More America/Romano
Smile For Me Babe: Kink Meme Prompt: Romano is given a reason to smile. Someone else notices
Word Count: 1,815
America saw it. It was only there for the briefest of moments, and it could easily have been missed with all the other chaos going on, but it was there, and he saw it.
He saw Romano smile, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
It was at the meeting. One of Greece’s cats started eyeing Gilbird. When it launched at it, France’s Pierre tried to stop it. They started squabbling in the way that animals do, Iceland’s puffin and Canada’s Kumajiro helped back up Pierre while Netherland’s rabbit and Japan’s Pochi took the cat’s side. By this time their owners had started fighting over who started the whole thing. Germany’s dogs, China’s panda, and Finland and Sweden’s Hanatamago also joined the fray. England and Norway were arguing about something off in a corner, those weirdoes, and America was starting to wish his whale would show up just so he could join in too, when Spain’s bull burst through the wall.
And Romano laughed, and Romano smiled.
Everyone else was focused on the bull by that time, so America was fairly certain he was the only one who saw it, but it was still definitely there. It was gone as soon as it showed up, quickly covered by a hand and a cough and a scowl, but he knew what he saw; it was beautiful and perfect and he wanted to see it again.
This was why he was now in Rome, outside of Romano’s house, banging on the door to be let in.
“What the hell Spain?! I just-” Romano shouted as he opened the door. America grinned at him and Romano glared back. “You’re not Spain.”
“No, I’m not,” America smiled some more.
“…The hell do you want?”
Still no smile. “I just was in the area,” he was on his way to a meeting with England, but it’s all still Europe, “and decided to drop by and say hi.”
“…It wasn’t me.”
“What?”
“Just, whatever you think I did, it wasn’t me.”
“No! I don’t think you did anything. I just wanted to, you know, hang out.”
“…If you don’t have official business then go away.” With that, Romano slammed the door in his face, leaving America standing outside, alone, and more determined than ever to see Romano’s smile again.
***
At the next round of meetings, America made sure to never take his eyes off the Latin nation in case he smiled when no one was looking. All that really seemed to accomplish was to completely freak him out though, and apparently him freaking out was counterproductive to getting him to smile.
Break eventually came, summoning him to the coffee machine far, far away from where Romano was chatting with Belgium. When America obtained his sweet nectar of life, he glanced around the room, eyes naturally landing on the Italian that they’d been looking at all day, to find that he was smiling again. Smiling at Belgium, although she seemed to brush it off like it was nothing, which truly baffled America.
Naturally, after the meeting, he had to confront her about it.
“Of course he smiled at me. He’s always smiled at me, ever since he was little,” she shrugged, like it was no big deal, which it was. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve…never really seen him smile and its nice…” Why was he blushing? There was no need for that.
“Really?” she was truly confused, “He smiles all the time, like, well not now,” the both looked over to see Romano shouting at Germany and Prussia, and not smiling, “but like, when he’s with Liechtenstein, or Hungary, or Taiwan, or Seychelles, he’s smiling then.”
“Oh.” Why them and not him? He was a nice enough guy…
“I guess,” Belgium went on, “Roma's always liked girls. Maybe that’s it? He was always rather grumpy with my brother.”
So that was it. If America wanted to see him smile again, he’d have to become a girl! Quickly, he thanked Belgium and ran off to find the one nation who could help him in this matter.
***
England promptly spit out his tea. “You want me to what?”
“I want you to turn me into a girl.” America put on his best puppy dog eyes as he stared him down in the older nation’s sitting room.
His friend just stared at him like he was crazy. “You’re crazy.”
“Please England? Just do me this solid and I’ll never ask you for anything again.”
“You said that last time you wanted something,” he muttered before asking the inevitable, “Why me?”
“Because you’re always going on about ‘magic this’ and ‘magic that,’” America explained, with hand gestures, “and this seems like a situation that calls for magic.”
“Magic only works if you believe it will, and you, you lousy git,” he emphasized his point by poking the blonde’s head, “absolutely refuse to do that.”
“I knew you were just spouting bull or, what would you call it? Poppycock,” he mocked in his worst British accent.
“You’re not doing very much to convince me to help you,” England leaned back in his chair and sipped the rest of his tea, “Why do you want to be a girl anyway?”
America’s face immediately went red. “Oh, no reason.”
“Everything you do, no matter how farfetched and asinine, has a reason. And you’re a horrible liar.”
“I…you’ll think it’s stupid…”
“America, I already think half of the things you do are stupid. I don’t think this will lower you any in my eyes.”
