acatwhowrites: (fanfic writer)
A Cat Who Writes ([personal profile] acatwhowrites) wrote2011-02-03 04:53 pm

[Fanfic] It'll Only Make Him Unhappy

Title: It'll Only Make Him Unhappy; one-shot
Fandom: Hetalia
Genre: general, drama
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): human names, Belarusian curses
This is for the [livejournal.com profile] rochu_ss Christmas event, written for [livejournal.com profile] nebuneferu.

I'm horrendously late and deeply apologize. I hit some awful writer's block after Christmas, and it still hasn't really left. I'm getting used to my classes as well, which have priority. Hopefully, [livejournal.com profile] nebuneferu will like this, regardless.

The prompt I chose was Belarus challenging China to a fight out of jealousy, although it's more like she just attacks him.

It'll Only Make Him Unhappy

Ivan should belong to no one but her, yet there he was, seated at his desk with his arm around that man’s waist, displaying such open signs of affection and property that Natalya wanted nothing more than to cut that arm off and keep it herself.

She loved her brother, but he was always less than thrilled. He never seemed to even want to acknowledge her, no matter how forward and obvious she was with her feelings.


The bedroom was spacious and lavishly decorated. It would have been breathtaking if it didn’t look so faded and old. Dust covered many surfaces, as if they hadn’t been touched in ages. Paintings had faded and cracked, showing ghostly images of czars and czarinas.

The bed and stand-alone wardrobe were the only pieces of furniture that appeared to be in use. The sheets and thick comforter were bunched together at the foot of the mattress, and pillows had fallen to the floor. A track, almost a rut, had been worn into the floor from the door to the bed and wardrobe; it had been walked many times.

Finally dressed after lying in bed most of the morning, Wang Yao stared around the room, careful to not disturb the thick dust, taking in the sad history and neglect. Russia was a magnificent country in size, but it had fallen from its previous glory, remaining an empty shell of a former vision.

The sketchbook on his lap was open but had no sketches. He had spent more time contemplating Ivan Braginski’s dark history. He didn’t hear the door, surprisingly well-kept and oiled, open.

“Wang Yao…”

“Natalya.” The Belarusian pushed the door open, standing in the doorway with the face of an angel but stance of the devil. It was no secret she adored her older brother. It was also no secret he denied her advances at every turn. People worried when Yao started seeing Ivan, and they were even more worried when Yao and Ivan started an open relationship. Natalya had stalked Wang Yao closer than she had before, clinging to her brother whenever she had the chance and wordlessly threatening the Asian man in passing.

Ivan constantly expressed his adoration for Yao, so much that Natalya couldn’t even be alone with him without hearing about Yao in some off-comment or direct speech. It was sickening. He shouldn't be so soft or gentle to anyone.

Unless it was her.

Ivan was best covered in blood, and Natalya would trigger her beloved brother's rage with the head of his Chinese whore.

“I want you to leave my brother.” Her hand felt in her skirts. “A man is not fitting to deserve his love.”

“And his baby sister is?” Yao countered. He set his sketchbook aside and crossed one knee over the other. His almond eyes slanted even more, gazing like a snake at the pale blonde woman and clearly provoking her. It was no secret she had feelings for her brother that went beyond simple sibling affection. She was persistent, which was admirable but a fruitless effort.

Natalya grabbed the front of Yao’s tunic, twisting it around her fist, bent her knees and pushed off the floor with her feet. Yao’s eyes widened; he tried to regain his balance. The Belarusian was determined beyond reason, however, and they landed roughly on the polar bear rug at the foot of the four-post bed. Natalya straddled his thighs, releasing his shirt but keeping her palm firmly on his sternum. She raised her arm with the slightly curved blade; the light caught its broadside, giving a dramatic glint just before she brought her arm down.

Yao moved at the last possible second. The knife slipped into the mattress, missing him by inches. Yao grabbed her arms and twisted, flipping Natalya onto her back. She didn't fight like a woman, wrenching her body from his grip and driving her fist into his side. He responded with a sharp elbow to her gut, and she curled into herself, coughing.

The Chinese man thought that would be enough to stop her. He crawled off of her and stood, straightening his outfit.

Suka!” Natalya kicked his back, sending him tripping over rugs and furniture. He regained his balance fast, though, and spun to see her stand and run at him.

“Hiya!” Yao pivoted on his left foot and thrust out his right leg, catching the woman's side. She hit the low chest of drawers, knocking candles, books, and small decorations to the floor. He kicked her again on the small of her back, where she had kicked him earlier. Her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees, hunching forward in pain.

It almost sounded like she was crying.

Yao crouched beside her. “Natalya...!”

She whipped her arm around, slicing his face with the knife she'd had concealed by her skirt. He dropped backwards, scrambling like an awkward crab, but Natalya jumped on him. She held his throat tightly and raised her arm for the second time, aiming for his heart.

Yao's mouth opened for air, making crude choking sounds. He took the woman’s wrist to pull her off-balance, but he rapidly lost his strength. The knife raced to his heart, ready to end his suffering.

“What are you doing?” Ivan Braginski, a bearish man in size but almost mousey in his overly friendly bearing, grasped his sister’s wrist in his hand, dwarfing her considerably. He was smiling, but from the trembling of Natasha’s arm, Yao suspected the Russian was squeezing her wrist. The knife fell, clattering at their feet, but Ivan still didn’t release his sister. “Why are you trying to kill him?”

Natalya scowled, glaring at the floor. “I don’t like him.”

“But I do.” Ivan was quick to reply. “If you should kill him, that would make me very unhappy. You want to make me unhappy?”

“No! Brother…I love you; I don’t want anything but your happiness, so I…”

“Hurting Yao will only make me unhappy. That's all.” The man released her wrist and extended his hand to Yao, who still sat on the floor. Showing the grace of goodwill, Yao took his hand and was pulled easily to his feet. Feeling particularly bold, he slipped under Ivan's arm and stood close to him, hurting the young woman more than the bruises and cuts inflicted from their fight. “Natasha, stay and clean this up.”

“Yes, Brother...” Natalya mumbled lowly. Her eyes shot daggers at the Chinese man's back while the men left the room. Yao looked over his shoulder once, giving a victorious smirk and nudging the door closed with his foot.

How much she wanted to cut that smile off his face. Natalya knelt primly on the floor, sweeping splinters of wood into a pile with her hands. Numerous tiny spikes pierced her palms. Frowning at the dull pain, she picked up her dagger from the floor, examined it minutely, then tossed it viciously over her shoulder. It embedded itself in the heavy wood door, quivering in its desire for the Chinese man's blood.



END