Title: Khrustyky (or: Like Jesse's Girl, But More Canadian)
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: assumed Canada/Ukraine, actual beginnings of France/Canada and America/Ukraine. Also mentions of Steve/Tony Stark.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A comedy of errors. America has an interest in Ukraine, but thinks that Canada is dating her. Meanwhile, France and Canada dance around the issue of their unspoken feelings for each other.
Author's note: Melly egged me on for this ages ago, so it's part of her birthday gifts. There is copious amounts of geekery in here.

Khrustyky: "sweet nothings" it's a type of Ukrainian sweet.


"Hey, Canada!" America called in lieu of knocking. He burst into the kitchen where the scent of something delicious was cooking. Instead of seeing Canada stirring a stewpot, or even France–for he tended to cook a lot when he visited, and it was a good thing, considering that it usually meant he was wearing clothes–he saw Ukraine. She was at the stove in an apron, out of her farmer's clothes and in a mid-length blue floral skirt, looking a bit like a 50's housewife, if said housewife were a Ukrainian mail-order bride. She smiled and lifted a spatula. Her breasts jiggled as she did. America valiantly tried to keep his gaze at eye-level.

"Oh, hello, America," she said. She smiled.

"Uh," America said eloquently. "Maybe I should come back later–"

He'd been around France enough to know that usually you wanted to be far away when someone was in an apron.

"Oh, no, no, your brother will be come back soon. Canada is out getting supplies. I am making Varenyky today."

"Varenyky?" America repeated. His glasses slipped down his nose, and were probably steamed over at this rate. He was pretty sure this just unintentionally fulfilled about ten of his sexual fantasies.

"You have never had Varenyky? But I was sure they have come down here...Perhaps you heard them by Polish name 'Perogies'?"

"Perogies? Perogies are delicious!"

"You should stay and have lots of good food! I even had Canada go find store to make lots more, yes?"


Giving up trying to look her in the eye, America kept his eyes on the food and not elsewhere. Heroes looked girls in the eye, even if their tracts of lands were the most fertile and voluptuous things around. Well, unless they were Deadpool, but Deadpool was more 'snarky anti-hero' and America was trying for more Captain America awesome mixed with honorable awesomeness. And an extra side of awesome, of course.

It wasn't for the first time that he thought she was basically the perfect woman. Great figure, good cooking and sweet demeanor. Ok, so he never really got past the fifties. What could he say? Pearls and curls were totally hot. Now if only she'd dress as Power Girl and go to him to Comic Con and maybe learn how to play video games with him, then she really would be the most perfect woman alive. Er, country. He had it all planned out. First he'd call her in to watch him play JRPGS, then he'd get her to try Wii Sports. Before he'd know it, she'd be kicking his butt at Tekken and Mario Kart. This would of course, be somewhere between all the amazing sex they'd be having.

There was nothing wrong with this plan of action except for one little detail: she was his brother's girl. They'd been tight for years and he didn't cross that boundary. Ever. And a part of him was glad that Canada got someone who could remember his name and wasn't a total creep. He really deserved someone nice. And Ukraine was nice. So obviously, Canada deserved her.

At one point he almost asked if she had a sister. Then he realized that she did, and that it was Belarus.There was of course, the fact that her brother was Russia. But that was something he could deal with. In-laws were supposed to be evil, anyways.

"It's ready," she said with a sweet smile that made him want to dip her and kiss her until his lips hurt.

It didn't take him long to dig in. His taste buds were breakdancing from happiness.

"This food is amazing!" he said between bites. Which was technically rude and France would've thrown his napkin at him for but he couldn't stop eating.

America had to bite his tongue to not burst out with the second part Marry me, and not just to piss off your brother, either! A little known fact about America was that about the second date, or the second time he saw someone, he was mentally ring shopping. He blamed the fifties, personally. And probably the fact that his belt was filled with bible thumpers. The Bible Belt was always getting in the way of him getting laid without putting a ring on it.

Not for the first time, America thought that life would've been a lot easier if it'd been a Bible Hat which he kept managing to forget somewhere.


America was really adept at not thinking about things. Usually it was a completely subconscious thing, but for once, that talent went off to Tahiti for a vacation. He was feeling distinctly unawesome. He tried to go to the comic book store, but all he saw were heroines with big breasts and blonde hair and a new miniseries about Power Girl and that whole plan to go to Comic Con together resurfaced. So he went home and tried for shiny Butterfree and eventually gave up after no results. He played a few rounds via wireless, only to lose every one, only to have the little creep he was fighting say he had to go because Papa Swede was calling him to dinner.

He had to focus really hard on milkshakes to keep from breaking his DS again. He'd hate to have to sheepishly buy another one and claim he was buying it for his nephew.

So it was that he was in a pretty miserable state when the thought came to him.


