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March 18, 2013
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Note: __________ is your territory name, not your human one

You groaned as you awkwardly shuffled back to your bedside, clutching your stomach almost desperately.  Standing and staring, you knew better than to lie down.  But when your stomach seemed to stay still, you took the risk and slowly descended onto your bed.  No sooner had you done that, however, your abdomen seemed to roar to life, and you suddenly had the urge to relieve yourself…again.  Even though you had just returned from the bathroom in the first place.  Oh, the joys of bowel movement.

Rising reluctantly yet hurriedly, your stomach roiled with dangerous protest at the movement.  Quickly you fast walked back into the bathroom, your brisk steps only making your tender area bounce and become even more sore.  Gritting your teeth, you finally plopped back down on the toilet for the fourth time in just a half hour.

“Last time I ever eat cake,” you vowed to yourself as you struggled to…make yourself feel better.

Yes, cake.  You, as a territory for a certain country, were basically dragged to a party hosted by none other than the Italy brothers by America.  Talk about awkwardness and fail introductions.  After all, the world only saw you when America was hosting meetings and parties, and you still only came to meetings occasionally and had a tendency to say hello and slink away not thirty seconds afterward at a party.  America was a nice enough guy, sure, but sometimes he could be a bit…overwhelming.  But that’s beside the point.

North and South Italy’s party, however, was rather entertaining.  They were both very nice and respectful hosts (or at least North Italy was), and you got to know them and their friends better.  Also, you never really had a chance to see the world, and Italy was absolutely beautiful.  All you really knew were a few other territories and provinces, but you still hadn’t gone to many of their homes.  It was nice, to say the least.

But then you had cake.  Near the end of the day, Italy had pranced up to you and offered you something so covered in chocolate and fudge you thought for sure it was a gift from America.  But when you asked, he said a close friend had made it and assured you that it was very delicious.  So you took a bite.  And then another.  And another.  Italy was right; it was incredible!

“Who made this again?” you practically gushed once you finally finished, licking off the traces of icing still clinging to your lips.

In response, Italy giggled and said, “Don’t you know, __________?  It came from your secret admirer, made with love~.”

You just about choked on your own spit.  “Ex—Excuse me?” you stammered, face heating.

He gasped, seeming appalled.  “Don’t you know, __________?  One of my friends has a crush on you, but he was too afraid to give this to you in person.”  His face lightened into a bright smile again.  Bouncing on his heels, he asked, “So?  Did you like it?  He wants me to tell him, so do you?  Do you?  Do you~?”

“Uh…”  You could only stare at the flamboyant nation as you tried to wrap your brain around his words.  Once you finally understood, you looked down modestly and murmured, “Y—Yes, tell him that I liked it…very much.”  You looked back up to Italy, who looked like he was about to start jumping off the walls of the gigantic room.  “B—But Italy, who is it?”

For once his eyes opened, twinkling brightly.  “Don’t worry, __________, you’ll find out soon enough.  I’m going to go tell him right now!”  And with that he raced off, but you couldn’t follow because he dove right into the thickest cluster of nations.  

Afterward you stayed for a while longer, hoping that this secret admirer would reveal himself.  But when he never did and you began feeling funny, you had to retreat back to the hotel.  You did just in time, too, considering you now felt like complete shit.

“God…” you groaned quietly, “I pray he doesn’t get the courage to confront me now.  That’d be so embarrassing.  Damn my weak stomach.”

Then, like an angel decided to summon someone because they didn’t like you, there was a knock at the door.

You dropped your head.  “…Great.  Just a second!” you called as loudly as you could.  Though it was certainly a thorn in the ass to get up after doing your business—or at least trying to—it was even worse because of your stomach.  Life really sucked for you right then.  Pissed and in pain, you went and opened the door.

Goddamn it.

Why.  Just…why.  Why did it have to be the one guy you liked at the door?  Why did heaven hate you so much at the moment?  You didn’t mean to click on that thumbnail that took you to a gay porn site yesterday!  Seriously, you didn’t mean to press down on the mouse!

