Sense:Rome,N&S Italy, France, Spain, and Reader:
Real quick; This is about the five senses, it's really just a bunch of little fan fictions combined into one so I don't clog your message box.
Sight: Rome and Reader:
The moment the door opened you knew you were in the sights of someone of significance. His eyes were deep and shinning like caramel and made you shiver as they examined you, while a calloused hand tousled the dark chocolate curls that twisted and framed his strong jaw.
At the same time, you began to feel very self-conscious and tempted to rush to your closet and dig through for long fleece pants and a comfy robe instead of the thin silk robe and shorts, but he only took the blush on your face for giddy embarrassment.
“Like what you see?” his Italian accent purred, and if possible you felt self-conscious and oblivious to your looks at the same time as you admired his well-muscled body, hidden only by pajama pants.
You nodded and chewed your lip with your head ducked in embarrassment and to hide your blushing face. “J-Just come to bed, Romulus,” you mumbled.
You could almost feel his eyebrows crunch in flirtatious curiosity as he sauntered over to the bed and wrapped his arms around you, slightly lifting you so you rested against his soft cocoa colored chest, and you had to grip his bulky arms to keep your balance.
“Because I like what I see,” he whispered in your ear.
Your face felt like a thousand degrees as you pressed it into the crook of Romulus’s arm and wrapped your arms around his neck, “I-I’m really tired,” you explained, stifling a yawn.
You waited to hear Romulus sigh and give in; instead he pressed you closer and chuckled as he started to pepper your neck with kisses.
“Can I not admire my beautiful wife?” he asked, laying his accent on extra thick.
“Of course you can,” you said, feeling his arms loosen as he lowered you onto the bed.
He gave you a cheeky grin and rubbed his scruffy cheek against yours, “Can I cuddle with my beautiful wife?” he asked.
You smiled and returned your arms to around his neck, “Of course you can.”
Romulus’ smile grew as he pulled the covers over the two of you and pulled you so you lay on his chest and both of his hands rested on your hips, and suddenly your sight was filled with darkness.
Hearing: South Italy and Pregnant Reader: Cusswords
A sour and hate filled cussword hit your ears the same time the crashing of pans did, and you knew Lovino had just spilled dinner, or at least part of dinner, making you struggle up from the couch, trying to rush over to the kitchen.
“Lovino,” you couldn’t help but snap as you walked into a storm of cusswords and spilled tomato sauce.
He looked up from wiping up the mess. His face was bright red, he was frowning, and he looked just about ready to snap at you and throw the rag down before stomping out of the house, but then he looked over your figure and looked away in shame.
“I’m sorry bella,” he grumbled and threw the sauce soaked cloth to the trashcan, but it bounced off the rim and landed with a cringe worthy splat. Lovino let slip another cussword as he hoisted himself up to throw it away.
“Lovino, I don’t want our child’s first word to be a cuss word,” you scolded.
He let out an aggravated sigh and slammed the dripping piece of trash down into the can before turning to stomp off, but hitting his arm on the counter on the way out.
You waited to for a string of cusswords to explode from his mouth, but instead he doubled over and held his throbbing arm as a quick shout of, “Jimminy Jamminy, Moose Maple, mother, father….” as he eased himself to the floor.
He looked up at you with searching watery eyes as he cradled his bruised arm and you gave him the smile he was hoping for as you crouched down and kissed his forehead. “That’s a start,” you cooed, but you were interrupted with a gasp when you felt a raging pain run through your belly. You cussed and doubled over.
Lovino quickly sat up and tried to help you up, but you cried out and cussed again when another pain hit. That’s when you felt it, “Lovino!” you cried, and clung on to him for dear life, “The babies coming!”
Lovino let out a final stream of cusswords as he helped you up and to the car. You would have to work on the cusswords some other day.
