5 Times Romano Showed Someone His Lovey-Dovey Side
5 Times Romano Showed Someone His Lovey-Dovey Side: From the kink meme, and exactly what it says on the tin, with America/Romano.
Word Count: 2,270
I
America woke up to the smell of bacon. Normally this would mean Canada was cooking breakfast, which is always a perk of staying at Canada’s house, but as America opened his eyes, he found out that he was actually in Romano’s room. That made no sense, as Romano never bothered to cook him breakfast, complaining that he always ate too much when lunch was only in a few hours anyway.
Slowly, he threw some pants on and made his way to the kitchen to investigate the phenomenon of bacon at Romano’s house. Maybe England was staying over too and America just forgot about it?
But no, standing at the stove when America finally entered the room, was Romano, who was not only making him bacon, but eggs as well. That was…strange. Romano absolutely hated putting forth effort into something he didn’t need, and considering the Italian only had some weird pastry and a espresso for breakfast, making a real American breakfast for America always went under “things you can fucking do yourself bastard.”
“Oh, you’re up?” Romano turned to face him, and America was able to appreciate the fact that he still hadn’t put a shirt on yet. Yes, his shirtless lover was standing in the kitchen, cooking bacon. Clearly the world was scheduled to end soon and no one felt the need to inform him.
“Yeah…are you making breakfast?”
“Sit down;” Romano nodded at an empty space at the table, “I’m almost done.”
America did as he was told. He probably angered the Italian last night in his sleepy haze and he was buttering him up before cruelly driving a knife threw his heart or something. At least that’s how it usually happened in the movies.
“Here,” Romano placed a plate full of bacon and eggs in front of him, as well as a glass of orange juice, before grabbing his own pastry and espresso and sitting across from him. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he complained after America just stared at him for a bit, “I haven’t poisoned it you know.”
The blonde nation wasted no time snatching his fork from the table and shoveling as much as he could into his mouth. “Mmmmm mmm mm-”
“Chew. Swallow. Then try speaking,” he interrupted, “jerk.”
“This tastes different,” America stated after he complied, “not necessarily bad, just different.”
“Probably because it’s not slathered in grease,” the Italian declared, “and you better appreciate that.”
He did, well partly. It did taste better with the grease but it was nice Romano was concerned about his health, he supposed. “Aren’t you going to eat some?” America asked, because it was strange for Romano to not eat even part of something he cooked.
But the Italian just shook his head. “Lunch is in a few hours,” he lifted his pastry thing, “this will tide me over until then.”
“Oh,” America pushed the eggs around his plate.
“Something wrong?” Romano asked as he sipped his espresso.
“No, just…you never really cook me breakfast. Did I forget an anniversary or something?”
“No…it’s just,” he put his cup down and started picking at the handle as a blush crept across his face, “well, you got in late last night, and with the jet lag and everything…I just wanted to let you sleep in and everything…”
America couldn’t help but smile at that, which deepened the blush. Romano was never very good at expressing himself, which America could understand, after all, he was raised by England, the master of that art, so when he did do things like this, it made the American ridiculously giddy.
“Sh-shut up! Bastard,” Romano muttered as he continued sipping his drink, “I-if I didn’t make you something than you would have been bitching about it all day…”
He said nothing and continued eating his meal, the knowledge that it was made (reluctantly) with love making it taste that much better.
II
The picnic was America’s idea. It was be a nice treat for the two of them after a long week of meetings and such. Besides, he knew deep, deep down, Romano wanted the picnic too, even if he never would actually come out and say it as such. Despite that, Romano insisted that he cooked all the food for them and that America didn’t touch anything because he has no idea what he’s doing, and the American was happy to comply.
Romano picked out the spot too, and didn’t tell America about it before hand, insisting that it was supposed to be a surprise, which was fine. America liked surprises, well, the good kind of surprises, but the Italian had left him with no reason to believe that this was to be the bad kind of surprise, so he went with it.
