hetalia : country x reader

Bullied Reader - 2p!America

You had been physically and verbally bullied by the students, mostly girls and because of that, you were traumatized to go to school, studying in your house in the bedroom alone. Your parents were concerned and tried to ask but you kept a secret from them, not wanting them to know. It is your complication and you wished to solve it yourself. You would often wear long-sleeved shirts, a scarf, anything to cover your bruises, so that your parents as well as your teachers wouldn't notice the scars.

It was a Tuesday, and you had to go to school since your Art teacher, Mrs. Benoist asked you to help her paint the walls of the Art class after school is over. You gladly accepted, but petrified and hoped you won't get beaten up again.

Alas, somebody had to pin you against one of the lockers when you were on your way to the Art class. The queen bee- there has to be a woman who's controlling position in every school- snickered at you. Sometimes, you wished to be strong, yet you couldn't even hurt a fly.

You closed your eyes, ready for the impact but then you felt nothing. You opened your eyes to see a guy in front of you with red-brownish hair, his left hand holding a nail-filled baseball bat while his right hand grabbed the girl's wrist.

"I won't hesitate to hurt you if you're a guy but sadly, you're a woman, so it's better if you and your girly friends here fu- sod off," he snarled. The girls scurried away in fear. In fact, you were also starting to get terrified of the man in front of you. He turned around to face you, a big smirk on his face.

"Looks like I really scared them bad, huh? One of them must be peeing in her pants now," he guffawed. "Anyways, you okay, babe? They didn't hurt ya, right? School's over, where are ya heading to?"

"Art class," you softly answered. "Mrs. Benoist asked for my help,"

"Oh, that woman. She always have the time to criticize my goddamn artworks," he huffed, making you laughed lightly.

"You want me to walk ya there? Who knows, those asscravats might be after you again. And if they do, this dude," he referred to his nail-infested bat. "is gonna give them a few sh%tty lessons," he lightly swung the bat back and forth.

"I rather not do that if I were you," you said. "but walking me there is fine, thank you..."

"Allen. Call me Allen," he flashed an Oscar-winning grin.

"Thank you, Allen. My name is ____," you smiled back at him.

. . . .

You arrived at the Art class, knocking the door before stepping in, Allen still behind you, his bat on his shoulder, acting like a protective bodyguard. You greeted your Art preceptor.

"You're here, Miss ____ and," she sighed. "What is he doing here?" she asked, looking at your new friend, Allen.

He raised his hands up in surrender. "I'm not doing anything this time,"

"I think," the last line made the woman grunted in response.

"How many times do I have to tell you about that, Mr. Jones?" she looked menacingly at his bat.

"I'm not hurting anyone with it," he pulled a face. "Besides, can I help ________ paint too?"

"No," she answered simply. "Since you're here to keep her company, you may only watch. And keep that dangerous bat away from the class,"

"You can lay the bat against the wall outside the class, Allen," you suggested. He gave a nod, still pouting.

"As for you, Miss ____. I drew the sketches on the walls for you. I've also prepared the colours and paintbrushes in the box. If you're too exhausted, you may continue tomorrow," you uttered a thank you to Mrs. Benoist before she went out to do a few more works in her office.

You started as soon as she stepped away from the class. You painted the first sketch, Allen watching while sitting beside you.

"Can I try, babe?" he asked.

You gave a small shrug. "But Mrs. Benoist said-"

"She's gone, no worries!" he took a paintbrush. "Just give me a colour and tell me where to paint!" you suggested cobalt blue at the second doodle and he nodded. You two were both quietly painting but you were deep in thought. Allen seemed like a pretty nice guy, even though he has a creepy nail-filled baseball bat.

"Hey, Allen?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Why do you always carry that bat around?" you asked, curious.

"Defence. I have a damn brother who always attack me with his damn hockey stick, though if anybody messes with me, I'll just threaten them..maybe," he shrugged. "Why were they almost in the verge of hitting you though, those mad hyenas- I mean, women?"

"I-I guess...they're in a bad mood, and I bumped into them?" you lied.

"Yeah, right. I'm serious, babe," he held a grim expression.

"It's no problem, I can assure you, Al-"

"C'mon, babe!" he stopped painting. "Tell me or...or I'll leave you here,"

"Stop acting childish,"

"Tell me!"

"No!"

"I'll make ya!"

"No thanks!"

"I mean it!"

"Please no-hey!" he snatched your brush and ran. You chased him and you fell down, your scarf loose, your bruises on your neck visible. Allen saw this and tossed the paintbrush away, rushing to your aid and saw the bruises with a shock expression.

"____, who did this?" he asked, perturbed by your scars. He lightly touched one of your scars and you winced in pain.

"It's nothing," you mumbled.

"Nothing? Bullsh*t!" he cursed. "Is it them?"

You slowly nodded.

"(Expletive deleted)! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I'm sorry. I just don't want others to know,"

"____, you'll get hurt if this keeps on. We should at least tell a teacher about th-"

"No, Allen!" you cut him off. "I can do this by myself. Besides, I got used to it!"

"You'll die if you keep getting beaten up by them!"

"No! That's ridiculous, Allen!"

"Then I'll beat them!" Allen was about to walk out but you pulled his jacket, refusing his idea.

"You'll get caught!"

"Let go, dollface!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Isn't there another way?"

"Hmmmmmm nope!" he tried taking a step but you pulled his bomber jacket harder, making him lose his balance and fell on top of you. "Ow...Bad decision. But nice position we're in," he said, making you blushed.

"You still have the time to say that..," you wanted to facepalm. "I still won't let you tell anyone,"

"Goddamn it, fine. Since you're so oh damn stubborn," he got up. "Let's just do it this way,"

.   .   .   .  

You stepped in school with Allen, his arm around your waist, his other free hand holding his bat, ready to bash anyone's head with it if they lay a finger on you. He looked at others like a mad bear. And since then, no one ever dared to bully you again with Allen by your side.

Further than that, your bruises were starting to fade, and you won't need to hide it again. And as for Allen he became your bestfriend, your lover and protector.

. . . .

-Edited- 19/07/15