Most sane, rational people did not visit the Bad Friends Trio for advice. Doing so was likely to turn on them in the worst way. Possibly involving being tarred and feathered, and that was if they were lucky. However, many people questioned how sane and rational America was, especially Canada. Mostly, he just didn't think through the consequences.

So that an impromptu flight to where they were staying at France's house was nothing in the grand scale of America's impulsiveness.

When he found them, Spain, Prussia and France were at the table together, drinking beer when America intruded in his usual explosive way. But without fireworks this time.

They raised their hands in greeting. Prussia was the only one who was wearing any clothes.

"Hey, you're just in time for another round," Prussia said. "I was just kicking these guys asses. It's not hard, considering that I think France is losing just so he can get naked."

France laughed. "Perhaps you are on to me."

"Hey, France, you're the country of love, right?"

"Of course," France said with a wink. "Are you asking for proof of my status for I can certainly show you–"

"Uh. Just looking for advice this time," America said. He stepped back to evade any possible groping or stripping which was wont to occur when around France.

"Of course, tell papa all about it," France said. He stroked his beloved beard and considered America.

"There's this person, but she's kind of taken–"

"Punch the person who took her and steal her away! I'll even help!" Prussia said. He started laughing his Kesesese laugh.

America had a feeling this was less out of goodwill and more out of the desire to punch someone. Anyone.

"Ah, l'amour can be so complex. I suggest a compromise. Surely, you've heard of it? The grand institution of ménage à trois? It is my doing. I'm quite proud of it."

"Threesome would've been my next choice. Right after punching him. In fact, you should punch him thenhave a threesome–" Prussia cut in.

America wondered if threesomes were things heroes did. He'd have to consult the Silver Age about that.

On his shoulder, Captain America looked imposing and disapproving. On his other shoulder, Tony Stark gave him a seductive eyebrow raise and a smile that reeked classiness and experience in this matter. America interpreted it as go for it. Cap narrowed his eyes at Tony, but this only made Tony give him that made-of-sex smile, as if to say you know, Steve, we're married in an alternate universe.

"I don't want to punch my brother," he said instead. "Not until the next Hockey playoffs, at least."

"Canada?" France said. His self confidence and sultry air seemed to falter for a moment as he looked generally troubled by this revelation.

"Yeah, he's got this thing for Ukraine."

"Well, I suppose his taste can't be faulted. Certainly not, since he got it from me..." France trailed off. His bravado had faded. He took a big gulp of the wine. "–I definitely think he'd fall for those tracts of land–"

Another drink.

Most people would've noticed this marked change, but considering that the room contained Prussia, Spain and America, three of the most oblivious nations around, it wasn't surprising that this went right over their heads.


America didn't have a clue how this kept happening. He was going to avoid Canada a little while until he could get over this stupid crush on his girl, but then he realized that he left his PSP over there, and he wasn't going to be able to try and forget any girl without his trusty PSP.

It was going to be a quick thing. Meanwhile, America was going to think about brunettes. Or maybe redheads. But not black-haired girls, because Japan would totally get him if he broke the bro code and went after Taiwan.

When he came in, Ukraine was there, in an apron again stirring the pot with something delicious.

"Uh, Canada's out again?" America asked awkwardly.

"Yes, he was meeting France for something. Apparently France was very distraught about something and wanted to talk to him immediately," she said. She looked sympathetic, and a little sad. "I hope he is all right."

"France? He'll be fine. He's probably freaking out over some diva thing or other," America said.

"I hope so," she said. "It would be much better for him to have problem with broken nail than broken economy."

"Yeah..." America said. "You know, Canada's really lucky."

"Lucky? He's always said he had horrible luck," she said. "Very few people recognize him."

"No, he's lucky to have you as a girlfriend," America said. "I mean, you're awesome. He's...sort of awesome. It's good for him to have a nice girl, so I'm glad for him and stuff. And you too."

She chuckled. "Canada? We are friends. I come over because he is lonely with lovesick. I wanted to make sure he eat enough."

"Wait, you mean Canada and you...?"

"Oh, no. Good friends, yes, but not lovers. He is...how do I put it? Never interested. Always in love with someone else."

Gears began to click in America's head. On his shoulders, both Captain America and Tony Stark were giving him the thumbs up. Except Steve was going be a gentleman and make America proud and Tony Stark was going Don't forget condoms!

It all came into focus.

"Ever played Wii Sports?" He asked.

"When I was a little girl I played sports, although soon I did not have enough time to because I was work very hard at the fields."

And he laughed because it was perfect, shewas perfect and things had gone just right.

"Nah, it's a video game. You wanna go to my place and see? It's really fun," America said.

"Your place?" She asked. She blushed and fidgeted nervously a moment. "That is..."

"I mean, if you don't want to, it's okay–" America said, disappointment coming through him.

"I do not think he'd mind. I will leave note," She said, cutting him off. "Just give me a moment."