“Well,” he started, “IwantedtoseeRomanosmileandheonlysmilesaroundgirlssoIthoughtthatifIwasagirlhe’dsmilearoundmeisall.”
England blinked and took another sip of tea. “You know, I don’t recall ever seeing Romano smile…”
“I know! But it’s so beautiful and awesome and…” he caught the smirk on the other nation’s face, “and you’re laughing at me.”
“No no, I’m not laughing,” the smirk still didn’t leave his face though, “I think it’s…well, what I think about it doesn’t matter. If you want to get Romano to smile, there are other, less drastic ways to go about it than turning yourself into a girl.”
“Like what?”
“How about being nice to him, for starters? Have you ever even chatted with him?”
“We’ve talked a few times…”
“About business. But have you ever sat down and chatted with him? Just ‘shoot the breeze’ I suppose you would say?”
“…Maybe that one time…”
“Well, start there. Become his friend, and then maybe he’ll smile for you.”
“I tried that though. He slammed the door in my face.”
The smirk intensified. “When, my dear lad, has that ever stopped you before?”
***
And so, Romano grudgingly found himself with a new best friend, whether he liked it or not.
“Wha’cha doing?” America asked him after he had surprised visited him for the third time that week.
“Making lunch,” Romano batted the American’s hand away from the food, “don’t touch!”
“I could help if you want.”
“No thank you. Stay the hell away from my food,” America snatched a tomato, “What did I just say?!”
America grinned at him on the off chance he’d do the same. He didn’t of course, “You really like tomatoes don’t you?”
“No one asked you!” The tomato was snatched back, chopped into teeny tiny pieces, and thrown in the pot. Romano stared at it angrily for a bit before asking, without turning around, “Why are you here?”
“I told you, we’re friends now, so we’re hanging out.”
“I never agreed to be your friend!”
“Pshaw, who wouldn’t want to be my friend?”
“Me!” He rubbed his temples in frustration, “God, why don’t you just go bother Veneziano and search for that stupid atmosphere thing?”
“I don’t want to hang out with Veneziano,” America replied. Romano swiveled around to face him, “I want to hang out with you.”
His lip twitched; that was the closest he’s gotten to getting the Italian to smile. He also turned red, very red, almost like…
“You know, you look just like a-” America only caught the tomato that came flying at his face due to his quick reflexes.
“N-no one asked you!” He turned back to the pot and started stirring something else into the mix. When he started muttering curses in Italian, America noticed something.
“You look pretty tense, is something wrong?”
Romano grew even tenser, if that was possible. “Why would you say that?”
“Just…I don’t know, you’re all stiff and stuff. What’s wrong?”
The Italian put the spoon down and turned to face America, “Why are you here?”
“I told you, I’m just here to hang out.”
“My brother and I are part of the EU,” he stated, “and the G8. Our country is stable, our people are happy. We have nothing that you could possibly want. Why are you here?”
America blinked, then blinked again, and then once more. That was certainly a strange reaction. “I’m not trying to invade you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then what the hell are you doing here? You can’t possibly just want to hang out!”
“Sure I can.”
“No! You can’t!” Romano slammed his hands on the counter, “There’s always an ulterior motive!”
The blond stared at the angry Italian before he subconsciously scratched the back of his head and looked away. “It’s…embarrassing.”
Romano crossed his arms and leaned back. “I think I deserve to hear it anyway, since this is my house and all that.”
“Well…I just really like your smile…” he muttered as he placed his head in his hand. Eventually America peeked out of the corner of his eye to gauge Romano’s reaction only to see him trying to stifle his chuckles.
“That has to be,” he got out between laughs, “the most ridiculous excuse I’ve ever heard!”
“Maybe,” and America grinned, because Romano had lowered his hand to reveal that smile he had sought after for so long, “but it’s the truth.”
“What’s so great about my smile?” He had calmed down now, so his natural frown was back in place, but America decided that maybe if he answered that question, he could get it back.
“It’s just…I don’t know, perfect; it suites you. You should smile more often.”
“My brother smiles enough for the both of us,” Romano started rubbing at a spot on the counter, “you can just go to him…we look enough alike.”
They did, and he could have, “But, there’s something different about your smile. It’s just, better, I guess. I mean, he smiles all the time, but you only smile around girls, so yours is more like a treasure!”
“And you hanging out with me is supposed to make me smile more?”
“Of course,” America stated like it was fact.
“If I do start smiling more…you’ll probably just get sick of it eventually.”
“Maybe so, but I doubt that. You’re smile really is gorgeous - I mean nice,” he quickly amended.
