Hetaliaxchild reader : Bedtime Stories

Italy x Child Reader : Pepper-Corn

"Come along mi bambina. Time for bed." Your father, the country of Italy, said, scooping you up from your place on the floor and you block tower.

"Papa! I was almost done!" you fussed, flailing your tiny arms and legs in protest.

"You can finish it tomorrow bambina. Right now, it's bedtime."

You pouted up at him, your (e/c) eyes watery with false tears. This always worked.

"Don't even try that. You got to stay up last night with me and your Zio Doitsu. Now, time for bed!"

"B-But!"

"No buts. If you go to bed without a fuss, your Zio Roma and your Zio Antonio will take you to the park in the morning."

You stopped struggling. A morning in the park did sound nice. There weren't a lot of big kids to push you around and it wasn't hot. You guessed that seemed like a good idea.

"Okay papa."

Italy smiled and went to your room, pulling your (f/c) nightgown from your dresser nad carrying you into the bathroom. "Now, be a good bambina nad stay here while papa runs your bath."

"Yes papa." you nodded, standing quietly by the door while your fahter rolled up his sleeves and ran you a warm bath to wash away the dirt that had managed to cover you during the day. You stiffled a yawn and shook your head. You weren't tired. Not yet anyway.

In no time, your father had lifted you out of your play dress and into the bath, running the warm water down your back and head, the honey and almond scented body wash washing away the dirt from the day and returning your (h/l) (h/c) back to normal.

You yawned again as your fahter picked you up out of the bath and dried you off with a fluffy warm towel.

"Ve~ Are you tired bambina?" he asked.

"N-No papa." you yawned again.

Your father smiled, showing he didn't believe you, and pulled your nightgown over your head before carrying you to your bed.

"What story would you like to hear tonight bambina?" your fahter asked as he tucked you under your bedsheets.

"Hm...." you turned your head to look at the large bookshelf in your room. One stuck out very well. It was a bright red book with pretty golden writing and designs on it. "That one."

Your father smiled and took the book from the shelf, setting down beside you in bed.

"This one is called Pepper-corn. My nono used to read it to me and your Zio Romano when we were your age."

"You and Zio Roma were small?!" you asked, disbeleif coating every word of your sentance.

Your fahter smiled. "Yes. Now, settle down bella. It's story time."

You snuggled down into the sheets and agianst your fahter's side, waiting for him to start the story.

Your father cleared his throat and scanned the page, just in case the story was worse than he remembered it being, and began to read.

"Once on a time there was an old man and an old woman who had no children; and one day the old woman went into the fields and picked a basket of beans. When she had finished, she looked into the basket and said, "I wish all the beans were little children." Scarcely had she uttered these words when a whole crowd of little children sprang out of the basket and danced about her. Such a family seemed too large for the old woman, so she said, "I wish you would all become beans again."At once the children climbed back into the basket and became beans again, all except one little boy, whom the old woman took home with her.

 He was so small that everybody called him little Pepper-Corn, and so good and charming that everybody loved him.

 One day the old woman was cooking her soup and little Pepper-Corn climbed up on the kettle and looked in to see what was cooking, but he slipped and fell into the boiling broth and was scalded to death. The old woman did not notice till meal-time that he was missing, and looked in vain for him everywhere to call him to dinner.

At last they sat down to the table without little Pepper-Corn, and when they poured the soup out of the kettle into the dish the body of little Pepper-Corn floated on top.

Then the old man and the old woman began to mourn and cry: " Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, dear Pepper-Corn is dead."

When the dove heard it she tore out her feathers, and cried, "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead. The old man and the old woman are mourning."

When the apple-tree saw that the dove tore out her feathers it asked her why she did so, and when it learned the reason it shook off all its apples.

In like manner, the well near by poured out all its water, the queen's maid broke her pitcher, the queen broke her arm, and the king threw his crown on the ground so that it broke into a thousand pieces; and when his people asked him what the matter was, he answered, "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, the old man and the old woman mourn, the dove has torn out her feathers, the apple-tree has shaken off all its apples, the well has poured out all its water, the maid has broken her pitcher, the queen has broken her arm, and I, the king, have lost my crown; dear Pepper-Corn is dead." "

Your father looked down and smiled, seeing you fast asleep in, and leaning agiasnt his shoulder.

Quietly, he shut the book and stood, getting ready to put it back until he smiled fondly at the cover.

"I think I'll keep this." he siad before kissing your forehead, tucking you in, turning on your nightlight, and shutting the door.

Your father headed down to his room and stopped. "Merda!" he cursed quietly. He had forgotten to tell you he loved you before bed!

It was a nightly routine for your father to read you a stroy, kiss your cheek, tuck you in, and tell oyu he loved you. But tonight you had fallen asleep in the middle of the story and he had completley forgotten!

Tiptoeing back into the room quietly, Italy leaned down and brushed a lock of hair from your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to it beofre whispering, "Ti amo (y/n)"