SOY: this is an old kink meme fill I should have taken up sooner than I have. I'm sorry! It's not discontinued! This is chapter one, revised and corrected, and the others will follow soon. :) please tell me if you like!


Rating: K+.

Warnings: mpreg (male x male pregnancy), some crack and angst, depending on the situation, fluff.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.


Impossible is nothing, if you're Italian

Chapter 01

The day had started well, everything considered.

Italy was visiting again (or to be truthful, he had slept over again, and remained to hang out during the day), and for the main part of the afternoon he'd painted in the garden, with Germany's dogs keeping him company; the German Nation had used that free time to work, knowing that once Italy finished his painting, he would–

"Ve~, Ludwig, do I look fat~?"

Germany's hand came to a sudden halt, and he dropped the pen, looking up at Italy with a frown; the question per se was not strange, as they had fallen into a similar argument already once before, but given what had happened the previous time, Germany didn't really want to get into it ever again.

Without thinking too much of it, he glanced at his lover and shrugged noncommittally, returning his attention to the paperwork he had in front of him.

Running around, chasing the Italian Nation and trying to feed him a week–old plate of pasta wasn't one of Germany's favourite memories, after all.

Not fun. At all.

Italy shifted closer, nudging his arm insistently until Germany put down the pen and looked back up at him –it looked like he wasn't going to give up, and the blond man inwardly sighed.

"No, really, Ludwig~ I think I'm really becoming fat…" the Italian nation wiggled his toes (when did he remove his shoes?) and stood straighter, bouncing away from him. "It's we~ird!"

Germany sighed, resigning himself to the fact that his work wouldn't be done anytime soon –when Italy was in such a mood, he wouldn't stop until he was reassured, and only then would Germany be allowed to continue working.

"Why are you saying this?" he asked, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Last time… you're not going to stop eating, right?" his eyes narrowed down, dark and threatening.

Italy eeped and almost scrambled away, eyes wide. "No! No! I promised you! I swear I'll never stop eating ever again! Don't make that face! Ve~ you're sca~ry!"

Germany nodded, satisfied.

"Well~ my stomach is getting rounder, you see?" returning to the previous subject, Italy squinted his eyes and pointed at his midsection, still under his white and blue shirt.

Raising one eyebrow, Germany stared at his stomach, perplexed –to him it looked just about the same as usual.

"Look~!" shifting his shirt up, Italy moved closer, almost pouncing on Germany, and the blond blushed, looking away. "It's growing! It's growing!" Italy yelled.

Forcing his blush away –despite having seen the expanse of Italy's naked skin enough to know it by hand, he was always terribly flustered by his lover's lack of modesty– Germany turned his eyes towards the other's stomach…

… and his frown deepened.

Actually, now that he looked closer, there was a bulge on the other Nation's stomach. It looked like Italy had gained weight once again… but how?

Italy wasn't one to gain weight just by eating and sleeping (last time, Germany was sure it was simply a congestion), and with all of his running and bouncing around, getting fat was surely the last thing expected.

"Ve~ see? See? Sto diventando grasso~!" tears started pooling in Italy's eyes as he said so, and Germany felt suddenly cold.

He didn't want a moody Italian man on a diet again!

He still had nightmares of running around with pasta, and despite Italy's promise of never doing it again… there they were, a fat, worried Italy crying and fidgeting. Stubborn as he was, his lover would surely manage to cause problems.

"I–I…" but he really didn't know what to say.

Lying was not an option, not with the obvious evidence.

Why was he dating this idiot again?

"I… I don't understa~nd! I've been eating normally, and not as much pasta as before, and it's really, really hard, Ludwig! And I run around all day and yet…" Italy stared up at him, wide brown eyes filled with tears, "look at me! I'm fat again!"

Germany was about to pat him on the head to calm him down, but then, just like that, Italy froze.

A second before, he'd been wiggling and twisting and fidgeting, hands tugging at his shirt, teary–eyed, and the next…

The next second he was running out of the room, cheeks a strange shade of violet.


Germany didn't move from the desk for a few seconds, his brain processing what had happened, then he stood up, shocked; following his lover our of the office, he tried to locate where Italy had gone, vaguely afraid of what the Italian Nation would decide to do now that he was convinced of being fat.

