Happy Holidays!!!- Germany x Reader Fanfiction (Installment 1)

Konichiwa!  I'm a little late for this, but happy holidays to all!  We did Christmas dinner with the whole family at our house this year, so I spent the past two days cooking and cleaning, largely, and I didn't have time to post anything. (>.<)  But now I hope I will be able to sort of make up for it because I have a present for my fellow fangirls!  I recently-ish started watching Hetalia and I absolutely love it.  I'm watching it with my little brother who is a history buff and he also enjoys it.  For anyone who isn't familiar with it, basically all you need to know is that all of the world's countries are people and the show makes each of the countries the personification of the main stereotypes about that country.  What I've been watching is Hetalia: Axis Powers, so a lot of it centers around World War II and events leading up to it, which is cool.  Also, the episodes are only five minutes long, give or take, and it's easy to make it through several episodes in a row.  On top of that, there are a lot of episodes in each season, but it's easy to watch because each episode is so short that it automatically gives the story momentum.
Anyway, I am not ashamed to admit that I have developed a bit of a crush on Germany, who I also refer to as Doitsu (Subs over dubs any day!!!!!).  He's just so darn adorable!  I don't think he gets enough love, so I decided to write a GermanyXReader fanfic, just because.  I haven't thought of a title yet, but I'll theoretically get there eventually...  I hope...  Suggestions would be great if anyone has any ideas...  But yeah, it's a fanfic, but I don't intend to have anything lemon-y in it.  I only recently found out what that means...  It was somewhat scarring as I thought the writer was talking about a fruit at first...  Yeah...  Bad memories...
Well anyway: Doitsu.  I'll give you all a lovely picture of his face to start you off and then I'll post the first part of the story.  I couldn't think of a good way to end this part, so it feels a little incomplete.  It may just end up being a bunch of random scenarios throughout time.  Also, I was too lazy to try to give Japan and Italy their own accents, so I just tried to keep with personality on them.  Germany, on the other hand, has a fabulous accent and here is a link in case you need a translation of it: http://www.instructables.com/id/How-To-Type-and-Talk-With-a-German-Accent/?ALLSTEPS
Pardon any bad grammar in the parts that aren't dialogue.  As usual, I haven't gone back and edited because I wanted to post as quickly as possible.  Catch you reader-sans later!


- Turtle-chan

What he looks like in the anime (^_^)

What I imagine for the story (>O<)

You’re sitting on your bed, watching anime on your laptop.  It’s Hetalia: Axis Powers and you’ve been laughing your butt off for the past five minutes and now the closing theme comes on and you sing along with it.  You’re about to go look for the next episode when the volume of the music increases suddenly.  You look at the screen in confusion, but it’s too bright and then you feel like you’re falling.  It doesn’t take long for you to pass out.

                “Hey, hey!  Germany!  Look at this!” a voice shouts loudly near you.  You can’t quite make your eyes open, but you’re uncomfortable.  There is something cold, hard, and wet under your body and you can’t quite feel your fingers and toes.

                “She is alive, Germany-san,” a soft voice says and you can hear the crunch of approaching footsteps.

                “Is she one of zem?” a very deep and rough voice inquires and the footsteps stop.

                “I do not believe so,” the soft voice answers.

                “Germany!  Can we take her home~?” the first voice asks.  It almost sounds like a child.

                There is silence for a moment before you hear a sigh.  “I suppose so,” the deep voice says.  You feel yourself being lifted and then you’re moving.

                You struggle to force your eyes open and find yourself looking at the sky.  It’s dark grey and full of ominous clouds.  You manage to turn your head a little and you see a fair-skinned, strong-jawed, blonde-haired man.  He is wearing a dark green uniform and he is looking straight ahead.

                “So you haf avakent,” he says.  He must have been the one with the deep voice.  You can feel the rumbling it causes in his chest.  “You are safe now.  Sleepen sie das vell.”

