Various Hetalia One-Shots

The Gerita Project (taster because i'm lazy) Gerita, mostly Japan x reader

"Why is it that in almost every Gerita fanfic I read, they live on a diet of nothing but pasta and bratwurst?"

A raven-haired head broke it's intense gaze from the bowl of Kellogs, and produced a quiet, "hmm..." before glancing across the table. His tea-Brown eyes met what appeared to be a (h/c) mop.

"I seem to have come across that as well, (y/n)," the brunette uttered, tasting his breath' s undertone of Rice Crispies, "and I always seem to be their no. 1 fanboy who takes pictures of them when they..." out of respect, and the slightest fear that one of his other allies could hear him, he paused to choose his words carefully, after which he quietly added,

"do something...improper."

The comment caused a grinning face to emerge from the desheveld (h/c) 'mop'. "I doubt they're far off, Kiku kun."

Kiku chuckled faintly, "fancy hearing that from the girl who reads lemons like a morning paper." (Y/n) swiftly powered down her tablet. "Also, Italy kun seems to be terrified of thunderstorms..."

And as if the pair had rehearsed it they both exclaimed, "and they are always in the same house when one happens!"

It had become an informal tradition, every morning from around 7:05 to 7:12: both would (often unwillingly) peel open their eyelids once they had surrendered to the light of the morning sun, somehow crawl away from the heat insulated cocoon of their beds, stumble onto the cold stone paving of the kitchen floor, which would later be overwhelmed with enthusiastic discussions of various animations from the land of the rising sun. Those rants, of course, would only commence once somebody managed to surmount the awkward silence. But it was always worth it to experience the witty and somewhat sarcastic side of Kiku.

However, before (y/n) had reached such an arguably tremendous point of social confidence, she was just like an innocent kitten, gazing wide-eyed at the foot of the altetidious world conference hall. Her 5ft frame was rooted to the floor, and she embraced her miniscule collection of books close to her frail chest as if it would be of any benefit.

Twelve days of arriving, staring, contemplating and leaving finally met an abrupt end, as one finely dressed, starry eyed Korean managed to convince the tiny nation to enter to intimidating building. The scarce information given by the whimsical brunette came down to something along the lines of, 'I'm sure the big countries won't eat you or anything', 'it's no big deal, just be friendly and everyone will love you!' And 'world conferences originated in me!'.

Despite the man's encouraging advice, the majority of the meeting was spent cowering behind his oversized sleeve.

The demanding ordeal began as soon as the glossy doors swung open, revealing a plethora of conventionally dressed nations, many of whom turned their attention straight to (y/n)'s acutely visible form.

"Everyone, this is (y/n), who happened to originate i-"

Her vision was suddenly eclipsed by a feminine-looking, gently grinning face, which eventually turned to the expanding crowed behind and exclaimed, "she's that new Mínzú (nation) we've heard about! She's so cute, right?"

The comments kept being shot in her direction: "hey, she's small, just like me!", "You're not even supposed to be here, Sealand! You tit!", "Get out the way, I want so see her too!" The louder the room grew, the deeper the shade of scarlet her face grew, and the tighter she gripped onto the fabric of Korea's sleeve. The comment stating the similarities of her face to a tomato had an extreme negative effect affect on her blush; the compliment of how cute it looked, doubly so.

Several overwhelming moments passed, and (y/n) suddenly felt herself being pulled deeper into the meeting room, brushing past the bustling nations, until she was suddenly face to face with a pale skinned, raven haired man who, thankfully, didn't tower over her like the other vociferous countries.

"(Y/n) san, yokoso," he greeted, tilting his head and faintly smiling as a characteristic polite gesture. "Its a pleasure to meet you, I've heard a lot about your culture recently." A little unsure of how to respond appropriately, (y/n) mimicked the mysterious man's japanese-born formally by bowing (mostly to conceal her fiercely burning face), and speedily replied, "arigato gozamasu, se-se-sempai..."

Two dark-haired peers nodded knowingly at each other, as the once-pale, now-tinted-pink 'sempai' allowed an earnest smile to spread across his unblemished cheeks.

Gesturing to her makeshift chestplate of books she held, he pondered,"P-pardon me for asking so suddenly, but is that a copy of (favorite manga) there?" And from that moment on, the pair was united by a force stronger than the stench of hamburgers in America's breath: Manga.