Maybe exercising until he fainted, or bawling his eyes out, or going to ask France for help, or–

Retching sounds coming from the bathroom stilled Germany's train of thoughts, making him falter in his pace.

Was Italy…

"Feliciano! Stop it! This is not how you will solve the problem!" he yelled, stomping into the bathroom.

Hunched over the toilet, shivering, Italy let out a gurgle of disapproval and heaved again, hands clutching at the sides of the toilet, knuckles turning white; Germany's frown deepened even more as he kneeled at Italy's side, wrapping a comforting arm around the other Nation's shoulders.

Italy whined as he vomited again, frame shuddering and gasping, and Germany massaged his back until the trembling subsided, and his ragged gasps calmed down.

"F… Feliciano?"

After a moment more of silence, Italy spit into the toilet and looked up. "I–I'm… fine, I guess," he stated in a wobbly tone, standing up slowly and moving to the basin.

Germany flushed the toilet and watched as his lover washed his face and hands with cool water, rinsing his mouth; with a startle, he realised Italy's hands were still trembling.

"What… you were not trying to solve this by… right?" he had to make sure the thought hadn't crossed Italy's mind –this was exactly something Italy would try, after all…

"No!" Italy turned around, grabbing one of Germany's hands in his own. "It… I… I suddenly felt sick, that's all! I'm feeling better now! Maybe I ate something foul…"

Germany's frown turned even deeper, if possible, and this time in worry. Maybe he was a bit protective over Italy (he guessed it came from over a decade of having to rescue him from all sorts of dangers), but he had a good reason to be.

Still, he knew there was nothing he could do at the present moment, other than nurse Italy back to his bouncy self. He doubted Italy ate something foul in the first place, so maybe he was just coming down with a flu…?

With a sigh, he pressed a gentle kiss on Italy's forehead, making his lover giggle happily, and gathered him close for a hug, knowing that he would surely appreciate it. Italy let out a soft hum, hugging Germany back, then pushed him away, smiling.

"I know what I can do to cheer up~" he chirped, bouncing down the corridor as if nothing had happened. "I'll make tortellini!"

Rolling his eyes at Italy's predictability, Germany followed him to the kitchen, knowing that he wouldn't be able to work at all now.


Spain was happy. Not that he usually wasn't (how could he be, when he had many fields of tomatoes to harvest, the company of his lovely adorable Romano, and a sky as blue as this one?), but today he felt even happier than usual.

Someone could object that every day Spain spent with Romano was his 'happiest day ever', but Spain didn't meddle with such technicalities.

The case he was holding was filled with bottles of Italian wine, and he had in front of him an entire day to spend with his sweetheart, so…

"O–oi, stupid Antonio!"

Cheerfully dropping the case he was holding on the closest surface available, not even cringing when the bottles clinked dangerously against each other, Spain straightened up and bounced over to Romano's side.

", mi Tesoro?" he cooed, smiling brightly at the other Nation.

South Italy was growling, holding a box of tomatoes in his arms and keeping them as far from his body as he could, and the moment Spain got to his side, his glare moved towards him instead.

"Lovino~ what's the matter? Hungry?" the Spaniard asked, latching on the Italian man's arm. "Hmm… those look yummy…"

Valiantly resisting the urge to kick or head–butt Spain, South Italy opted for growling again, pushing the case of tomatoes into the other Nation's eager arms., with enough force to make Spain go "oufff!"

"These" he punctuated, pointing at the innocent–looking fruits, "are surely rotten!"

Spain blinked, his smile faltering for a second as he stared down at the red, ripen tomatoes, almost expecting them to puff into dark smoke and reveal their deceit. Rotten? They looked fresh, perfect, just like all the other cases he had in his basement, part of which would be sold at the market during the week.

Why would this particular box be rotten?

"They look fine to me, Lovi~" he objected, placing the box on the ground and grabbing one tomato up.

He fingered it softly, almost lovingly. It wasn't too compact, but not too soft, either… the perfect consistence. The colour was a bright, vivid red, and he didn't use pesticides, so… what could be wrong with it? The taste? The smell?

A careful sniff and Spain was convinced that it was definitely not that –divine smell of fresh tomatoes in the morning…

He bit into the fruit, sweet juices filling his mouth, and that was the final proof that his tomatoes were just about perfect –the taste was heavenly.

