#portuk

Original bellow →

my pookies!!!

"You were pretty until I saw the way

your eyes swelled when you cried,

and you were pretty until I heard

how you stuttered your goodbyes.

You were pretty until I saw the way

you lock your doors at night,

and you were pretty until I knew

you never felt quite right.

You were pretty until I heard

your heart's empty plea-

but then you weren't

pretty anymore,

you were beautiful to me."

-k.p.k

TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY??? HALLELUJAH IM MOTIVATED-

Thank you so much for your ask! <3 I appreciate it sm!

34: "What are you reading?" (EngPort)

Initially, the question drifted by unremarked upon. In comparison to the vessels that Portugal had set aloft in his imagination, it was little more than a piece of driftwood floating idly in the sea. Propping his chin up in the palm of his hand, Portugal’s brow dipped into a crease as the words flowed over him; Why did they do that now, the man thought irritatedly, scarcely noticing the hand that rested on his shoulder and shook him gently, when it was clear that the killer was just next door? 

‘’Portugal.’’ England tried again, sighing as he leaned down (paused, eyes half-squinted as though trying to recall something, before continuing) and pressed a kiss to the back of his head. There was nobody there to watch, England tried to tell himself - suppressing the adrenaline that welled up inside him as he settled by Portugal’s side. ‘’What are you reading?’’ He hummed, leaning against the nook of his body, head resting on his chest.

‘’Murder mystery.’’ The book lay down, resting on his lap as the vessels vanished and he turned to peer down at England. It dawned slowly on him, a wry smile on his face as he snorted softly and ran a hand through England’s short, choppy hair (it was growing back, but that never stopped him anyhow). ‘’Were you building up courage to kiss your husband?’’ 

England briskly ignored the question, jerking his chin towards the book. ‘’Who got murdered?’’ He asked, tapping the book’s dog-eared pages. A soft chuckle rumbled against his head and England grimaced, crow’s feet crinkling around his eyes as he rested his chin against Portugal’s chest. A thousand years and a thousand years more, and England still felt heat lap at his insides, a thousand sermons dug into his body, a thousand voices jeering what it meant to be a man and England elbowed Portugal with a grunt. ‘’Stoppit.’’ ‘’The mood just got murdered.’’ Portugal grumbled, digging his fingers into the small of England’s back as he shook his head gently. ‘’You can be honest, you know.’’ He murmured, lifting up his book and setting the vessels at sea once again. Ah, yes, the murderer, Portugal frowned and sighed softly, wrapping one arm around England’s chest. ‘’Reckon you could figure it out, Sherlock Holmes?’’ Portugal murmured softly, kissing his husband’s head.  England shrugged, eyes fluttering shut as he felt the warmth of Portugal’s body against his back. Heart hammering against his chest, England took a slow pan around the room, gaze flickering furtively from corner to corner - and then felt the lacing of fingers around his hand, an anchor that drew him from the stormy horizons and brought him to port. ‘’Mhm, it’s obviously the handservant. It’s always the servants.’’ England whispered softly.

‘’No-’’ ‘’Oh yes. You see-...’’

45: "It worries me when you get like this." (GerEng) England knew the sight of a man drowning, as he breathed that statement out. It was peaceful, far more peaceful than one expected - all the violence happened on the inside. And Germany was a man drowning, sprawled against a patchwork of files, eyes like glass as he stared quietly out of the window. A cursory glance belied no alcohol (and England let out a sigh of relief, that was a devil that he found far, far too familiar with) and at most, Germany was simply exhausted. Good. England could deal with exhaustion and he bent low, almost reverent as he pressed a palm to Germany’s back, between the shoulder blades.

Germany hardly stirred, his pupils flickering to peer at him from the corners of his eyes. ‘’Get off.’’ He mumbled sleepily, struggling to prop himself upright, a coffee-ringed document stuck to the warmth of his cheek as he slowly lifted his head from the desk. ‘’I’m perfectly fine. Just…just a power nap.’’ Germany’s gaze suddenly narrowed, pride contorting his expression into something all-together more defensive, brows pinching themselves disapprovingly as his knuckles tensed. ‘’I am very much capable.’’ I have to be. ‘’Leave me.’’

‘’I know, big guy.’’ England replied tersely, sliding his arms under Germany’s armpits and heaving with a silent huff and a deaf ear to Germany’s protests. The chair scraped harshly against the floorboards as England dragged him towards the door; Germany’s legs trailing, his shiny shoes scuffing up. ‘’Could you please move your legs? They still work, right?’’ He snorted, as Germany grumbled and slowly stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dependence. He hated it, Germany hated it and it was his hatred of it that forced him upright and glowering down at England, who simply stared back. Frustration coiled like the twists of a snake, and then gradually eased as he sighed loudly and shook his head. ‘’Work’s hard. I-’’ Germany didn’t continue. It was not necessary and England nodded wordlessly, walking out of the office and Germany simply followed, falling step in step. ‘’...sorry.’’

‘’Hey.’’ England shrugged. ‘’S’not like I’m pleasant either.’’

‘’You got that right.’’ A rare bark of laughter erupted from Germany.

‘’Oi-’’ An elbow jerked into Germany’ side, England’s eyes glittering as they stepped out into the cool November dusk. ‘’I’ll wipe that snark from your face once I get you into bed.’’

Germany hummed thoughtfully, eyebrows raising. ‘’Oh-?’’

‘’Sleep.’’ Came the reply, and Germany snorted, smirking to himself.

Also don't worry, that Portugal design is not final, lol, it was incredibly rushed

England: No! Call Afonso!