“O—Oh.  Hey there, Germany.”

Yes, Germany.  No, you really hadn’t met that many people.  Except him.  You met him…oh, you weren’t sure, but you ended up seeing him a lot after World War Two, especially during the Cold War.  Because it was around that time when you became a territory, you ended up at a lot of trade meetings that the handsome European nation also attended.  You always considered him good-looking, and admired his stick-to-itiveness, discipline, and masculinity for a long time.  But at the same time, you feared his seemingly permanent scowl and the mere way he towered over you.  It was when he was there to witness a discussion between you and America where you asked for more transportation devices he couldn’t give that you fell head over heels for him, because he showed you his generous side.  Germany said he’d export a bunch of automobiles exclusively to you with a very small fee—some of your tropical crops.  Not money.

Oh, and then there was that one time he let you touch his hair.  Something that gelled should not have been that soft.  He didn’t even seem to mind when you ruffled it.  He looked so cute with his hair messy.

Oops.  Sorry.  Your mind wandered a bit there.

“Hello, __________.”  His crystal blue gaze swept across your form, which was cramped into a half ball and holding your stomach.  He seemed unimpressed.  “Um…”

Your stomach growled at you, saying, Bitch, get back in the bathroom!  I’m not done yet!

Oh God.  Now your body parts were speaking.  Yep, you were definitely sick.

“Can I help you?” you breathed out through your teeth.

“Are…you okay?” he said instead.

You opened your mouth to reply, but then your stomach screamed at you to haul ass.  “Hold that thought.”  You shut the door in his face, embarrassed enough as it was.  There was no way in hell that you’d let him hear you take a constipated dump.  That’d probably turn him off for life.  And considering he was a country and you were a territory, that would be a long time.  Dashing back into the bathroom, you finished your business as quickly as you could.  But that “quickly” ended up being ten minutes.

I hate my life, you decided when you were done for the moment.  Angry and hurting you reopened the door.  Barely noticing his flustered face you pressed your heated forehead against the cool metal of the frame, eyes closed.  You sighed heavily.  “I’m sorry, Germany, but could you make this quick?  I don’t…I don’t feel good…”  Goddamn Tums didn’t do crap, you thought dimly.

You always had a sensitive stomach, and this wasn’t the first time it prevented you from being around people.  But why did it have to prevent you from being around him?  You were dizzy and your mind was foggy.  It seemed like you were talking from far away.  This was one your more serious pains, brought on by eating too much of a food that was too rich.  The world went in and out of focus when you opened your eyes.  Would this be one of those times when you were in so much pain you would faint?  You prayed not, or at least not in front of Germany.  The humiliation would be unbearable.  It felt like there was a weight on your chest, making it seem like you weren’t getting enough air no matter how many deep breaths you took.  You knew you probably should’ve gotten checked out by a doctor, but you had yet to do so because you always forgot.

Apparently you wobbled, but you didn’t know it.  All you felt was Germany’s strong arms supporting you when you found yourself staring at the ground instead.  If he said something, you didn’t hear it.  It suddenly seemed like your senses decreased so that all you could feel was one—your immense bowel pain.  Even Germany’s gestures as he began guiding you back into your room brought no comfort.  Rather, they sent uncomfortable tingles through you.

“__________?”

Barely hearing him you looked up, clinging on to his every sound in order to anchor yourself to consciousness.  “__________, what’s going on?”

“I’m…I’m sorry,” you huffed.  All emotions towards him discarded you gripped his shirt and leaned against him, focusing on your breathing.  Then when you felt stable enough you looked back to him, heart melting just a bit at his concerned expression.  “I’m just…feeling ill.”  You groaned as a cramp overtook you.  It felt like someone was squeezing your intestines and tying them into knots.  That couldn’t be normal.