Hmmm… yeah, with a bit of salt it would taste even better…

"D–damn you, Antonio! I tell you, it is rotten!" Romano's face was flushed in anger, eyebrows twitching dangerously, fists clenched in fury. "They smell… awful!"

Spain, still in post–coital bliss at the taste of tomatoes, looked at him with haze–filled eyes, not understanding what he was saying. How could such a marvellous creation be rotten? "Romanito, you're surely–"

"S–stay away, your breath smells foul!" South backed away instantly, cheeks turning so pale he looked ready to puke on Spain's shoes, which wasn't exactly the reaction the Spaniard had expected. "I can barely s–stand their smell, stay away!"

Ignoring Romano's yells (one had to develop at least a partial immunity to his cursing, especially if that person was Spain, who had to live together with the Italian man for most of the latter's childhood), Spain moved closer, pressing the back of his hand to the other Nation's forehead.

The reaction was an expected splutter, Romano's cheeks turning crimson as he threw a hissing fit. "T–the hell are you doing, you bastard! D–don't touch me!"

"I was checking if my little Lovi was ill, of course~" turning his usual doting self, Spain patted his head. "It'd be the only explanation possible, since you're turning down tomatoes all of sudden… was it something you ate?"


The answer was a bit too fast, and Spain's eyes glinted in understanding.

"What was it that you gobbled down? Was it the stale cake that has been in the oven since Christmas?"

"F–for God's sake, no! And throw that thing away! It's growing eyes on it!"

Waving his hand in the air, Spain shrugged. They were not talking about that cake and his forgetfulness now. "Then was it pickled cucumbers?"

Flushing even more, Romano shook his head wildly, shifting in a defensive position and muttering something, crossing his arms on his chest and looking to the side. "I…"

"Yes, mi niño?"

"Nothing" he flushed darker, growling and turning his back to Spain. It was far too embarrassing to admit that, and he preferred to be groped by France ten times to actually admit of what he'd eaten.

Poking at South Italy's side with a finger, Spain moved to stage one –prod Romano until he caved in; it was usually effective, if you didn't take into account the many head–butts he received when Romano decided that enough was enough.

Not that Spain ever remembered those afterwards, since he got to cuddle with Romano by then.

"Tell me~" he chirped, smiling brightly. "Tell me~ tell me~ tell me~"


He prodded more, bouncing around his still lover…

"I couldn't hear you, Lovi–"

"I said I ate American potatoes! Happy now? There was this vecchietta who was selling them… baked American potatoes… and they smelled so good…"

Romano's voice drifted off as a small line of drool appeared on the side of his mouth; just recalling those steamy, inviting potatoes was enough to make Romano's stomach growl.

Spain's eyes widened in shock and he took a step back, dramatically lifting one hand to his forehead –the personification of utter disbelief.

"Oh, it's escandaloso!" he yelled, waving his other arm around, sending tomatoes seeds flying everywhere. "You… eating American potatoes? ¡El mundo viene a un final!"

Which, despite his over dramatization, was actually surprising. Romano, whilst not disliking potatoes as much as he claimed, had a particular hatred for the American kind –the sweet ones– so it was truly a surprise to see him so into them.

Romano's flush was reaching scandalous levels of redness, and at Spain's snicker following his dramatic words he exploded, punching his lover on the cheek and turning around, yelling curses and profanities as he slammed the door of Spain's house behind his back.

He was going to vent off in Spain's kitchen, just as usual, and in the meanwhile, he would cook something delicious.

Spain collected himself, chuckling at how cute his little Romano was when he got all flushed and flustered, and picking up both the box of tomatoes and the case of wine he had been holding before, he wobbled to the door, smiling brightly.

There wasn't a moment of boredom when he was with his adorable lover, after all!

"Mi cariño Romanito, cute like a tomato~"


SOY: that was the first chapter. It has been edited a bit since the original version in the kink meme, and there are at least four more ready (that will give me the time to keep on writing, hmm?) ^^

Please drop a review if you want!

Sto diventando grasso (Italian) I'm turning fat

Tortellini (Italian) food :P

Tesoro (Spanish) – treasure (endearing)

Mi niño (Spanish) – my child (endearing)

vecchietta (Italian) – old woman

Escandaloso (Spanish) – scandalous

Cariño (Spanish) my beloved (Endearing)

¡El mundo viene a un final! (Spanish) – The world is coming to an end!