                You nod and allow yourself to relax in his arms as you drift back into unconsciousness.  There’s something about him that seems familiar, but you’re too tired to try to put your finger on it.

~~~

                It’s bright.  Light flows in through the windows and you sit up.  You’re in a room you don’t recognize and it takes you a moment to remember how you got here.  The room is simple, with just the essential furniture, but you like it.  It feels clean and refreshing.  You swing your legs over the side of the bed and try to stand, but you immediately fall to the ground with your head spinning.

                “Oh!” you exclaim, trying to support yourself with one hand while covering your eyes with the other.

                You hear a soft rapping on your door and you say,” Come in,” as you try to sit up and at least appear normal.

                A man with black hair and vacant brown eyes opens the door.  He is wearing a spotless white military uniform.  “Are you alright, miss?  I thought I had heard you fall,” he says in a soft, gentle voice.

                “Oh, I’m fine,” you respond with a smile.  “I just tried to stand up too quickly.”

                He nods and says,” I see.  Do you need assistance or are you capable of standing on your own?”

                “I’ll be alright.  Thank you for asking though,” you respond, slowly getting to your feet.

                “Not at all,” he says, moving to leave.  “Let us know if you are in need of any assistance.”

                You nod and he closes the door behind him.  You take a few shaky steps before finally regaining your balance.  Unfortunately, that’s about the time that you realize how sore you are.  Every muscle hurts and you wonder why.  You go to take a look in the mirror and you see that you’re covered in cuts and bruises and your hair is a mess.  You grimace a little and bring you hand up to gingerly touch a particularly nasty bruise on your cheek.  You feel dirty and all you want is to take a shower, but your stomach growls and you have to reorder your priorities.  You do what you can to make yourself look a little more presentable before stepping out into the hallway.  There is a set of stairs nearby that lead downward, so you follow them into what appears to be a living area with a kitchen right next to it.

                In the kitchen, there are three men: the blonde one that carried you last night, the black-haired one that you had just spoken to, and a brown-haired one.  All three are doing something different.  The brown-haired one is cooking something, the black-haired one is setting out plates and silverware, and the blonde is furiously trying to clean up all of the messes the brown-haired one makes.  The black-haired one happens to look up as you come down the stairs and you make eye contact with him.

                “Ah.  Good morning, miss,” he says quietly, giving you a slight bow.  You notice that he has a touch of an accent and you remember that his L’s sounded a little like R’s earlier, so you assume that he’s of Eastern descent somewhere.

                “Good morning,” you reply, trying not to feel embarrassed when the other two men turn around to look at you.

                “Ahh~  You must be hungry!  Don’t worry, I’m almost done cooking~!” the brown-haired one chirps.  He’s smiling at you and it looks like he has no eyes because he has them squeezed shut.  He also has this one weird little curl that sticks out from the rest of his head and you have the strange urge to go and pull it.  He’s wearing what looks almost like a sailor boy’s uniform and you’re kind of curious why they’re all dressed so strangely.

                “Would you like some help cooking?” you ask him.

                “Yeah!  That would be fun!” he says, moving over to make room for you.  When you stand next to him, you realize that he’s only a few inches taller than you.

                “So what are we cooking?” you ask and the blonde man jerks his head around to glare at the brown-haired man.

                “PASTAAAAAAA!!!!” the brown-haired man exclaims, holding up a box of pasta.  The blonde man shakes his head and goes back to cleaning and you giggle.

                “Alright.  Do you want me to cook the pasta, then?” you ask.

                “Yeah! “ he replies, holding the box out to you.  You take it from him and try to pull a pot down from a shelf above your head, but it’s too high for you, even when you stand on your toes.

                “Here,” a deep voice says from behind you.  You turn and see the blonde man standing over you, handing the pot down to you.

                You look up and notice for the first time that is eyes are a piercing blue, like the sky on a cloudless day.  You smile up at him a little shyly and take the pot from him.  “Thank you,” you tell him, taking one last peek at him before turning to your work.

