Hetalia x Reader

Reader x Italy: Holidays

It's half past nine when you are shaken awake by an impatient boot-shaped country.

"Wake up, wake up (y/n)!"

A familiar face greets your lethargic gaze.

Italy.

"Morning Italy," you mumble softly.

"No time for greetings, look look!" Italy literally drags you by the hand out of your small cabin on the waterfront.

You barely have time to wipe the sleep from your eyes before he speaks again.

"Do you like it, do you like it?!"

Before you stands a beach consisting entirely of... pasta?! This is what he's been doing out here late at night?

The creampuff of a young man looks at you intently, waiting for a reply.

"Oh, it's uh... lovely, very... original," you lie to your fiancée (now there's a bombshell).

"I knew you'd just love it (y/n)!" he takes a jar of Nonna Italy's infamous tomato paste and a packet of Tuscan herbs and begins to sprinkle the herbs on the top of a small sand... er pasta castle by the front step.

"Come on, dear (y/n), I cannot wait any longer!" he says running off like a child and leaping into the air.

He falls in a large pile of tortellini and spreads his arms and legs to make a snow angel. You can't say no to him or go back to the cabin; it would break his little doughy heart. So instead, you throw some of the tomato paste at his ecstatic little face.

"Alright then," you smile.

Italy screams like a fangirl whose ship has just cannoned. You join him in the pasta beach and the two of you muck about happily for the rest of the afternoon with reenactments of The Lady and the Tramp and intense food fights.