America was forcefully dragged by his hand from the car after Romano had parked it towards…somewhere, he still didn’t know, but he could smell the ocean.
“Romano…”
“No talking!” the Italian snapped back, so he shut his mouth.
They hadn’t passed any people, so just when it was reaching the point that America was starting to think that Romano had finally grown tired of him and was taking him to the middle of nowhere to kill him off, Romano stopped.
“Here,” he dropped the picnic basket he was holding on the ground and turned to face America, pink dusting across his cheeks, “I-is this fine?”
They were on a small, secluded cliff, overlooking the ocean. The sun was still high in the sky, reflecting off the bluest water America had ever seen. He could look over the side of the cliff and see straight down into the ocean and at all of the various forms of sea life that laid in it.
“It’s perfect,” he kissed Romano’s cheek, which went even redder, before the Italian turned away to set up their blanket and food, which somehow ended up being all hamburgers and hot dogs.
He still hadn’t let go of America’s hand.
III
Romano wasn’t a fan of public displays of affection, so he and America only went out as a couple every now and then. It was even rarer still that the two of them did things with other couples, but apparently his brother had insisted, so America found himself sitting next to Germany waiting for their Italians to get them ice cream.
“So…here we are,” America said to break the silence.
“It seems so,” Germany replied, followed by more awkward silence.
“So how’s yours in bed, because mine’s pretty awesome and honestly, I think we should compare notes.”
This caused the German to turn beet red and stammer out a “Wh-what?!” just before Romano and Veneciano came back with the ice cream.
“Germany! Germany!” the younger Italian called out, “I got you pistachio! Oh, but I wanted to make sure it was the right one, so I tried a little bit. Don’t worry, it is,” he smiled as he handed over the cone, “But, since I ate some of yours, you can try some of mine.”
“That’s alright, Italy,” he said as he took his ice cream, “I’m not a fan of…vanilla. You can have yours.”
“Ve, Germany’s so thoughtful…”
“A-America…” said nation turned to see his lover blushing and holding out his strawberry cone, “I got you your favorite…”
“Thanks babe,” America took his ice cream and leaned in for a kiss, which Romano surprisingly allowed, before scooting over on the bench so the Italian would have room to sit next to him, but was surprised again when he instead placed himself in the American’s lap. Veneciano was already seated in Germany’s.
“Germany!” he shouted, “How’s your ice cream?”
“It’s fine…a-are you sure you wouldn’t rather sit on the bench? There’s plenty of room.”
“No, I’m good!”
“Italy, you uh…have some on your face.”
“Really?” he darted his tongue out to try and tried to lick it up, but missed, “Did I get it?”
“Here…” Germany grabbed a napkin from his pocket and wiped it up for him.
“Thanks Germany!” Veneciano smiled when the napkin was pulled away and leaned forward to kiss the now blushing German’s cheek.
“A-America…” the nation in question turned his blue eyes towards Romano, “you have some on your face…”
“Oh,” America wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“You missed…here,” the Italian on his lap proceeded to place kisses around his mouth, targeting the frozen treat still on his face.
“Thanks!” America went on eating his ice cream.
“Germany…” Veneciano whined after he finished off his ice cream, “I’m tired,” the Italian leaned his head against his lover’s shoulder and kissed his neck.
“I-I suppose I could carry you…” he mumbled and blushed as he too finished off his treat.
“Ve, Germany, you’re the best!” the Italian shouted as he threw his arms across the German’s shoulder and kissed his cheek, “Thank you!” he exclaimed as Germany stood up and let the other man climb on his back.
“Hey,” Romano, who had finished off his chocolate ice cream, wrapped his arms around America’s neck and proceeded to nuzzle it, “I’m sleepy.”
“Oh?” America looked at him expectantly until the Italian rolled his eyes.
“Will you carry me?”