                You fill the pot most of the way with water and set it on to boil, adding a pinch of salt.  “Oh, you know that trick too?” the brown-haired man asks, seeming to be surprised.

                “Yep.  The salt lowers the water’s specific heat, making it boil faster, and it gives the noodles a little flavor as well,” you respond cheerfully.

                “Yes~!  Ahh, pasta~!” the little man says happily to himself as he stirs a pot of what appears to be marinara sauce.

                The water comes to a rolling boil and you add in the pasta and set a timer for fifteen minutes.  While you wait, you talk to the brown-haired man.

                “Thank you guys for taking me in.  I’m not really sure how I got here or how to get back home, but I’ll try to not impose for too long,” you say to the room in general, but you’re looking at the brown-haired man.

                “It’s okay!  Germany is really nice and the food here isn’t bad like in England’s house,” he tells you.  “And Japan is nice too!  He likes kitties!”

                “Wait, who are you talking about?” you ask him, suddenly realizing what might have happened.

                “Oh!  We didn’t tell you our names yet!  That one is Germany.  He’s very strong and he can be kind of scary but he’s nice.  And he’s Japan.  He’s really quiet and polite and he doesn’t like hugs.  I’m Italy,” he tells you, pointing to the blonde man and the black-haired man before making it to himself.

                Your suspicion has been confirmed and you aren’t sure what to think.  You look at each of the three of them in shock.  Of course, it’s exciting because you love Hetalia, but it’s also a little scary because that must mean you’ve somehow gotten sucked into their anime world.  It’s strange, though, because they don’t look like anime characters.  They look like normal people.  Well, extremely attractive normal people, that is.  That’s why you didn’t recognize them at first.  If they had looked like they do in the anime, you would have had it as soon as you saw Germany…  Though you have to admit that you don’t mind the way he looks now.  He’s definitely not hard on the eyes…

                “Heeeyyy!  Heeeeyyy!” you hear Italy say, waving his hand in front of your face and you snap out of your thoughts.

                “Hm?  I’m sorry, did you say something?” you ask him, making sure to only look at him.

                “What’s your name?” he asks you.

                “Oh, I’m (y/n).  It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” you respond, looking at the ground.

                “Ahh~!  That’s a pretty name!” Italy tells you with a big smile and you blush a little bit.

                “Thank you,” you tell him shyly.

                “Hee hee~!  She’s shy!  Look, Germany!  She’s blushing!  It looks just like a rose~!” Italy exclaims, dragging Germany over to you, which only makes you blush more.

                “Leafe her be, Italy.  You are embarrasink zee girl,” Germany scolds him.

                “Okaaayy,” Italy says sadly, but then the timer goes off and he cheers up again.

                “PASTAAAAAA!!!” he cheers as you turn off the burner and drain the water off of the pasta.

                You giggle and move out of the way so that he can serve his plate.  In doing so, you bump into Germany who is reaching into the refrigerator.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” you tell him nervously.

                “Do not vorry about it,” he tells you, pulling out a bottle of beer.  “Vould you like somesink to drink?”

                “Oh, um, if you have any juice then I’ll take that, but if not then I’ll just get some water,” you say, looking away from him.

                “Hmm… Ah, here,” he says, holding out a jug of cranberry juice.

                “Thank you,” you say quietly, taking the jug from him.  You start looking around for something to put the juice in, but he beats you to it and hands you a glass.  “Oh, thanks… Again.”  You laugh a little awkwardly.

                Germany smiles a little bit and says,” Not at all, Mädchen.”

                You take the glass and jug of juice over to the table and pour the juice into the glass.  You take a sip of the bitter juice while you wait for the men to serve their plates.  Italy walks over to the table with his plate heaped high with pasta and he sits down and starts eating happily.  Japan is next, with a plate of plain noodles which he seasons with soy sauce.

                “Itadakimasu,” he says quietly before picking up his chopsticks and eating.

                “(y/n),” Germany says from behind you.

                You jump a little and turn around.  “Yes?” you ask.

                “Kome und get your food.  I vill go last,” he says, gesturing with his beer bottle.

