I don't own Hetalia.

Sweden wakes first. He closes his eyes and sighs in contentment—Finland is curled against his shoulder, sound asleep. Sweden can felt the warm, rhythmic puffs of breath against his shoulder. Sweden never has the heart to wake Finland. Finland is simply so calming when he is asleep. Sweden finds Finland's trust in him unspeakably beautiful; Sweden promises to protect Finland every morning. He doesn't know what he'd do without him.

Finland wakes within the hour, blinking into awareness. Sweden enjoys his sleepy yawns, loving the feeling of Finland's unintentional butterfly kisses as he stirs.

"Sve?" The quiet voice mumbles, a warm body snuggling closer.

"Good morning, beautiful." Sweden replies, shifting his weight to press a kiss against Finland's forehead.

Finland relaxes as Sweden presses more kisses against his lips, and Sweden smirks at Finland giggles.

"Hairy!" Finland chastises lightly, amused all the same.

Sweden is devious and rubs his unshaven face against Finland's belly. Finland shrieks with laughter, punching lightly at Sweden's arms. Sweden stops, grinning at Finland's fading giggles, and kisses Finland again.

"Lazy Sunday morning." Finland hums when the kiss is broken, brushing his hands through Sweden's short hair.

"Mm." Sweden agrees. "Love you."

"Oh, Sve." Finland is still sleepy—Sweden is delighted to hear his lover sigh so dreamily. "I love you too. I really do. What do you want for breakfast?"

"Hm." Sweden pretends to think about it, brows furrowed in thought. "Finland."

"What? Finland isn't a breakfast foo—oh!" Finland's mind begins to catch up with his body as Sweden strokes his morning wood. "Oh. This isn't what I meant."

"I know." Sweden chuckles. He can't resist capturing Finland's lips again. They taste so sweet, especially with the added flavor of Finland's moans.

"Okay!" Finland laughs, stepping out of the shower and rooting for towels. Sweden feels for the faucet and turns the water off, stepping out of the shower with ease.

The bathroom is one of Sweden's favorite rooms. Sweden loves the layout: it's narrow, and the end of the room is a walk-in shower. There's a bench that's very convenient for shower sex. Sweden likes to bend Finland over, but he's not adverse to Finland riding him, either. Unfortunately, Sweden's growling stomach is not up for a second round at the moment.

Finland playfully tosses a towel over the top of Sweden's head. Sweden snorts in amusement and towels his hair dry.

"Pancakes." Sweden decides.

"For breakfast?"

"Yes." Sweden responds. "Please?"

"Of course, Sve. You be ready with the fire extinguisher, okay?"

Sweden rolls his eyes. "You aren't that bad."

Finland laughs disbelievingly. "Maybe compared to England!"

Sweden shrugs. "I like your cooking."

"Thanks." Finland's voice is embarrassed, and Sweden thinks it's adorable. He decides not to press his wife further and reaches for his stack of clothes.

Upon not finding them, Sweden is surprised.




Finland giggles like a vixen from the doorway. "Oops. I guess we'll have to go without."

Sweden spanks Finland on the ass. "Go make me breakfast."

Finland laughs and takes off down the hallway before Sweden can swat his bum again.

Sweden loves when Finland cooks for him. Finland always dances around the kitchen and—if Sweden delays in the bathroom long enough—Finland will be singing in his absolutely terrible voice to current Swedish pop songs. If the song is in Swedish, Finland doesn't even try to get the pronunciation right. Sweden isn't sure if it's annoying or endearing, but it's definitely amusing.

Finland's rendition of Eric Saade's "Popular" gets him through the actual mixing steps, but is not enough to cook the pancakes. Sweden gets to hear David Guetta's "Titanium" and Eric Amarillo's "Om sanningen ska fram" before Finland finishes his cooking with a particularly vivacious performance of "Vart jag mig i världen vänder." Finland has so much fun he decides to do an encore, and Sweden listens patiently as he munches on his pancakes.

Finland's words are muffled with pancakes and laughter, and Sweden honestly can't think of anywhere he'd rather be.

After breakfast come dishes. Sweden never lets Finland help—if Finland cooks, the least Sweden can do is clean up. Finland always tries to assist, but Sweden's glare is effective. Finland props himself up on a barstool and leans on the counter, giggling to himself about Sweden doing dishes naked.

Sweden is just glad to help. Sometimes he wishes he could do more, but he also knows that Finland likes taking care of him. Finland has explained about feeling inferior because of his weight, appearance, and mannerisms, and while Sweden thinks it's stupid because Finland is the most beautiful man in the world he will do anything to help build Finland's self-esteem.

It's not a hardship to ask for help, especially not from Finland.

The only thing Sweden insists on is consistency. He loves Finland, but he needs things to be in the place where he last left them. Finland has a good habit—randomly picking up after Sealand and thus organizing the house—but sometimes Sweden will leave his keys on the end table and Finland will move them to the hall table (where they're supposed to be) and Sweden will grumble about losing them until Finland reluctantly admits he's moved them.

The same thing happens with his books. The television remote. His razor. And while the small things are not a big deal, Finland also likes to rearrange furniture. Sweden doesn't like that. He likes being able to get around in a room without cautiously poking in front of him. He likes being able to move throughout his own house without actually having to think about it.

Finland understands, of course, and even though it took them awhile they finally agreed to a compromise: Finland can move all the little things and Sweden won't complain, but the furniture stays where it belongs.

Finland doesn't like that because he thinks it's boring. Sweden thinks Finland is a little weird, because it's furniture and usually Finland will bend over backwards to make things easier on Sweden, but Sweden supposes it's just one of those things he'll never fully understand.

When the dishes are done, Sweden finally comments on Finland's heated gaze on his crotch.

"Like what you see?"

"Um, yeah." Finland huffs. "I want to have sex."


"Yeah." Finland breathes hungrily. "I want you to blindfold me."

Sweden nods. "And fuck you?"

"That's a given."

"Mm." Sweden agrees, reaching into a kitchen drawer and pulling out a clean dishtowel.

He can sense Finland's confusion, but continues anyway. The dishtowel goes around Finland's eyes, and Finland grasps Sweden's hand for comfort.

"Um. I kind of meant in the bedroom." Finland admits.

"Where's the fun in that?" Sweden says, scooping Finland up and placing him on the just-cleaned kitchen table.

"O-Oh." Finland replies. "I don't know?"

"Don't move." Sweden replies, caressing Finland's thigh. "I need lube."

Finland hooks his hands under his knees and draws them up towards his shoulders. "Hurry."

"Impatient." Sweden responds. "Should spank you."

Finland makes a noise of protest. "At least fuck me first."

Sweden smacks his dick against Finland's bum. "Why should I?"




Sweden outright laughs at Finland's whining. "Give me thirty seconds."

"One, two, three—"

Sweden shakes his head fondly, heading into the bedroom to search for the lube. Hopefully it's where he left it this morning.

A/N: Kink meme deanon! Woo!