“Well if you want me too,” the blond tossed the remainder of his ice cream in his mouth and scooped Romano up bridal style. “Is this fine?” he asked with a smirk.
“Of course…” Romano mumbled as he tightened his grip on America’s neck and buried his face in his shirt, “Thanks.”
“No problem babe,” he leaned down and kissed the top of his head, causing the Italian to blush, “just, you don’t have to act like your brother. You’re cute enough as it is.”
Instead of the punch he was expecting, America received a half hearted “Idiot” and a kiss on the cheek.
IV
America tightened his grip on Romano and tried to banish the image of killer ghosts tearing out organs to watch their victims bleed out as the two of them tried to fall asleep.
“Oi can’t breathe here…” the grip relaxed slightly only to be replaced by a soft whine, “…you’re that scared? It wasn’t a very scary movie.”
“I-I know that…” America muttered into his shoulder, “I just…want to make sure you’re okay…”
“I’m fine bastard. You’re the one shaking like a leaf.”
“…It’s cold.”
“We’re in Sicily. In the middle of summer,” this only made America pull him closer, “…that movie really scared you that much?”
“No…” a gentle breeze caused a tree branch outside to lightly scrape the window, which made America jump, “Wh-what was that?!”
“The wind, dumbass,” this only caused the other nation to shake even harder. “You want me to…get you milk or something to help you sleep?”
“No!” He squeezed his Italian even tighter, “Y-you can’t leave me! What if it gets you?”
“It’s not going to get me, because it doesn’t exist.”
“Y-you can’t know that for sure…” America muttered into his back, “and I don’t want to lose you just in case.”
Romano blushed…because it was hot, damnit, not because of what his lover said. Even so, he managed to turn around in America’s embrace so he was facing him and grabbed his face in both his hands.
“Nothing’s going to hurt us,” he whispered and drove that point home with a kiss.
“But, in the movie-”
“Shh,” he hushed as he kissed the other nation’s forehead, “It was just a movie. It’s not real.
“…You sure?”
“Positive,” he blushed even deeper and kissed America’s ear as he whispered, “I-I’ll stay up and keep a lookout until you fall asleep. I…uh,” Romano squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed to admit the next part, “I…don’t want anything to hurt you either.”
He opened an eye to see that America had already fallen into a peaceful sleep in his arms.
V
“Romano?” America asked as he peeked into the nation’s living room only to find his lover sprawled out on the couch, sleeping. Of course he would be there; it was three o’clock, siesta time.
Smiling slightly the American wandered over to kneel next to the Italian and watch him sleep. He always liked watching Romano sleep; he was far more relaxed then he was when awake.
“Hm,” Romano muttered as he curled up and turned over in his sleep so he was facing America, who took advantage of his unconscious state to lightly pet his head, an action that would normally have received a head butt and a “Bastard!”
“’Merica…” he heard him mutter. America froze, afraid he’d been caught, but it became clear that Romano was still sleeping, just dreaming. Dreaming about him. America couldn’t help but feel some sort of warm fuzzy feeling at the pit of his stomach.
“America…” Romano repeated as he unknowingly nuzzled against his lover’s hand, “Miss you.”
“I miss you too,” America whispered in his ear as he leaned forward to kiss his forehead, “I’ll see you soon.”
“Wanna see you now…” Romano’s hand slowly moved up until it touched America’s on his head.
“I’ll be here soon,” he whispered as he interlocked their fingers and lightly kissed the Italian’s knuckles, “Maybe I’ll be here by the time you wake up.”
“Better be…bastard,” Romano muttered before he pulled America’s hand to his lips and kissed that as well. The “…love you,” came out as an exhale across his knuckles but America still heard it and treasured it, because he knew Romano would never have admitted that that easily if he was awake.
He decided to reward him with a light kiss on his cheek so as not to awake him, “Love you too.”
