Fanfiction → Pizza and Paella {Spain/South Italy}
» Romano, a grumpy Italian, does not like the Spaniard who works at his grandfather's restaurant. Not at all. AU! Written as a Christmas gift for reconquista. Merry Christmas! [Marco = Seborga]
» One-shot
» South Italy ; Spain ; North Italy ; Mentions of other nations
» PG-13
He calls himself Spain and keeps a picture of Madrid on the counter, if only to mess up the perfect Italian-ness of the restaurant.
Lovino can't stand him.
Never mind the fact that this was his grandfather's restaurant and he was Italian and everything about the restaurant was Italian and Antonio was clearly Spanish and didn't even try to blend in and why did Feliciano, that happy-go-lucky idiot let him have the job and why did Grandpa let Feliciano let Antonio have the job? God, he needed a tomato.
Then he remembered that the Spanish were the ones to bring tomatoes to Europe, and he could have broken a plate then and there.
Antonio likes Lovino.
He ruffles his hair affectionately sometimes whilst managing to balance a tray of drinks and pasta in the other hand, or he'll make a beautiful paella dish that everyone would sample except for Lovino and he just loves the way the shorter Italian stomps around the building with a look of “don’t talk to me or you’ll die” written all over his face.
He finds it really quite adorable.
Lovino Vargas, or Romano as he is most often called, is a grumpy being. He's been this way since birth, but no one can work out why because his brother Feliciano is a walking pile of bliss and his grandfather is a charming womanizer (though perhaps it shouldn't be asked how exactly Romano knew) and his cousin Marco likes to play tricks and generally be a pest.
Even their customers are happy. There's the lovely Austrian man and his Hungarian wife who always carries a small tupperware of paprika (and Romano can see her sprinkling it over everything, goddammit), the tall Russian with his large “family” (who really don’t look like family), that Frenchman and his quarrelling English roommate (Romano could almost identify with him, except he was English and English people were a straight up no in his book) and the Germans.
Those damned Germans with their potatoes and wurst and beer. He hated them too, but at least he didn't have to deal with them every single day like Antonio.
It could be said, then, that Lovino “Romano” Vargas was a bitter lonely individual who didn’t like to socialize with others and who harboured an extreme dislike for about every single ethnic group on the planet.
One day, whilst carrying out some drinks to the tables, he noticed Antonio standing with the Frenchman and one of the Germans, the weird albino one. That was weird. He didn't think they were friends.
“Oi, Spanish bastard!” he called, “stop slacking and help me with these!”
“Of course, mi amor!”
Goddamn why was he so cheery all the time?
Their relationship went like this for a couple of months, until one horrific day that Romano decided he was going to try and forget for the rest of his life.
He was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, when Feliciano ran in and practically launched himself at his brother.
“Fratello, Fratello! Guess what I heard! Antonio was talking to Francis and he said that he liked you! Isn't that nice!”
Romano very nearly had a brain haemorrhage.
Except it wasn't that exciting, because all that happened was he passed out the kitchen floor (knocking over the vegetables in the process) so when Antonio came rushing in, all he saw was a little haircurl in a pile of tomato purée and half chopped celery. He carried him upstairs and proceeded (as Lovino described later), to perform a “heathen Spanish magic chant” on him.
(Or it might just have been the kiss of life, but Lovino was not going to admit that had happened).
Even though he had to admit Antonio was good at kissing.
Really quite good.
...oh dammit.
» This is the first time I'm writing Spain/Romano, so I'm sorry if I failed xD
» One-shot
» South Italy ; Spain ; North Italy ; Mentions of other nations
» PG-13
He calls himself Spain and keeps a picture of Madrid on the counter, if only to mess up the perfect Italian-ness of the restaurant.
Lovino can't stand him.
Never mind the fact that this was his grandfather's restaurant and he was Italian and everything about the restaurant was Italian and Antonio was clearly Spanish and didn't even try to blend in and why did Feliciano, that happy-go-lucky idiot let him have the job and why did Grandpa let Feliciano let Antonio have the job? God, he needed a tomato.
Then he remembered that the Spanish were the ones to bring tomatoes to Europe, and he could have broken a plate then and there.
Antonio likes Lovino.
He ruffles his hair affectionately sometimes whilst managing to balance a tray of drinks and pasta in the other hand, or he'll make a beautiful paella dish that everyone would sample except for Lovino and he just loves the way the shorter Italian stomps around the building with a look of “don’t talk to me or you’ll die” written all over his face.
He finds it really quite adorable.
Lovino Vargas, or Romano as he is most often called, is a grumpy being. He's been this way since birth, but no one can work out why because his brother Feliciano is a walking pile of bliss and his grandfather is a charming womanizer (though perhaps it shouldn't be asked how exactly Romano knew) and his cousin Marco likes to play tricks and generally be a pest.
Even their customers are happy. There's the lovely Austrian man and his Hungarian wife who always carries a small tupperware of paprika (and Romano can see her sprinkling it over everything, goddammit), the tall Russian with his large “family” (who really don’t look like family), that Frenchman and his quarrelling English roommate (Romano could almost identify with him, except he was English and English people were a straight up no in his book) and the Germans.
Those damned Germans with their potatoes and wurst and beer. He hated them too, but at least he didn't have to deal with them every single day like Antonio.
It could be said, then, that Lovino “Romano” Vargas was a bitter lonely individual who didn’t like to socialize with others and who harboured an extreme dislike for about every single ethnic group on the planet.
One day, whilst carrying out some drinks to the tables, he noticed Antonio standing with the Frenchman and one of the Germans, the weird albino one. That was weird. He didn't think they were friends.
“Oi, Spanish bastard!” he called, “stop slacking and help me with these!”
“Of course, mi amor!”
Goddamn why was he so cheery all the time?
Their relationship went like this for a couple of months, until one horrific day that Romano decided he was going to try and forget for the rest of his life.
He was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, when Feliciano ran in and practically launched himself at his brother.
“Fratello, Fratello! Guess what I heard! Antonio was talking to Francis and he said that he liked you! Isn't that nice!”
Romano very nearly had a brain haemorrhage.
Except it wasn't that exciting, because all that happened was he passed out the kitchen floor (knocking over the vegetables in the process) so when Antonio came rushing in, all he saw was a little haircurl in a pile of tomato purée and half chopped celery. He carried him upstairs and proceeded (as Lovino described later), to perform a “heathen Spanish magic chant” on him.
(Or it might just have been the kiss of life, but Lovino was not going to admit that had happened).
Even though he had to admit Antonio was good at kissing.
Really quite good.
...oh dammit.
» This is the first time I'm writing Spain/Romano, so I'm sorry if I failed xD