"I will...put in the fridge and finish later," she said, nodding determinedly. "Finding out this 'Wii Sports' is very important."

And it totally was.


"Are you okay?" Canada said. He'd come so fast after the call that his glasses had gone lopsided in the last run from the too-slow cab which had gotten stuck in mid-day traffic.

France shrugged. He looked into his glass. The hotel room was surprisingly cheap for France. He must've been really in a hurry and really distressed if he went for an Econolodge. Usually, France settled for nothing but the highest class hotels. Even the wine he was drinking smelled cheap.

"How many glasses have you had already?" Canada admonished. He smelled France's breath and grimaced.

"A few," France said.

Canada leaned over and felt France's forehead. He placed his own against him, feeling the brush of silky blond curls to his face.

"You don't seem to have a fever..."

"I came to congratulate you. You didn't tell me about the happy event," France said flatly, in a tone which was anything but congratulatory.

"Um, what?" Canada said.

"The girl, the dreams, the l'amour," France said, making sweeping movements with his hands.

Canada blinked. He tried to figure out what on Earth France was referring to. He could think of no significant weddings (or torrid, tabloid making trysts) of any popular stars or politicians in his country. His mind drew a complete blank.

"Ukraine and you are recently close, no?" France said.

"We're just friends," Canada corrected, his cheeks tinting a little.

He didn't get why people kept teasing them about being together. The last time she'd been here, they'd went shoe shopping for maple's sake.

"Amérique seemed to have another tale..."

"America's not always the most reliable source," Canada said flatly.


"We're not dating!" Canada cut in, loud and frustrated. "You can quit the teasing already. It's not funny anymore–never was, really—"

France smiled. "I'm a selfish man."

Then he pulled Canada close and kissed him, fulfilling a wish Canada had for over three hundred years.


"See, you gotta hold it like this and–"

He swung the controller in an arc and on screen, the bowling ball went flying.

"Your turn," America said.

She held the controller as if it were made of fine china, and focused like her life depended on it. In hindsight, he realized she'd probably never bowled either.

She swung as he did, stared in utter concentration while the ball rolled down. When the pins all fell down, she looked surprised.

"Eee? I hit it?"

"You got a strike!"

"Is that a good thing?" She asked, looking confused.

"Yes!" America said.

She jumped up, and her breasts bounced and jiggled, looking about as gleeful as she was. He picked her up and spun her around while she laughed and it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

A bell sounded from the kitchen.

"Oh! The pie is done!"

He watched her walk to the kitchen. Man, she had a great butt. Heroes didn't go all the way on the first date. The figure in red armor on his left shoulder rose one eyebrow, smirking, as if to say Oh, really?

Ok, unless they were Tony Stark.

He looked above and mouthed a thank you and it wasn't to big guy above, but Canada (who he technically should've looked north...but he was thinking in map terms anyways.)

Nobody ran around yelling in the streets about their awesome lives anymore. Instead, America did what any modern guy would, and started to compose an entry to MLIA because his life was, in fact, awesome.


Matthew had rose petals where no rose petals should be. He was sticky from spilled champagne and...for other assorted reasons. The sheets were scratchy and he was sure as soon as France wasn't drunk on wine and sex he'd be bitching up a storm on how he ended in such a tacky place.

But for the moment, France was otherwise distracted as he kissed up Canada's spine.

"What next, coeur? Are you up for another round?" France said in a husky murmur.

"How about some sleep?" Canada shifted and groaned. France chuckled and pressed another kiss to his back.

"After a nap though, I'd be game," Matthew said, his voice taking on a coy, teasing edge.

"You know," France began to muse. "I always wanted you. I suppose it wasn't until I thought I'd lose you that it solidified past the barriers, the differences...all of it fell away when I realized that someone else had finally noticed what a beauty you are and taken you away."

Canada flushed. All his words got stuck in his throat. I always loved you, there was never a moment of not loving you until all I knew was loving you and waiting for you and wanting you.

Instead what he said was a quiet, nervous thought which had filled him so many times.

"I don't know where we go from here."

"I can think of a few places," France said. "Like the shower, the couch, over that desk..."

Canada laughed. "I'm serious!"

"I'm sure we'll think of something," France said, unconcerned. "Did I break that poor girl's heart?" France asked, chewing on Canada's shoulder.

Canada shifted as France slowly began to feel up his waist.

"She had a crush on America. She says she was sticking around to cheer me up, but I know she was hoping he'd come around. She's pretty transparent like that."

"Hmm. Good," France said. "I wouldn't want to break your friend's heart. It is a bad way to start a relationship."

"A relationship?" Canada breathed. He turned around to meet France's gaze.

"A relationship," France repeated.

After that, Canada kissed him and it was full of all the words he had never said and France heard them through the touches, the breaths and incoherent cries that came with the onset of loving.