Cliche - Romano x Reader

Cliche

The morning light floats though the glass panes, drifting over, under, and around specs of hovering dust and flowing across the room towards a lump under the sheets. A groan emanates from the bedding. “Bastard sun...”

On the nightstand to the right of the bed, a phone vibrates. Groaning even louder, Romano rises like a vampire from his coffin and scoots over to the annoying object. Picking it up, he notices he got a text from __________. Well that certainly changes his mood.

He smiles, the light showing off his dimples and olive-skin torso. The text reads, “Help!”

Panicking, he rapidly slams the various letters on the screen and hits send.

He waits in anticipation for the next text to arrive. After what seems like hours to him (which was really about twenty seconds), the reply came: “I think I've fallen for you!”

“That bastard,” Romano whispers to himself, sighing in relief.  He begins to laugh and turns around. “AHH--”

A pair of arms wrap around his waist and a head rests on his right thigh. A satisfied hum escapes the lips of his visitor who kisses his stomach affectionately. “You forgot I was here already?” you chime, giggling.

“...Whoops?”

The both of you share a laugh. The Italian lifts you up onto his lap, your back against his bare chest. He places his head on top of yours, playing with your hair with one hand and rubbing your lower thigh with the other.

After a moment of silence, you say with a tone of mild amusement, “We partied pretty hard last night.”

He laughs. “Of course we did, why wouldn't we have? People would've thought we were sick had we not.” Due to his early grogginess, his voice was much deeper than usual. You love it.

“True.”

After Spain's party, the two of you retired to a spare bedroom on the upper floor of the Spaniard’s mansion. While up there, you talked each others ears off for hours until fatigue took its toll.

Romano yawns.

“Tired?” you ask.

“Nah, I'm just not breathing enough.”

“And why is that?”

A smirk grows on his face, “Because you—”

“Don't you dare-”

“Take my breath away.”

You groan exceptionally loud. “God dammit, Romano!”

He chuckles, kissing your cheek. The warmth of his breath tickled your skin and chased a sensation down your spine.

The two of you sat in silence, thankful for each other's company. Well, that is until you both heard some very Spanish shouting:

“ROMANO, WHY IS THERE A PEE STAIN ON MY COUCH??”

“SHUT UP, YOU SPANISH SPINACH! THAT WASN'T ME, DAMMIT!”

You could get used to this, that's for sure.