Romano just smiled. America was thrilled.
Word Count: 1,815
America saw it. It was only there for the briefest of moments, and it could easily have been missed with all the other chaos going on, but it was there, and he saw it.
He saw Romano smile, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
It was at the meeting. One of Greece’s cats started eyeing Gilbird. When it launched at it, France’s Pierre tried to stop it. They started squabbling in the way that animals do, Iceland’s puffin and Canada’s Kumajiro helped back up Pierre while Netherland’s rabbit and Japan’s Pochi took the cat’s side. By this time their owners had started fighting over who started the whole thing. Germany’s dogs, China’s panda, and Finland and Sweden’s Hanatamago also joined the fray. England and Norway were arguing about something off in a corner, those weirdoes, and America was starting to wish his whale would show up just so he could join in too, when Spain’s bull burst through the wall.
And Romano laughed, and Romano smiled.
Everyone else was focused on the bull by that time, so America was fairly certain he was the only one who saw it, but it was still definitely there. It was gone as soon as it showed up, quickly covered by a hand and a cough and a scowl, but he knew what he saw; it was beautiful and perfect and he wanted to see it again.
This was why he was now in Rome, outside of Romano’s house, banging on the door to be let in.
“What the hell Spain?! I just-” Romano shouted as he opened the door. America grinned at him and Romano glared back. “You’re not Spain.”
“No, I’m not,” America smiled some more.
“…The hell do you want?”
Still no smile. “I just was in the area,” he was on his way to a meeting with England, but it’s all still Europe, “and decided to drop by and say hi.”
“…It wasn’t me.”
“What?”
“Just, whatever you think I did, it wasn’t me.”
“No! I don’t think you did anything. I just wanted to, you know, hang out.”
“…If you don’t have official business then go away.” With that, Romano slammed the door in his face, leaving America standing outside, alone, and more determined than ever to see Romano’s smile again.
***
At the next round of meetings, America made sure to never take his eyes off the Latin nation in case he smiled when no one was looking. All that really seemed to accomplish was to completely freak him out though, and apparently him freaking out was counterproductive to getting him to smile.
Break eventually came, summoning him to the coffee machine far, far away from where Romano was chatting with Belgium. When America obtained his sweet nectar of life, he glanced around the room, eyes naturally landing on the Italian that they’d been looking at all day, to find that he was smiling again. Smiling at Belgium, although she seemed to brush it off like it was nothing, which truly baffled America.
Naturally, after the meeting, he had to confront her about it.
“Of course he smiled at me. He’s always smiled at me, ever since he was little,” she shrugged, like it was no big deal, which it was. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve…never really seen him smile and its nice…” Why was he blushing? There was no need for that.
“Really?” she was truly confused, “He smiles all the time, like, well not now,” the both looked over to see Romano shouting at Germany and Prussia, and not smiling, “but like, when he’s with Liechtenstein, or Hungary, or Taiwan, or Seychelles, he’s smiling then.”
“Oh.” Why them and not him? He was a nice enough guy…
“I guess,” Belgium went on, “Roma's always liked girls. Maybe that’s it? He was always rather grumpy with my brother.”
So that was it. If America wanted to see him smile again, he’d have to become a girl! Quickly, he thanked Belgium and ran off to find the one nation who could help him in this matter.
***
England promptly spit out his tea. “You want me to what?”
“I want you to turn me into a girl.” America put on his best puppy dog eyes as he stared him down in the older nation’s sitting room.
His friend just stared at him like he was crazy. “You’re crazy.”
“Please England? Just do me this solid and I’ll never ask you for anything again.”
“You said that last time you wanted something,” he muttered before asking the inevitable, “Why me?”
“Because you’re always going on about ‘magic this’ and ‘magic that,’” America explained, with hand gestures, “and this seems like a situation that calls for magic.”
“Magic only works if you believe it will, and you, you lousy git,” he emphasized his point by poking the blonde’s head, “absolutely refuse to do that.”
“I knew you were just spouting bull or, what would you call it? Poppycock,” he mocked in his worst British accent.
“You’re not doing very much to convince me to help you,” England leaned back in his chair and sipped the rest of his tea, “Why do you want to be a girl anyway?”
America’s face immediately went red. “Oh, no reason.”
“Everything you do, no matter how farfetched and asinine, has a reason. And you’re a horrible liar.”
“I…you’ll think it’s stupid…”
“America, I already think half of the things you do are stupid. I don’t think this will lower you any in my eyes.”