                “Oh, okay,” you respond as you go over and put some pasta on your plate and then pour a little of the sauce over it.  Once you’re done, you go back to the table, but you aren’t sure where to sit.  Thankfully, Italy pats the seat next to him, so you sit there.

                You wait until Germany has joined you all at the table to start eating.  The pasta is surprisingly good, even if you don’t think it really constitutes as breakfast.  You largely don’t participate in conversation during the meal and neither does Japan.  Most of the talking consists of Italy being silly and Germany scolding him.  It’s funny to watch and you have a hard time keeping yourself from laughing.

                When everyone is finished, you all stand up and gather up the dishes, taking them over to the sink.  You offer to wash them, but Germany refuses.

                “Nein.  Vee need to treat your vounds,” he tells you.  Everything he says seems so stern.

                “Oh… Alright,” you say, remembering how much of a mess you look and feeling embarrassed about it.

                “You should let her take a shower, Germany~!” Italy says to him.  “Then Japan can wash her clothes for her!”

                “I vas goink to offer it!” Germany exclaims, his cheeks turning a little pink.

                You can’t help but laugh.  Their dynamic is just too comical.  Germany turns and looks at you, giving you his characteristic glare.  “Vat?  Vat is so funny?” he demands.

                You shake your head and smile up at him.  “Nothing, “you reply.

                He looks a little embarrassed still, but he doesn’t seem as angry.  “Fine.  I vill take you upshtairs,” he says, looking away.

                You follow him as he leads you to the bathroom.  He rummages in a cabinet inside the room and hands you a towel and a washrag, as well as a bar of soap.  “Here,” he says.  “Just leafen sie das clothes outside zee door.”

                “Thank you,” you tell him before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

                You peel off your dirty clothes, being careful to avoid touching any of your cuts or bruises.  You try to bundle them together, but you keep your undergarments out of the bundle.  The thought of any of the men seeing your underthings makes you blush, though they do have to get washed somehow, but you’ll figure something out later.  You wrap the towel around your body and quickly put the clothes outside the door and then close and lock it behind you.  You don’t think any of the men would try to peep on you, but you don’t know them very well yet.  All you know about them is what you’ve seen in the anime.

                You get into the shower and turn the water on, letting the hot water wash over you.  It burns your cuts, but you don’t care.  You use the bar of soap to scrub the dirt and blood off of your body, making sure to wash every nook and cranny.  As you do so, you notice another scrape and you’re amazed you hadn’t realized it was there before.  It goes from the bottom of your ribcage to your hip.  The soap and water have made it burn like crazy, but at least you know it’s clean.  I’ll definitely need to do something about that.  Since you can’t find any shampoo, you have to resort to using the bar soap on your hair as well, much to your dismay.  It’s better than nothing, though, and soon you have yourself cleaned off to the point that you at least look halfway decent.  You turn the water off and step out of the shower, drying yourself off with the towel and then wrapping it around your body.

                You carefully walk back to your room, clutching the towel to your chest.  When you get inside, you shut the door behind you and look around for some clothes.  You see a little pile on the bed with a piece of paper on top of it.  You go over and look at it.

                Your clothes are not dry yet.  Germany-san has said that you may use these in the meantime.  My apologies, (y/n)-san.

• Japan

“Hm,” you say after you finish reading the note.  Now you’re really glad that you decided to keep your underwear out of the wash pile.  You slip it on and then put on the clothes left by Japan.  It’s obvious that they’re Germany’s, even if Japan hadn’t said so.  The black t-shirt he left you looks like a dress and the waistband of the pants comes up to your chest.  You decide to ditch the pants since the shirt is so long and since you can’t get them to stay on.  Then, you fold the pants back up and wrap your hair in the towel.  You walk down the stairs and find Germany sitting at the table, reading.  Interestingly enough, he’s wearing glasses and they actually look really good on him.

        “Um, Mr. Germany?” you say tentatively, standing in the doorway.

