It was a bright, gorgeous day in Ludwig Beilschmidt's watermelon patch. Germany was already out and about, seeing as his tender yet painful memories of his ex-husband, Feliciano, seemed to linger on his dirty queen sized bed, making sleeping almost impossible for him. He still didn't get rid of it though; it was one of the few remaining mementos of his relationship with Italy.

But anyway, he liked stuffing the void - or other things for that matter - with his newfound passion: growing watermelon! Germany was outside in the sweltering July heat, watering his vast expanse of a watermelon patch. He wiped the sweat accumulating on his forehead with his sleeve, saturating it with the liquid. Delicious! He peeled it off and wrung out the excess into his mouth, relishing in the nice treat.

He couldn't wear his shirt like that anymore, so he left it off. Good thing he was still wearing his bicycle shorts to keep some semblance of decency! He gently rubbed his fingertips over the vines of his precious watermelon plants, sighing in content as he used the sensation of the vine scraping on his finger to block out the memories of the harsh words Italy spat at him after the divorce was finalized. He didn't like thinking about how the man who was once the only one who loved him, the only one who ever showed him any affection, or spared him any kind words breaking his heart into a thousand pieces...

Uh oh. The dark feeling was seeping back into him. Germany needed to find a distraction, fast. He looked around him.

Watermelons, as far as he could see.

He knew what he had to do.

Germany squatted down, getting down to eye level with the large fruit. He put his big, calloused hands over the smooth, light green rind of the watermelon, loving the cool sensation on his overheated and dirty mits. He could feel his erection tenting up in his bicycle shorts, making the day seem even more hotter than it was. He kept one hand on he fruit as he used his other one to roll down his bicycle shorts off of his legs. Fortunately, Germany always kept a spare packet of lube tightly pressed against his junk in case this kind of situation "arose". Plus he had learned his lesson from the brick incident. Germany slathered lube all over one side of the plump melon, and straddled it, lining up his dick with the watermelon before letting go of his few inhibitions and thrusting. Ahh, the silky texture of the fruit felt amazing on his scarred, mutilated penis. He thrusted for a total of 4 seconds, before being overtaken by the ecstasy and coming all over the top of the magnificent fruit.

But he couldn't stop there.

When he saw his cum shining on the top of that watermelon, he knew he could take it a step further. He stood up, rolling the watermelon upright. He didn't need lube or preparation. He was ready.

He used his fingers to pry open his anus, and sat down on top of the watermelon, forcing it inside of him. He could feel his body trying to reject the large, foreign object, that was certainly too big for his body, but he pressed on. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he practically ripped apart his anus to make room for the watermelon, but he knew this was what he had to do. He had to literally fill the void that Italy left inside of him.

After many hours of struggling and pain, Germany got the watermelon at least a fourth of the way inside of his body. With great force, he managed to shove the entire watermelon deep into his intestines, surely harming his digestional tract to extreme levels.

But the void was filled. The gaping hole was finally filled. With a huge watermelon. Regardless of the fact that he didn't truly overcome his loss of love, he felt complete. As long as he didn't mess with the watermelon-y bandaid he placed over a stab would, he would be fine.

And he was.