A/N: I love how these are all based around either food or sleep. XD
I was thinking about starting an America/Romano community, but I have no idea what to call it/how to run it. Thoughts? Suggestions? Ideas?
Word Count: 2,270
I
America woke up to the smell of bacon. Normally this would mean Canada was cooking breakfast, which is always a perk of staying at Canada’s house, but as America opened his eyes, he found out that he was actually in Romano’s room. That made no sense, as Romano never bothered to cook him breakfast, complaining that he always ate too much when lunch was only in a few hours anyway.
Slowly, he threw some pants on and made his way to the kitchen to investigate the phenomenon of bacon at Romano’s house. Maybe England was staying over too and America just forgot about it?
But no, standing at the stove when America finally entered the room, was Romano, who was not only making him bacon, but eggs as well. That was…strange. Romano absolutely hated putting forth effort into something he didn’t need, and considering the Italian only had some weird pastry and a espresso for breakfast, making a real American breakfast for America always went under “things you can fucking do yourself bastard.”
“Oh, you’re up?” Romano turned to face him, and America was able to appreciate the fact that he still hadn’t put a shirt on yet. Yes, his shirtless lover was standing in the kitchen, cooking bacon. Clearly the world was scheduled to end soon and no one felt the need to inform him.
“Yeah…are you making breakfast?”
“Sit down;” Romano nodded at an empty space at the table, “I’m almost done.”
America did as he was told. He probably angered the Italian last night in his sleepy haze and he was buttering him up before cruelly driving a knife threw his heart or something. At least that’s how it usually happened in the movies.
“Here,” Romano placed a plate full of bacon and eggs in front of him, as well as a glass of orange juice, before grabbing his own pastry and espresso and sitting across from him. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he complained after America just stared at him for a bit, “I haven’t poisoned it you know.”
The blonde nation wasted no time snatching his fork from the table and shoveling as much as he could into his mouth. “Mmmmm mmm mm-”
“Chew. Swallow. Then try speaking,” he interrupted, “jerk.”
“This tastes different,” America stated after he complied, “not necessarily bad, just different.”
“Probably because it’s not slathered in grease,” the Italian declared, “and you better appreciate that.”
He did, well partly. It did taste better with the grease but it was nice Romano was concerned about his health, he supposed. “Aren’t you going to eat some?” America asked, because it was strange for Romano to not eat even part of something he cooked.
But the Italian just shook his head. “Lunch is in a few hours,” he lifted his pastry thing, “this will tide me over until then.”
“Oh,” America pushed the eggs around his plate.
“Something wrong?” Romano asked as he sipped his espresso.
“No, just…you never really cook me breakfast. Did I forget an anniversary or something?”
“No…it’s just,” he put his cup down and started picking at the handle as a blush crept across his face, “well, you got in late last night, and with the jet lag and everything…I just wanted to let you sleep in and everything…”
America couldn’t help but smile at that, which deepened the blush. Romano was never very good at expressing himself, which America could understand, after all, he was raised by England, the master of that art, so when he did do things like this, it made the American ridiculously giddy.
“Sh-shut up! Bastard,” Romano muttered as he continued sipping his drink, “I-if I didn’t make you something than you would have been bitching about it all day…”
He said nothing and continued eating his meal, the knowledge that it was made (reluctantly) with love making it taste that much better.
II
The picnic was America’s idea. It was be a nice treat for the two of them after a long week of meetings and such. Besides, he knew deep, deep down, Romano wanted the picnic too, even if he never would actually come out and say it as such. Despite that, Romano insisted that he cooked all the food for them and that America didn’t touch anything because he has no idea what he’s doing, and the American was happy to comply.
Romano picked out the spot too, and didn’t tell America about it before hand, insisting that it was supposed to be a surprise, which was fine. America liked surprises, well, the good kind of surprises, but the Italian had left him with no reason to believe that this was to be the bad kind of surprise, so he went with it.