        He jumps a little and looks up at you, taking off his glasses.  “Oh, (y/n).  Vat is it?  Do you neet somesink?” he asks you as he closes his book.

        “I couldn’t find a first aid kit and you said I needed to treat my wounds, so…” you say, not really sure where you’re going with this.

        “Follow me,” he says, standing and walking out of the room.

        You have to walk quickly to keep up with him.  He seems to have gone into a part of the house that is used more for work purposes.  There are offices down the hall and there is also an infirmary, which is the room Germany enters.

        “Sitten sie das down,” he says, indicating an examination table in the middle of the room.  You obey and go sit on it.  The t-shirt rides up, though, and you shiver as your thighs touch the cold table.

        Germany turns back around holding a first aid kit.  It seems he realizes for the first time what you’re wearing and his ears turn pink.  You feel self-conscious as well and you look away from him.  “Um, I couldn’t get them to stay on, so here,” you say awkwardly, holding the pants out to him.

        “Oh, I see,” he says, taking the pants and placing them at the end of the table.  “Ah, here.  I vill help to treat your vounds.”

        “Alright,” you say, wondering what you should do about the cut on your side.  It needs to be dealt with, but you feel uncomfortable letting him do it.

        Meanwhile, Germany diligently works his way through the worst of the scrapes on your arms and legs.  He also takes care of a particularly bad cut on your eyebrow.  “Before I put up zee sings, did I miss anysing?” he asks, looking up at you.

        You flush a little and say,” Um, well… There’s one more, but I don’t know if you should treat it…”

        “Nein.  I do not kare vere it is.  I vill treat your vounds.  Now, vere is it?” he says firmly.

        You close your eyes and lift the shirt up, feeling unspeakably uncomfortable.  “Um, can you see it?” you ask him, afraid to open your eyes.

        “Ja.  Zat is a goot one,” he says in his usual stern voice.  “Zis vill probably hurt.”

        You feel his fingers brush against your ribcage and you wince.  He was right; it hurts.  You open your eyes and watch his face.  His ears are still pink, but you notice that the further down moves on the wound, the more his blush spreads, until he reaches your hip and both of your faces are as red as tomatoes.

        “Zere.  Zat shoult do it,” Germany says, clearing his throat and deliberately looking away as he puts everything back in the kit.  You quickly cover yourself up again and stare at your hands in your lap.

        “Ah, thank you for helping me, Mr. Germany,” you say.

        “Stop sankink me.  You are under my protection now, so I vill help you vis vat you neet,” he says gruffly, but when you look at his face you see that he’s still blushing.

        “Alright,” you say, smiling.

        Germany stands up and brushes himself off before putting the kit up.  “Do you neet help standink?  Zee bandages may make it hart to moof,” he says, holding a hand out to you.

        You take it and he completely encloses your small hand is his large one, easily pulling you to your feet.  You stagger a little bit, but you manage to steady yourself.  Then, he lets go and leads you back out into the main area of the house.

        “Men!  Ve are trainink in fife minutes!” he bellows up the stairs.

        “GEEERRRRRMMAAANNNYYYYYY!” you hear Italy whine.  “Do we have to train every day?”

        “Vee haf been over zis already, Italy.  You are veak so you must train.  You don’t vant France to beat you up again, do you?” Germany says in a tone of exasperation.

        “I am ready, Germany-san,” Japan says quietly.

        “Goot.  Let us go,” Germany says, leading the way out the door and ignoring Italy’s whining.  “(y/n), you may kome und obserf if you vant.  You vill shtart trainink tomorrow.”

        “Alright,” you say, nodding and following Japan out the door.   The men all walk out onto the expanse of land that makes up Germany’s back yard.  It is bordered by woods and you recognize it from the anime.

        “So!  Italy, vat do you do ven you see France or England?” Germany barks, going into drill sergeant mode.

        “I do this!” Italy replies, pulling a white flag out of heaven only knows where and waving it furiously.  “Vee~!  Vee~!  Vee~!”

        “Wrong!  Japan, vat do you do?” he shouts.

        “Observe the situation and decide what to do.  If they have seen you, meet them in battle.  If they have not, quietly retreat,” he says quietly and promptly.

        “Klose enough!  Now, vee vill run!  Try to keep up, Italy!” he yells, taking off his jacket before he starts running.

        Japan and Italy follow suit.  Japan runs fairly quickly, but Italy is weak and keeps getting distracted, so Germany falls behind to deal with him.

