewellery, those eyes are the prettiest sapphires I've ever seen.

England raised an eyebrow wondering if the other two were still competing or have switched over to actually seducing each other. 

Francis looked away, seemingly embarrassed, although the smile on his face did betray he was flattered.

He quickly recomposed himself though grinning as if he was sure his next sentence would grant him the win.

"Entre le soleil et toi je ne sais pas qui me rends le plus chaud et en dessous de qui je préférer être allongé tout nus"

Between the sun and you, I do not know who heats me up the most (both figuratively and literally) and under which I prefer being laid out all naked. 

France stepped closer to the Spaniard and took his face in his hand. 

"Mais je pense bien que ce soit toi."

But I do believe it's you.

England didn't quite know what to say, completely speechless.

Hand still holding his face the Spaniard's eyes had darkened and he was licking his lips. 

"Tengo hambre, y tus labios se ven muy dulces."

I'm hungry, and your lips look sweet

England didn't even have the time to process what it meant before the two countries had pulled each other closer to smash their mouths together. Both eagerly getting rid of any piece of clothing they were wearing.

"Uhh," he started this time not letting himself be interrupted, even though the little grunts and moans were getting louder and louder. 

"So congrats you both won, or both lost, it depends on how you look at the situation," he shrugged seeing as they were both ignoring him once more and with a last eye roll left the room muttering something along the lines of "-both simps for each other… embarrassing…"

That’s before he suddenly came back, arms on his hips trying to strike a pose that left no room to disagreement. 

"Also, hey, this is my office. Go fuck in one of your own!"

France and Spain briefly disentangled themselves before looking at him, both red faced and hungry looks in their eyes. 

"Si querías unirte, todo lo que tenías que hacer era preguntar."

If you wanted to join all you had to do was ask.

France was a bit more direct. 

"Amene tes fesses" 

Bring your arse over here. (But literally, bring your buttcheeks.)

The machine translated both the Spanish and the French and England turned bright red once more. 

"Oh…" 

And then…

“Okay”

—

Fin

frukspa; 875 words; teen; for @maivalkov

"You'll be fine. You've worked hard to get here," Arthur assures him, and Francis joins in, saying, "We believe in you. Just try not to stress too much."

It is the best they can do for Antonio who, smiling rather nervously at them, they have brought back once more to the driving school in order to take his practical exam. This will be his third attempt to pass and get his licence. And they know that each time he has to come back, he only feels worse and worse about it.

In some ways, Arthur and Francis feel a bit like parents dropping off their child at school for the first time. They want it to go well for him. They want him to enjoy it. But Antonio is now twenty-six, and… while he wants those things, too, his efforts have yet to bear any fruit.

"Here, before you go," Francis says as hesitation (or even retreat) threatens to settle in, gesturing for Antonio to get closer, which he does. And when he's just close enough, Francis grabs him by the face and gives him a peck on the lips. "A kiss for good luck," he remarks as Antonio warms up. "Come back from your fierce battle unscathed, you hear?"

The laugh he receives is almost giddy. Antonio finds such things cheesy, but in a good way, and often encourages it. In fact:

"Well, Arthur? Do I get a good luck kiss from you, too?" he asks their third piece, their younger partner, and Arthur naturally rolls his eyes and tuts before going ahead and giving Antonio what he wants (and what he wants to give Antonio, anyway, despite his outward theatrics).

As Francis watches them, he smiles. He used to worry that they would not click in the same way that he did with them individually, but they have truly surprised him, and he's glad. They make each other happy, and so make him happy in turn…

Perhaps trying to stall, even if only for a moment longer, Antonio thanks them both and pulls them into a hug. Francis doesn't mind, deep down; he sets an arm around the brunette as Arthur does the same, and his other arm duly falls around the Brit, too. For a moment, they enjoy it. For a moment, they are alone, in paradise, living a quiet eternity in each other's arms. It's perfect. It's all Francis has ever wanted.

"I love you both," Antonio then tells them, as if they don't already know it, or feel it, "and I promise you, I'll make you both proud."

Francis pulls back and assures him, "You will make us proud no matter what," and, God, he really does sound like a parent, but… but he means it. They will be proud. The fact that he has not yet given up is admirable. "We'll be here waiting when you get back," he goes on.

"Speaking of which," Arthur then pipes up, "you'd better get going. Better to be a few minutes early, see if you can start sooner."

Antonio nods. He thanks them again and accepts the final reassurances that Francis and Arthur are able to give him, before he sets off.

While they have a short window, Francis and Arthur take it upon themselves to prepare, and head into town. From the local florist, Francis picks out a beautiful yet not-too-extravagant bouquet (Arthur rightly reminds him that Antonio prefers simplicity); down the street they reach the chocolatier from whom they purchase a small box of toffee, actually (because Antonio's sweet tooth is insatiable); and they even find a spare ten minutes in which to search for a gift more personal, more intimate, just to really spoil their partner (he'll no doubt need something to help him relax after such a stressful afternoon…).

The card, they already have. It has been sitting in the glovebox of Francis' car ever since Antonio took his first test, waiting patiently for its moment.

When they return to the driving school, it is only a matter of minutes before Antonio emerges, a piece of paper folded in his hand and flapping about in the wind. Francis and Arthur get out to greet him—they're ready to pounce, ready to embrace, ready to shower him with congratulations and gifts and kisses aplenty!…

But…

Antonio does not smile—not a real, Antonio smile.

Francis' heart sinks.

"I, uh… I guess the good luck kisses didn't work," the brunette says feebly. Although he tries to keep it light, he looks like he is in fact on the verge of tears.

"Oh, Toni… I'm sorry…"

"Do you want to—?"

"No, no. It's— It's fine," he insists. "I can try again in a bit…"

And that is what they all agree to do and work towards together. They'll support him, no matter how long it takes, because they know this means a lot to him. They're still proud. They still shower him with love, if not congratulations, and Antonio still thanks them for spoiling him with so many gifts, even if he feels he hasn't earned them.