“Well,” he started, “IwantedtoseeRomanosmileandheonlysmilesaroundgirlssoIthoughtthatifIwasagirlhe’dsmilearoundmeisall.”
England blinked and took another sip of tea. “You know, I don’t recall ever seeing Romano smile…”
“I know! But it’s so beautiful and awesome and…” he caught the smirk on the other nation’s face, “and you’re laughing at me.”
“No no, I’m not laughing,” the smirk still didn’t leave his face though, “I think it’s…well, what I think about it doesn’t matter. If you want to get Romano to smile, there are other, less drastic ways to go about it than turning yourself into a girl.”
“Like what?”
“How about being nice to him, for starters? Have you ever even chatted with him?”
“We’ve talked a few times…”
“About business. But have you ever sat down and chatted with him? Just ‘shoot the breeze’ I suppose you would say?”
“…Maybe that one time…”
“Well, start there. Become his friend, and then maybe he’ll smile for you.”
“I tried that though. He slammed the door in my face.”
The smirk intensified. “When, my dear lad, has that ever stopped you before?”
***
And so, Romano grudgingly found himself with a new best friend, whether he liked it or not.
“Wha’cha doing?” America asked him after he had surprised visited him for the third time that week.
“Making lunch,” Romano batted the American’s hand away from the food, “don’t touch!”
“I could help if you want.”
“No thank you. Stay the hell away from my food,” America snatched a tomato, “What did I just say?!”
America grinned at him on the off chance he’d do the same. He didn’t of course, “You really like tomatoes don’t you?”
“No one asked you!” The tomato was snatched back, chopped into teeny tiny pieces, and thrown in the pot. Romano stared at it angrily for a bit before asking, without turning around, “Why are you here?”
“I told you, we’re friends now, so we’re hanging out.”
“I never agreed to be your friend!”
“Pshaw, who wouldn’t want to be my friend?”
“Me!” He rubbed his temples in frustration, “God, why don’t you just go bother Veneziano and search for that stupid atmosphere thing?”
“I don’t want to hang out with Veneziano,” America replied. Romano swiveled around to face him, “I want to hang out with you.”
His lip twitched; that was the closest he’s gotten to getting the Italian to smile. He also turned red, very red, almost like…
“You know, you look just like a-” America only caught the tomato that came flying at his face due to his quick reflexes.
“N-no one asked you!” He turned back to the pot and started stirring something else into the mix. When he started muttering curses in Italian, America noticed something.
“You look pretty tense, is something wrong?”
Romano grew even tenser, if that was possible. “Why would you say that?”
“Just…I don’t know, you’re all stiff and stuff. What’s wrong?”
The Italian put the spoon down and turned to face America, “Why are you here?”
“I told you, I’m just here to hang out.”
“My brother and I are part of the EU,” he stated, “and the G8. Our country is stable, our people are happy. We have nothing that you could possibly want. Why are you here?”
America blinked, then blinked again, and then once more. That was certainly a strange reaction. “I’m not trying to invade you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then what the hell are you doing here? You can’t possibly just want to hang out!”
“Sure I can.”
“No! You can’t!” Romano slammed his hands on the counter, “There’s always an ulterior motive!”
The blond stared at the angry Italian before he subconsciously scratched the back of his head and looked away. “It’s…embarrassing.”
Romano crossed his arms and leaned back. “I think I deserve to hear it anyway, since this is my house and all that.”
“Well…I just really like your smile…” he muttered as he placed his head in his hand. Eventually America peeked out of the corner of his eye to gauge Romano’s reaction only to see him trying to stifle his chuckles.
“That has to be,” he got out between laughs, “the most ridiculous excuse I’ve ever heard!”
“Maybe,” and America grinned, because Romano had lowered his hand to reveal that smile he had sought after for so long, “but it’s the truth.”
“What’s so great about my smile?” He had calmed down now, so his natural frown was back in place, but America decided that maybe if he answered that question, he could get it back.
“It’s just…I don’t know, perfect; it suites you. You should smile more often.”
“My brother smiles enough for the both of us,” Romano started rubbing at a spot on the counter, “you can just go to him…we look enough alike.”
They did, and he could have, “But, there’s something different about your smile. It’s just, better, I guess. I mean, he smiles all the time, but you only smile around girls, so yours is more like a treasure!”
“And you hanging out with me is supposed to make me smile more?”
“Of course,” America stated like it was fact.
“If I do start smiling more…you’ll probably just get sick of it eventually.”
“Maybe so, but I doubt that. You’re smile really is gorgeous - I mean nice,” he quickly amended.
Romano just smiled. America was thrilled.