“Sit down,” he ordered, and you lowered yourself onto the bed, “and tell me what’s happening.  Is your economy suffering?  Is there a natural disaster happening?  Is there anything I can help you with?”

You shook your head, bemused.  “No, no, it’s just, my stomach…I think I ate too much.”  Looking to the side, you refused to look at him as your face went from deathly pale to bright red.  It probably was actually your colon reacting to the richness of the cake, but that sounded so stupid.  I’m practically incapacitated because of a piece of chocolate cake.  God, it even seemed incredibly idiotic in your head.

“Did you vomit, then?”

You thought you were going to die from shame rather than the dessert.  “N—No, only…never mind.  Er, why do you come over again?”

“If you ate too much you’d throw up, not defecate.”

Yep.  You were killing yourself.  Slowly.

You laid down, picked up the pillow beside you, and put it over your face in attempt to die of suffocation and hide your lit face at the same time.  “Don’t say that, Germany,” you mumbled.  “It’s so gross, not to mention humiliating.”

The mattress sunk under his weight as he sat down beside you.  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, __________.  It happens.”

Okay, so obviously God doesn’t love me enough to keep the one guy I have a crush on away from me when I’m having bowel issues, but apparently He loves me enough to not kill me now?!  You groaned, not sure how you would survive such physical and mental distress at the same time.  But then a thought occurred to you.  You peeked one eye out and quirked a brow at him.  “Hey, you haven’t answered my question yet.  Why’re you here?”

Now it was his turn to look away.  And if you didn’t know him better, you would have thought he was blushing.

…Wait.  What.

Blushing?

“Germany…?” you whispered, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Er…”  He hesitated a long time.  So long you would’ve sat up and flicked his head had your stomach not restrained you from sudden movements.  Then a realization seemed to dawn on him.  He turned back to you.  “Oh God…it was the cake, wasn’t it?  The cake was too rich for your colon.”

“Kill me, please,” you muttered instead, nodding guiltily.

He released a deep, drawn out sigh and slumped, smacking his palm against his face.  “I think this is my fault, then.  I’m sorry, __________.”

“What do you mean?”

“I…well I…”  It didn’t seem he could finish his sentence, but you were pretty sure you figured it out anyway.

“You’re the one who made the cake, aren’t you?  You’re my—my secret admirer.”  You looked down bashfully.  He likes me.  He really likes me!  You would have jumped for joy and into his arms if you could.  “Wow, I never really expected that.”  Returning your focus on him, you could only see the back of his head, making you giggle softly.  Reaching out, you managed to stroke his other hand.  “Just so you know, I have feelings for you, also.”

Germany spun around and just stared.  “Re—Really?”

You nodded, smiling.  “Yeah, really.”  Trying to sit up you continued, “I’m so happy to know my crush isn’t one sided—“  Well, that time you nearly did barf.  Luckily, you didn’t.  Because if you did, it would’ve been all over Germany.  You were pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate that.  Moaning, you stopped mid-sentence.  “Okay, my bad.”

He stared at you for a moment before hesitantly reaching out his arms.  You didn’t dare object as he put your hands on his shoulders and moved forward, carefully guiding you back down.  You stared up at him with an awestruck look on your face, but then grinned.  “Thank you,” you said as sincerely as possible.

He seemed too paralyzed to respond.  Grinning at his silly face (who knew he could look so cute when confused?) you asked, “What kind of cake was that, anyway?”

That seemed to snap him back to reality.  Quickly he sat up and away from the intimate position.  “German chocolate,” he said with a small stammer.

“Note to self: never eat that again.  But thank you for making it, anyway.  It was really good!  I had no idea you baked.”

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from laughing.  Germany’s face was so red!  “Not a lot of people do.”

God he’s cute, you couldn’t help but think.  Ignoring your protesting stomach you managed to sit up again, turning his face towards you just enough to kiss his cheek.  “Well, thank you for sharing with me.  So…are we a thing now?”

