[fanfic] Fluffathon Prompt 3: Physical Humor
Title: Physical Humor
Author: me!
Rating/Warnings: G - none
Pairing(s): America/Belarus (implied, kinda sorta)
Prompt: "America&Belarus; finally making her laugh"
Notes: Had a surprising amount of fun writing this, seeing as this isn't a pair I usually ship. Hope the requester enjoys <3
America didn’t sit next to her because he liked her. Of course. Hell, her brother had tried to kill him on at least three separate occasions.
The simple truth of it was that she fascinated him. Aside from the creepiness, and the brother-stalking. That was just weird. But she was the only nation America had ever met who never even cracked a smile. Sure, it was rare on Germany, but sometimes America caught him smiling at Italy, subtle and strange though it was. And Romano almost never did, either, except when he was pulling a prank that he thought was hilarious. But a good joke was often more than enough to get any nation going, with red face and tears in the eyes and everything.
But she was different. She never, ever smiled, let alone laughed. America thought it only added to her creepiness, but he was also the hero, if nothing else, and it was well within the domain of his hero duties to bring joy to Belarus’ life.
England gave him a look as he sat down next to her at the start of the meeting, one that said “I don’t know what you’re up to, but whatever it is, I don’t like it.” He simply smiled and gave a thumbs up, settling himself into the chair and setting his notes on the table.
She looked at him over her shoulder briefly as he sat, and he gave her a big, dweeby smile, but she simply turned back to stare across the table to where Russia and China were chatting.
Just as he expected. Not a smile, not even a twitch. This might be harder than he’d estimated.
The meeting started, the table going (relatively) quiet as nation after nation stood to complain, present ideas, and make irrelevant comments. America, as was typical, threw in his two cents on almost everything, asking questions that made some nations roll their eyes and others snicker into their hands. America thought he was doing pretty well for himself-his humor was on today, his jokes tasteful but just off-color enough to cause giggles around the table.
But Belarus was a rock. Her eyes drifted about as nations stood and spoke, staring at each of them in turn with that cold, calculating look of hers. The table seemed to be in unusually good humor-even England threw in a few scathing jokes as Spain and France took their turns speaking-but still, not even a smirk from Belarus. Not even a sparkle of amusement in her dull, cold eyes. America was starting to think this was impossible.
Finally, it was America’s official turn to speak, and he prepared to stand with his usual bravado and drama. He bent his legs to stand up, with the intention of pushing his chair back with his knees to stand dramatically. He wasn’t, however, expecting the leg of his chair to get caught behind the leg of the chair next to him, taking his knees out from under him and causing him to fall in a heap, on his back, on the floor, his legs following clumsily a moment later.
The room was engulfed in a shocked silence for a long moment, taken aback by the proud nation’s goofy tumble.
England was the first to laugh, snorting through his nose loudly at America’s misfortune. Spain and France followed closely, their chuckles turning into guffaws as they met gazes and the hilarity intensified.
Soon, the entire conference room erupted in uproarious laughter, so much so that even America was cracking up from his position on the floor, glasses askew and notes spilled over the carpet around him.
It was a while before his laughter died down enough that he could pull himself up from the ground, and the first thing his eyes saw as he turned his head up was Belarus, one hand over her mouth and the other clutching her stomach, her eyes shining with unshed tears of mirth.
Victory swelled in America’s chest, and he found himself laughing even harder as Belarus’ laughter reached his ears. He stuck out his tongue at her, and it seemed to bring her back to reality; she began to wipe at her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm herself. But America just smiled-he’d succeeded in his mission, and even when her face went back to its stony, neutral expression, he grinned at his success.
Author: me!
Rating/Warnings: G - none
Pairing(s): America/Belarus (implied, kinda sorta)
Prompt: "America&Belarus; finally making her laugh"
Notes: Had a surprising amount of fun writing this, seeing as this isn't a pair I usually ship. Hope the requester enjoys <3
America didn’t sit next to her because he liked her. Of course. Hell, her brother had tried to kill him on at least three separate occasions.
The simple truth of it was that she fascinated him. Aside from the creepiness, and the brother-stalking. That was just weird. But she was the only nation America had ever met who never even cracked a smile. Sure, it was rare on Germany, but sometimes America caught him smiling at Italy, subtle and strange though it was. And Romano almost never did, either, except when he was pulling a prank that he thought was hilarious. But a good joke was often more than enough to get any nation going, with red face and tears in the eyes and everything.
But she was different. She never, ever smiled, let alone laughed. America thought it only added to her creepiness, but he was also the hero, if nothing else, and it was well within the domain of his hero duties to bring joy to Belarus’ life.
England gave him a look as he sat down next to her at the start of the meeting, one that said “I don’t know what you’re up to, but whatever it is, I don’t like it.” He simply smiled and gave a thumbs up, settling himself into the chair and setting his notes on the table.
She looked at him over her shoulder briefly as he sat, and he gave her a big, dweeby smile, but she simply turned back to stare across the table to where Russia and China were chatting.
Just as he expected. Not a smile, not even a twitch. This might be harder than he’d estimated.
The meeting started, the table going (relatively) quiet as nation after nation stood to complain, present ideas, and make irrelevant comments. America, as was typical, threw in his two cents on almost everything, asking questions that made some nations roll their eyes and others snicker into their hands. America thought he was doing pretty well for himself-his humor was on today, his jokes tasteful but just off-color enough to cause giggles around the table.
But Belarus was a rock. Her eyes drifted about as nations stood and spoke, staring at each of them in turn with that cold, calculating look of hers. The table seemed to be in unusually good humor-even England threw in a few scathing jokes as Spain and France took their turns speaking-but still, not even a smirk from Belarus. Not even a sparkle of amusement in her dull, cold eyes. America was starting to think this was impossible.
Finally, it was America’s official turn to speak, and he prepared to stand with his usual bravado and drama. He bent his legs to stand up, with the intention of pushing his chair back with his knees to stand dramatically. He wasn’t, however, expecting the leg of his chair to get caught behind the leg of the chair next to him, taking his knees out from under him and causing him to fall in a heap, on his back, on the floor, his legs following clumsily a moment later.
The room was engulfed in a shocked silence for a long moment, taken aback by the proud nation’s goofy tumble.
England was the first to laugh, snorting through his nose loudly at America’s misfortune. Spain and France followed closely, their chuckles turning into guffaws as they met gazes and the hilarity intensified.
Soon, the entire conference room erupted in uproarious laughter, so much so that even America was cracking up from his position on the floor, glasses askew and notes spilled over the carpet around him.
It was a while before his laughter died down enough that he could pull himself up from the ground, and the first thing his eyes saw as he turned his head up was Belarus, one hand over her mouth and the other clutching her stomach, her eyes shining with unshed tears of mirth.
Victory swelled in America’s chest, and he found himself laughing even harder as Belarus’ laughter reached his ears. He stuck out his tongue at her, and it seemed to bring her back to reality; she began to wipe at her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm herself. But America just smiled-he’d succeeded in his mission, and even when her face went back to its stony, neutral expression, he grinned at his success.