Dating the World: Country x Reader

Bad Touch {Spain}

Bad Touch {Spain x Reader}

“Why can’t you just pick me?”

Warning: Maybe a bit of OOC-ness on a certain albino’s part. I’m sorry; I actually love him a lot! But, it was needed for some development between Spain and Reader-chan. Forgive me. D’: Oh, and, ‘lime’ content— beware ;)

You looked up at the poster. It was still a little crooked, but it would have to do.

You’d just finished putting up your newest poster of your favorite band, Bad Touch. It had all three members on it—Prussia, France, and Spain, looking as great as they always did.

They were currently your obsession. But not just you; they had fangirls all over the world. They were a national phenomenon. Starting out in Europe, they quickly became the world’s most famous boy band.

Lately, Bad Touch was all you ever thought about. Usually you didn’t obsess over boy bands, but this was an exception.

Since your family didn’t have a lot of money, you couldn’t afford to go to concerts or even buy much of their merchandise. But you did spend all of your allowance on magazines. Mostly just to rip out the Bad Touch posters and put them up on your wall.

If you were lucky, your parents would let you print out pictures from the Internet of Prussia and put them up. But they normally wouldn’t allow you to ‘waste’ so much ink.

Unlike all the other fans, you only loved Prussia. Everyone else simply loved all three of them, but you mostly cared for the red-eyed, albino ‘King of Awesome’. You weren’t sure why, but he was your favorite. France was close behind though, of course.

You sighed happily, gazing up at Prussia’s face. You went over to your desk and pulled out a sharpie, then walked back over to the poster.

You drew a heart next to Prussia, and smiled.

-D-A-T-I-N-G-T-H-E-W-O-R-L-D-

“GET BACK OVER HERE, YOU IDIOTS!” Germany yelled furiously.

France cringed, “Oh Mr. Germany, why don’t you take a break from yelling at us? It would do us all some good, non?” He asked, and winked at his manager.

“I can’t go a day without yelling at you guys; because you’re all such imbeciles!”

Prussia groaned before turning back around. He, France, and Spain had been so close to dodging Germany’s wrath. “No, the awesome me is not an imbecile!” He shouted back, a red tick mark on his forehead.

“What did we do this time?” Spain asked innocently.

All four of them were in the recording studio of one of their mansions. The one in Europe, to be more precise.

They’d just finished recording a new song and were about to leave- mostly since they’d heard Germany come in- but he’d caught them before they could escape.

“Your inability to keep a personal maid is preposterous. Why does every single one you have either quit or get fired by one of you? Hm? Are you all really that terrible that you need to hire your, what, sixteenth personal maid?!”

France shrugged his shoulders. “They get boring after a while, so we have to hire a new one.”

“THEY’RE NOT FOR ENTERTAINMENT!” Germany growled back.

“Yeah, France is right. The last one refused to pole dance for me.” Prussia added nonchalantly—completely ignoring Germany’s statement.

Germany slowly turned to face him. “You do understand what a maid is, right?” He struggled to keep a calm voice—they never listened when he yelled. “She’s a live-in housekeeper, not a 24/7 in-house prostitute!”