“A—A ‘thing’?” Germany repeated, seeming confused and still avoiding your gaze.

“Yeah.  You know, a couple,” you clarified with a soft blush.

“I—I guess,” he muttered uncertainly.

You tipped your head.  “Germany?  Are you okay?”

Finally he looked at you, appearing…shy?  “I’m fine,” he stated in a calm way that did not match his expression at all.  You squeaked rather stupidly when he returned the gesture of affection, kissing your own cheek.  Honestly, you had no expected that.  You were kind of thinking he’d go tsundere (finally you could apply a Japanese word you learned through the manga Japan gave you to real life!) and space out.  Or die from sheer awkwardness.

“That…sounds good to me,” Germany relented finally.  You giggled, but apparently your body was not okay with that.  Stomach groaning you laid back down, blinking up at him.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You shook your head.  “No, you can stay.  I need something to take my mind off my stomachache.”

There was a long, silent pause.  You were about to say his name when he surprised you yet again.  Quickly he lowered himself and pecked you on the lips, pulling away just as fast.  Again, you squeaked.

“Do you feel any better now?”

“Uh…”  Your intelligent insight only reached the back of his head, for he once again faced away.  When you didn’t speak, he looked back to see you grinning so widely you couldn’t speak, so you just nodded rapidly.

And Germany had to admit, you looked absolutely adorable like that.
Awkwardly enough, the stomach pain is based off myself when I eat too much of...anything, really. Especially German chocolate cake, which I first had at my friend's birthday party.
Never. Again.
...
I think I have irritable bowel syndrome >_<.
...
Or colon cancer ;_; (which wouldn't be surprising since it's incredibly genetic and my family on both sides have colon cancer history...)

Contest prize for: :iconsleepingintheshadows:

Other one-shots: [link]

I DO NOT OWN HETALIA IN ANY WAY.
Add a Comment:
 
:iconchronover:
Chronover Featured By Owner Jun 7, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
That was... Awkward. Cheers to me for having embarrassing moments in the bathroom and gaining a German boyfriend. :heart:
Reply
:iconzinka17:
Zinka17 Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Well this was freaking hilarious! It had me cracking up so much! :lmao:
Reply
:iconwhisperingwatermelon:
D'awwwwww! :iconflailingplz::iconkermityayplz::iconitssofluffyplz:
Reply
:icondubstepcat:
DubstepCat Featured By Owner May 21, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
My colon loves me <3
I can eat all kinds of shit :'D
Reply
:iconflyingpastakitty:
FlyingPastaKitty Featured By Owner May 7, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Dude! That's so me! LOL Cute~
Reply
:iconzimantha87:
zimantha87 Featured By Owner Mar 19, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
As someone who has IBS and is a huge Germany fan, I absolutely love this.
Reply
:iconmusic-water-life:
Music-Water-Life Featured By Owner Mar 18, 2013
This is cute! I appreciate a reader insert not based in military training. Nice work!
Reply
:iconsparky-sumi:
Sparky-Sumi Featured By Owner Mar 18, 2013
I laughed much too hard at some of this.
I suffer from stomach aches too; I can't eat ANYTHING!
I absolutely LOVED this. And I don't even know much about Hetalia!
Reply
:iconkomodo-dragon2:
komodo-dragon2 Featured By Owner Mar 18, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I LOVED IT! :dummy: Its so cuuute :3 Yeah I have German chocolate in my house.....^.^ So, pardoning my apparent stupdity, how DO you pronounce Tsundere? :dummy: Can anyone help me out?^^;
Reply
:iconmusic-water-life:
Music-Water-Life Featured By Owner Mar 18, 2013
Tsundere is pronounced as soon-dare-ay. The "ts" is the same as in "tsunami". I've always heard the word with the accent over the second syllable("der"). And as long as you don't use a southern accent, it should come out sounding right. And when I say southern, I am referring to the southern US, also known as "country" or "western", depending on what region of the country you live in.
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