Countryhumans x Country!Reader || Oneshots

Germany x Reader || Workaholic

Howdy! I apologize for such low quality chapter, I rushed a lot! This story includes the following;

•Country!Reader
•Fluff
•Unnecessary anxiety and pressure on your personality, I'm sorry

***

It had been a silent day. America had gone out with friends and managed to drag Russia along, so it was just you and Germany taking care of the place.

Though, you didn't trust America and Russia together, it was too late to catch them. Germany's presence was enough to keep the house together.

Neither of you had come in contact since 10 AM, when you came to the kitchen to grab a drink as Germany was making coffee. You two had cups for yourselves and went your own ways. Barely any words spoken.

It had been a good 8 hours since you last saw Germany. He had been locked all day into his office, like most days, but as there was no sign of Russia and America returning - dinner was up to you.

Cooking may not have been your strongest of skills, but you decided to at least try. And hey, what could really go wrong here?

((A/N); Many things. Very many things-)

You decided to ask Germany what he'd like. Since he didn't really spend group time with you, it was the safest way to ask for his preference.

Walking up the stairs with an energetic tone, you get to his office. Gently but seriously, you knock on his door and ask; "May I come in?"

There's no reply until after an awkwardly long few seconds, "Sure."

You open the door and peek your head into his office. It was small, but big enough to hold a large desk, a lot of drawers and a couple bookshelves and a computer.

"Hey Germs-" You started.
"Don't call me that please." He said without taking his eyes off the screen he was typing onto.

"Right, I'm sorry. I was wondering if you could tell me what you'd like to have for dinner? I'm in the kitchen, so don't trust too complex things to me." With a slight awkwardly nervous tone, you let out a little laugh.

"You're making dinner? No wait, what time is it?" He spun around with his chair and turned to you.

"Oh, um... Just do what you'd like. It doesn't really matter to me." He tried to smile but it was more filled with embarrassed fluster than anything.

It was, to say the least, unusual of him.

"Ah, alright! Well, if you'd show downstairs in about 30 minutes I'll probably be finishing by then." You squeaked at the doorway, afraid to make a bad impression about your motives.

"Yes, I will. Thanks." He turned back. And without a word, you had given yourself a very rich slap of anxiety of literally everything.

Nice.

You whined out a small "bye" before sliding out of the doorway and carefully closing the door. Your hands were sweaty, face flushing red and to top it all off, you had to preform an acceptable meal to Germany.

Rushing downstairs to the kitchen, you decided to look up any German dishes you could attempt to make. It was a risky move; If you failed, it'd be a disappointment to Germany himself, but if you were successful, you may had won his trust.