America was forcefully dragged by his hand from the car after Romano had parked it towards…somewhere, he still didn’t know, but he could smell the ocean.
“Romano…”
“No talking!” the Italian snapped back, so he shut his mouth.
They hadn’t passed any people, so just when it was reaching the point that America was starting to think that Romano had finally grown tired of him and was taking him to the middle of nowhere to kill him off, Romano stopped.
“Here,” he dropped the picnic basket he was holding on the ground and turned to face America, pink dusting across his cheeks, “I-is this fine?”
They were on a small, secluded cliff, overlooking the ocean. The sun was still high in the sky, reflecting off the bluest water America had ever seen. He could look over the side of the cliff and see straight down into the ocean and at all of the various forms of sea life that laid in it.
“It’s perfect,” he kissed Romano’s cheek, which went even redder, before the Italian turned away to set up their blanket and food, which somehow ended up being all hamburgers and hot dogs.
He still hadn’t let go of America’s hand.
III
Romano wasn’t a fan of public displays of affection, so he and America only went out as a couple every now and then. It was even rarer still that the two of them did things with other couples, but apparently his brother had insisted, so America found himself sitting next to Germany waiting for their Italians to get them ice cream.
“So…here we are,” America said to break the silence.
“It seems so,” Germany replied, followed by more awkward silence.
“So how’s yours in bed, because mine’s pretty awesome and honestly, I think we should compare notes.”
This caused the German to turn beet red and stammer out a “Wh-what?!” just before Romano and Veneciano came back with the ice cream.
“Germany! Germany!” the younger Italian called out, “I got you pistachio! Oh, but I wanted to make sure it was the right one, so I tried a little bit. Don’t worry, it is,” he smiled as he handed over the cone, “But, since I ate some of yours, you can try some of mine.”
“That’s alright, Italy,” he said as he took his ice cream, “I’m not a fan of…vanilla. You can have yours.”
“Ve, Germany’s so thoughtful…”
“A-America…” said nation turned to see his lover blushing and holding out his strawberry cone, “I got you your favorite…”
“Thanks babe,” America took his ice cream and leaned in for a kiss, which Romano surprisingly allowed, before scooting over on the bench so the Italian would have room to sit next to him, but was surprised again when he instead placed himself in the American’s lap. Veneciano was already seated in Germany’s.
“Germany!” he shouted, “How’s your ice cream?”
“It’s fine…a-are you sure you wouldn’t rather sit on the bench? There’s plenty of room.”
“No, I’m good!”
“Italy, you uh…have some on your face.”
“Really?” he darted his tongue out to try and tried to lick it up, but missed, “Did I get it?”
“Here…” Germany grabbed a napkin from his pocket and wiped it up for him.
“Thanks Germany!” Veneciano smiled when the napkin was pulled away and leaned forward to kiss the now blushing German’s cheek.
“A-America…” the nation in question turned his blue eyes towards Romano, “you have some on your face…”
“Oh,” America wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“You missed…here,” the Italian on his lap proceeded to place kisses around his mouth, targeting the frozen treat still on his face.
“Thanks!” America went on eating his ice cream.
“Germany…” Veneciano whined after he finished off his ice cream, “I’m tired,” the Italian leaned his head against his lover’s shoulder and kissed his neck.
“I-I suppose I could carry you…” he mumbled and blushed as he too finished off his treat.
“Ve, Germany, you’re the best!” the Italian shouted as he threw his arms across the German’s shoulder and kissed his cheek, “Thank you!” he exclaimed as Germany stood up and let the other man climb on his back.
“Hey,” Romano, who had finished off his chocolate ice cream, wrapped his arms around America’s neck and proceeded to nuzzle it, “I’m sleepy.”
“Oh?” America looked at him expectantly until the Italian rolled his eyes.
“Will you carry me?”
“Well if you want me too,” the blond tossed the remainder of his ice cream in his mouth and scooped Romano up bridal style. “Is this fine?” he asked with a smirk.