        “Vat do you sink you are doink?” he demands of Italy who is playing with a cat.

        “I don’t like to run,” Italy complains, cuddling the cat closer.

        “You neet to train!  Zat vite flag von’t safe you!” he tells him.

        Italy is crying now, so you decide it’s time to step in.  “Oh, come on, Italy.  Running can be fun.  It’s like a game,” you tell him, bending down as much as your bandages will allow.

        “Really?  How, (y/n)?” he asks you, wiping away his tears.

        “Well, I’ll show you if you promise to play with us,” you tell him with a benevolent smile.

        He nods,” I’ll play, I’ll play!”

        “Well alright,” you say, tapping his arm.  “Tag!  You’re it! Come and get me!”  You take off running, ignoring Germany’s protests.

        “You shoult not be runnink!  Do you vant to open zose scabs?” he shouts behind you.

        Italy on the other hand is laughing and you can hear him catching up to you.  “Vee~!  This is fun!” he exclaims.

        You decide to put on some speed and catch up to Japan.  “We’re playing tag,” you tell him breathlessly as you run by.  He looks confused and continues running.  You hear Italy shout out, “Tag!” behind you and you assume he got Japan.

        Not long after that, Germany comes flying past you.  He glances over his shoulder at you and smirks.  “I vill not be losink your game,” he tells you.  You smile and purposely lag behind.

        “Tag,” Japan says, from behind you.

        You look over at him and say,” Thanks!  See you guys at the end!” and take off.

        You can see Germany ahead of you, his black tank-top standing out against his fair skin.  Your lungs burn and your body aches, but you’re also having fun.  Besides, you’ve been given a challenge and you can’t just let Germany win so easily.  No matter how fast you run, it seems like you never get any closer to him, though.

        You feel determined, though, and you put your head down and start to really pump your legs.  I can do this.  I can do this.  I can do this!  Finally, you’re catching up and it’s not long before Germany is almost within your arm’s reach.  Unfortunately, he hears you come up behind him, glances back at you, and runs faster.  You groan and pick up your speed again as well.  At this point, you’re running basically as fast as you can go and your body hates you for it.  You’re actually a little worried that you’re going to fall and hurt yourself again, but you try to push the negative thoughts out of your head.  All that you can focus on is the black tank-top ahead of you.  Steeling yourself, you put on a last ditch burst of speed.  You close your eyes and stretch your arms out in front of you as you run, hoping to trick yourself into going faster.  You hold your breath and hope to make it.

        You do.  You slam into Germany’s back and he stumbles to a stop.  “Tag,” you gasp, bending over and using Germany for support.

        He looks down at you in amazement and starts chuckling.  “Vell, vell.  I sink I haf underestimatet you, Mädchen,” he says.  He doesn’t even sound winded.

        “Maybe,” you say, but then you start coughing and you let go of Germany to cover your mouth, but then you fall down and land on your backside on the dirt.

        “Are you alright?  Oi, vat’s wrong?” Germany asks with concern, kneeling beside you.  You’re coughing too much to talk, so you just shake your head.  Japan and Italy come to a halt near the two of you.

        “What’s wrong?” Italy asks.

        “I don’t know.  I vill be back.  I vant you to do push-ups vile I am gone,” he says as he scoops you up and carries you bridal style into the house.

        He lays you down on the sofa and goes into the kitchen to get a glass of water.  You’ve stopped coughing, but you still feel a little sick and weak.  He comes back in with the glass of water and squats down next to you, watching you drink.

        “Zat’s it.  Just a little at a time,” he tells you encouragingly.

You finish about half of the water and then you stop drinking.  “I’m sorry,” you tell Germany hoarsely.  “You told me I shouldn’t run, but I did anyway.  I should have listened.”

“Nein.  You helpt vith Italy.  It vas… fun.  You shouldn’t push yourself so hart, zough,” he tells you, mussing your hair a little.

You smile down into your glass of water at the gesture.  “Alright.  I’ll be more careful,” you tell him.  “Would you like some water before you go back to training?”  You offer him your glass.

“Nein.  It voult not be fair to zee ozers.  Sank you, zough,” he says kindly, standing up and stretching.

“Um, would it be alright if I came back to watch you guys train?  I promise not to overdo it this time,” you say, not sure what sort of answer to expect.

Germany looks down at you and nods.  “If zat is vat you vish,” he replies, walking off.