A/N: haha phat America go brrr
America feels insecure and Russia helps, except his methods are...ew
WARNING
•um, sex
•triggers for no-no thoughts because America feels bad about eating
•kinky(nasty) sex talk(I only say that cause I'm just super duper awkward, but whatever)
•literally the longest chapter/oneshot I've written
•realistically, sexualizing certain body types doesn't really help normalize them. Kind of the opposite effect, really, but we won't get into that.
Don't worry, Russia understands after a little talk, but y'know I gotta do some dumb shit first
~~~
"I am so sick of this shit," America muttered to himself after having bumped into a cabinet file for the third time that day.
He would complain and say the hallways were too narrow, but in his mind he always thought it was just cause he was too big.
"Stupid fucking thing," he said a little louder and kicked the cabinet.
"Can you stop cussing out inanimate objects and hurry up with the shit?" Australia complained.
"I'm getting to it," America hissed back.
Australia rolled his eyes.
"Honestly, if you have such a problem with it, try losing some weight, yknow?"
America's eyes snapped to him with malice, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Australia raised his hands in defense, "I don't mean anything bad, I'm just saying, that if you're unhappy, do something about it."
America calmed down, nodding.
To be quite honest, America knew that good and well, but...well, it was just so hard to really get into it. He thought maybe he could do one of those diet plans, but he was really insecure about asking anyone to help make sure he stayed on track, even though he knew how bad he was with a regiment.
He could ask Canada, maybe, but honestly, he shouldn't trouble him more than he does on the regular.
No, Canada's cool, but he already does too much for his wreck of a brother.
No way, would he ask UK. He'd be way too intense and America would probably fall back into his old coping habits as a result.
America looked at Australia with hopeful eyes.
"No way, mate. I love you, but I won't add the job of helping someone maintain a whole new lifestyle to my plate. Can't you just ask Russia?"
"Yeahhhh, maybe. But I don't want to burden him with this so early in our, uh, relationship. I just don't want him to be upset having to make sure I don't do dumb things."
"Doesn't he make sure of that like every day?"
"First of all, shut up. Second, he's an instigator on some of those things, and you know it."
"He's your boyfriend, mate. If he won't take care of you, then who is going to? See what I'm saying?"
America grumbled angrily to himself but nodded.
"Now hurry the fuck up with that box, for Pangea's sake. It's cold as balls out here. Finish stocking now, worry about your weight later."
That night America went home feeling way more nervous than he had in a while. When he opened the door, Russia was there in the kitchen, making something mouth-wateringly delicious, no doubt. Something America probably shouldn't have, considering his plan.