“Of course…” Romano mumbled as he tightened his grip on America’s neck and buried his face in his shirt, “Thanks.”
“No problem babe,” he leaned down and kissed the top of his head, causing the Italian to blush, “just, you don’t have to act like your brother. You’re cute enough as it is.”
Instead of the punch he was expecting, America received a half hearted “Idiot” and a kiss on the cheek.
IV
America tightened his grip on Romano and tried to banish the image of killer ghosts tearing out organs to watch their victims bleed out as the two of them tried to fall asleep.
“Oi can’t breathe here…” the grip relaxed slightly only to be replaced by a soft whine, “…you’re that scared? It wasn’t a very scary movie.”
“I-I know that…” America muttered into his shoulder, “I just…want to make sure you’re okay…”
“I’m fine bastard. You’re the one shaking like a leaf.”
“…It’s cold.”
“We’re in Sicily. In the middle of summer,” this only made America pull him closer, “…that movie really scared you that much?”
“No…” a gentle breeze caused a tree branch outside to lightly scrape the window, which made America jump, “Wh-what was that?!”
“The wind, dumbass,” this only caused the other nation to shake even harder. “You want me to…get you milk or something to help you sleep?”
“No!” He squeezed his Italian even tighter, “Y-you can’t leave me! What if it gets you?”
“It’s not going to get me, because it doesn’t exist.”
“Y-you can’t know that for sure…” America muttered into his back, “and I don’t want to lose you just in case.”
Romano blushed…because it was hot, damnit, not because of what his lover said. Even so, he managed to turn around in America’s embrace so he was facing him and grabbed his face in both his hands.
“Nothing’s going to hurt us,” he whispered and drove that point home with a kiss.
“But, in the movie-”
“Shh,” he hushed as he kissed the other nation’s forehead, “It was just a movie. It’s not real.
“…You sure?”
“Positive,” he blushed even deeper and kissed America’s ear as he whispered, “I-I’ll stay up and keep a lookout until you fall asleep. I…uh,” Romano squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed to admit the next part, “I…don’t want anything to hurt you either.”
He opened an eye to see that America had already fallen into a peaceful sleep in his arms.
V
“Romano?” America asked as he peeked into the nation’s living room only to find his lover sprawled out on the couch, sleeping. Of course he would be there; it was three o’clock, siesta time.
Smiling slightly the American wandered over to kneel next to the Italian and watch him sleep. He always liked watching Romano sleep; he was far more relaxed then he was when awake.
“Hm,” Romano muttered as he curled up and turned over in his sleep so he was facing America, who took advantage of his unconscious state to lightly pet his head, an action that would normally have received a head butt and a “Bastard!”
“’Merica…” he heard him mutter. America froze, afraid he’d been caught, but it became clear that Romano was still sleeping, just dreaming. Dreaming about him. America couldn’t help but feel some sort of warm fuzzy feeling at the pit of his stomach.
“America…” Romano repeated as he unknowingly nuzzled against his lover’s hand, “Miss you.”
“I miss you too,” America whispered in his ear as he leaned forward to kiss his forehead, “I’ll see you soon.”
“Wanna see you now…” Romano’s hand slowly moved up until it touched America’s on his head.
“I’ll be here soon,” he whispered as he interlocked their fingers and lightly kissed the Italian’s knuckles, “Maybe I’ll be here by the time you wake up.”
“Better be…bastard,” Romano muttered before he pulled America’s hand to his lips and kissed that as well. The “…love you,” came out as an exhale across his knuckles but America still heard it and treasured it, because he knew Romano would never have admitted that that easily if he was awake.
He decided to reward him with a light kiss on his cheek so as not to awake him, “Love you too.”
A/N: I love how these are all based around either food or sleep. XD
I was thinking about starting an America/Romano community, but I have no idea what to call it/how to run it. Thoughts? Suggestions? Ideas?