Part of the Family (Germany X Reader) He'd been coming over since before you could remember. Your brother Feliciano's friend, Ludwig, you mean. It was something you and your other brother, Lovino, were accustomed to (though Lovino still hated the German man, and wasn't afraid to make it publicly known every time he came into contact with him). He wasn't old or anything; he was only three years older than you, and two years older than the twins. However, as his grandfather (Opa Alaric, as you had called him since you were little) and your own were good friends, he and his brother had been brought over to Nonno Roma's for play dates with your brothers since they were born. When you came along, and your parents passed on, Nonno Roma took the three of you in, and you had been added to the mix. While Ludwig had been courteous to you throughout the years, he had always spent more time with your brothers; much to Lovino's chagrin. You didn't mind too much, however; you had Gilbert, and the rest of the
IV.There are times I look in the mirror and think,'Wow, she's beautiful.'There are times I look in the mirror and think,'Ew, she's so u g l y.'And more often than not, there are timesI can't bring myself to look in the mirrorA t a l l.
IIII told themI'd never love.My blood-pumperIs too broken,My appearanceToo haggard to stand,My soulNonexistent.
Dirty Looks (Russia X Reader X America) "Hey dudette! You should totally come over to my place later!" your friend, Alfred, said excitedly. You, him, and your other friend Ivan were out shopping. The men hadn't seemed very happy about the idea in the first place, but at the thought of making you happy, decided they could deal with a little shopping. Ivan had been rather quiet, while Alfred had been talking your ears off all day. You felt Ivan's grip on your hand tighten a little bit. He smiled at Alfred over your head, and, when you weren't looking, flipped the American man the bird behind your back. The American smiled back challengingly. "I'd-" you started, but Ivan cut you off. "We'd like that." he trilled. Alfred frowned slightly, but smiled at you when you looked back at him. His eye twitched slightly as he shot the Russian a dirty look. Ivan smiled childishly at him, giggling at knowing he'd successfully messed up the American's plans. "How about we co
.hands.beaten and bloody-weathered and torn.those are the hands I grew up with.Rough, coarse, and covered in cuts.my father never managed to make it homewithout a new cut.he made the city famous, cutting and smoothing and polishing steel.he does what he can to take care of them,which isn't much; he's no witch doctor.he can't use salves and spellsto stitch his skin back together.these hands,with their broken skin and old scarsare what I've wanted to be likesince I was a young child.they're tough, and strong,and heroic, and purely dad.they're the hands that handed me my first fishing rodand paint on walls and polish piping.they're the hands that steadily fire a .22 pistoland control an old F150 as we speed down the road,and pop siding on his friend's old house back into place,and the hands that write measurements and mow the lawn.they're the hands that have been punctured by IV needlesevery time we're in the hospitalbecause his legs and feetaren't nearly a
Tch, ti Amo. (RomanoXReader) "Hey Lovi?" you asked. The two of you were sitting together on your couch, snuggled together and watching some weird Italian drama that he was oddly into. He grunted, not removing his eyes from the television. You frowned and lightly nudged him in the side with you elbow and waited for him to finally look at you. When he finally did, you asked, "Can we get married?" You saw him freeze up, fear in his eyes as he gulped. You didn't really blame him; the question was sort of unexpected. You allowed him a couple minutes to recover, but when he still didn't answer, you started to get worried. You went to touch his hand, but retracted your own hand when he flinched. Ouch. That hurt. "Lovi...?" He licked his lips and looked away nervously. "W-what brought this up?" he asked quietly, rubbing his arm. You knew what this was; he had a habit of messing around with his hands when he was nervous. He started to study his hands, clearing his throat and twiddl