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Daddy!2P!England X Reader X 2P!Italy (Part 2)Daddy!2P!England X Reader X 2P!Italy
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You opened your eyes to darkness. Sitting up, you peered at the unknown surroundings. You seemed to be in a small room, empty of all things except for the bed you were lying on. There was one door and no window.
You noticed your jacket and boots are missing. Cursing, you searched through your pockets for your knife. You came up empty handed. ‘Great,’ you thought, ‘I’m completely weaponless, and I have no clue where I am.’
You quietly got up from the bed and felt along the wall for a light switch. Once you found one you flipped it on. A dull yellow light illuminated the room. With the light on, you began to examine every inch and detail of the small space.
The walls were a stark white, smooth and flawless. Beneath your feet were cold, white tiles. The only piece of furniture in the room was the small bed you had been lying in previously, the white sheets thrown about messily o
Papa!2P!Italy x Child!Reader Chap 1
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You ran through out the streets of Italy, trying to escape the Allied forces. You were the daughter of Luciano Vargas. The personification of the northern half of Italy. You were Venice. You were his pride, his joy. You were his daughter. But the Alleys had come to your house in the middle of the night, looking to pick a fight with your father.
The commotion had woken you up. You had gone downstairs to find your father pinned under a larger man in a black coat wearing a scarf. Oliver, the personification of England, was the first to notice your presence in the room. He greeted you, and your father screamed for you to run away.
You always listened to your father, even when you didn’t want to. But at this, you hesitated a bit, until you saw Jason, the personification of America, come toward you with his bloodied, nailed up bat. You bolted from the room, from the house and down the street.
You had to get to Zio Flavio’s house. Flavio was the personification of
Fem!N.Italy x Reader - Rainy daysThe sound of the rain dropping against my window somehow always calmed me down. Drop, drop, drop. Always the same rhythm, every minute, every hour. I looked out of the window, watching as the people with their annoyingly colourful umbrellas passed by.
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I saw blue ones, green ones, pink ones, also some rainbow-coloured - but not the one I was waiting for. I was waiting for an umbrella in green, white and red, an umbrella that looked like the Italian flag.
I took a quick glance at my watch. It was now 17:30; the time, when she usually went to the Italian Restaurant across the street.
I didn't know much about her; she was a girl, about my age, with wavy brown hair, that was usually tied back to a ponytail. She often wore some sort of militaristic uniform. From my viewing spot at the window I couldn't see many details; I only knew how she looked like roughly, and that she liked to eat pasta. Every day when she went to said Italian restaurant, she ate pasta.
I watched another crowd of umbrel