Taste: North Italy and Reader:
The sound of waves, the feel of silky sand between your toes, the warm sun shining against your shoulders while it warmed the soft picnic blanket all combined together leaving you in what seemed like paradise. Your husband had somehow made it even more perfect by bringing a picnic.
At first you had found it a bit odd to bring such a big picnic basket and cooler to the beach. With only you and Feliciano, you wouldn’t need so much food, but that was part of the surprise. Feliciano had cooked and packed everything that morning, for once actually getting up early, on a weekend none the less, to cook everything before you got up, probably one of the sweetest things he had done for you.
But you wouldn’t understand all of the food until it came lunch time. Feliciano set everything up and insisted on blindfolding and feeding you the first bite of one of his many dishes. You were a bit confused because you had, had his food before and it was delicious, but when you took a bite of the lobster ravioli he served you all other food was obsolete.
It was soft and warm, with sweet lobster and fresh herbs swimming in creamy sauce that spilled from the shell the instant you bit into it, and when you did you were in heaven and immediately ripped the blind fold off for more.
By the end of the meal, you were sure you had gained at least five pounds and had been to heaven and back. You had eaten a cherry tomato and goat cheese pizza. It was a strange combination but perfect with the warm, gooey cheese having a musky tang that mixed well with the sweet dry tomatoes. Then, Bianco e Nero Cookies with a crunchy outside and a soft brownie inside, dusted with powdered sugar that melted on your tongue, and next a spicy butter garlic bread that sang of its’ spice on your tongue before it melted away.
Feliciano also brought out a nice smooth wine to finish it all off. The flavors combined together were a bit weird, but you didn’t mind. What really topped it off was your thank you kiss to him. It tasted like sweet herbs, tangy cheese, sweet creams, warm pastas, and sugary sweets.
To sum it all up it tasted like Feliciano and you were more than happy to lay back and let him rest on your stomach as you took a siesta.
Smell: France and Reader:
His breath smelled like cool mint and wine, but there was a hint of something else. It smelled like regret and cigarettes, and hot breath that poured down your neck.
His shirt smelled like flowers, roses and orchards splashed with flowery cologne that easily disguised the other lingering smell that seeped into his and your skin as he moved in closer, and that smell brought your warmth.
His hair smelled like expensive shampoo, also flowery but with the tang of chemicals that bleached his hair blonde. The softness was restored with costly conditioners that brought out the shine in his hair, but there was no way you could afford it. A few strands fanned out over your pillow.
But it was his hands that gave it away. They were rough and calloused at the fingertips, but soft at the back that showed only the work of a talented manicurist. They smelled of whisky and cigarettes, more flowery and expensive perfumes than you wished to count, and ink from the numbers written on his palms; that now rested under your pajamas at your sides.
He mumbled and you smelled mint. There would always be his smell to him, no matter how many parties he crashed, people he swindled, and pockets he picked. There would always be his pure scent that calmed your fears the instant he wrapped his arms around you.
Touch: Spain and Reader:
The moment he touched you fire raged through your veins, burning you more than the hot nightclub air around you that brought the pounding music to your ears and carried you through the club throughout the night giving you the courage your friends could never provide.
The heat intensified when he brushed his lips against yours and he moved his hands over your hips, helping you sway with the music. He softly whispered instructions against your lips as he helped you to not trip over the heels you weren’t used to.
It finally exploded when your friend handed you a drink, encouraging you to “have some fun.” He gently took it from you and guzzled it down before pressing his smooth lips to yours and you felt nothing but heat as alcohol burned down your throat and he pressed you against the wall before breaking away.
You felt his fingers against your cheek, gingerly brushing away a lock of hair before you could feel his smile against yours one last time before his laughing and drunk friends dragged him away.
You felt awful. The burning sensation puffed out overnight and was replaced with a pounding headache and regret as you searched your purse, clothing, and hands for any sign of a number. You finally gave up and let the cloud of loneliness drift over you as you went to get some coffee before heading off to work.