Sep 15, 2015
chibi!romano and his tomato bastard
trying out some new styles to find my own, but oh well
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from T1
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
chibi!romano and his tomato bastard
trying out some new styles to find my own, but oh well
オウ
笹かまぼこ｡
トマト仲間
Pixiv ID: 2373391 Member: AKRU
Hetalia: Running of the Bulls by ~slouph
Churro Wars!
Here's a Spamano request fic for romanosbooty! I'm so glad I was able to finish it today. My fingers hurt. >.<
It's pure Boss!Spain and Chibi!Romano fluff so i hope you enjoy it!
It wasn’t raining.
Romano blinked and stretched in the sunlight that was filtering into his (Spain’s) bedroom. An uneasy feeling of premonition settled in his stomach. The absence of the storm that had been raging for the past two days meant something. Something bad.
The realization hit him the same moment he realized that the other side of the bed was empty. It wasn’t raining. That meant that Spain was leaving today.
Freeing himself from the tangle of sheets and blankets, Romano swung his feet over the edge and dropped to the floor. His heart pounded with all-too-familiar panic. Spain wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, right? He couldn’t!
“Spain” his voice sounded thin and desperate. “Spain!”
Romano quickly turned the corner into the hallway, small bare feet echoing loudly in the mostly-empty mansion. Moving as quickly as his short legs could carry him, the boy nation powered through various plush corridors lined with mirrors that reflected his red face back at him. He called out his caretaker’s name in the vain hope that he might hear him and come.
Just as he was beginning to accept the fact that he had no idea where he was going, Romano’s foot caught on a fold in the carpet and he was sent sprawling to the floor.
Like the small child he was, Romano balled his hands into fists and began to cry softly, burying his face in the rug. Spain couldn’t leave without him! He just couldn’t! Romano, was important too, dammit!
“Spain . . .” he sniveled and struggled to rise before a voice behind him made him freeze.
“Dios, Romano. Isn’t it a little early for me to be finding you a sobbing wreck in the hallway? Usually you last until noon.”
Romano slowly turned to see Spain standing behind him, hands on his hips and a kindly smile on his face. He was dressed in full battle armor, all metal plates and long pieces of cloth. It might him look larger that life and strangely intimidating. Romano hated when Spain dressed like that. It conjured painful images of him stumbling through the door with blood on his face and gold-lust in his eyes.
Spain reached for the boy and Romano quickly stepped back, rubbing angrily at his still teary eyes. He wouldn’t cry for Spain. Not today.
The older nation’s easy grin faded into a look of concern as he realized that this was not one of Romano’s usual fits of hysteria. Taking advantage of his underlings temporary blindness, Spain swiftly scooped him up and cradled him to his breastplate. Romano merely turned his face away and continued sniffing miserably.
“What’s wrong Romano?” he cooed, “You should be happy! That accursed rain is finally over! My men and I can leave at last for the . . .” he trailed off as a sheepish smile spread across his face. “Oh. Boss is rather clueless sometimes, isn’t he? I’m sorry I didn’t understand you. This is about me leaving, isn’t it?”
Romano looked up at him in horror as a blush crept across his cheeks. “Don’t say such stupid things, dammit.”
Spain laughed loudly and nearly shocked a smile onto Romano’s face. “Don’t worry, Roma. It’s just a short trip. It won’t be dangerous.”
Romano bit his lip, choosing to ignore the sickeningly familiar lie. That’s what he said every time. ‘It’s just a short trip.’ ‘It won’t be dangerous.’ Yet every time he arrived months late and covered in terrible, terrible wounds.
Spain bounced him in his arms, beaming. “Plus, I still have a few hours to spend with my favorite henchman! What do you say to some breakfast?”
Romano’s eyes widened hopefully. “Churros?”
Xxx
After meeting only a few dead-ends (“I could have sworn that painting wasn’t here yesterday!”) the two eventually reached the kitchen. It was small and homely compared to the other vast rooms the mansion possessed. Spain insisted on cooking for both he and his henchman when he was home and didn’t enjoy running around a giant kitchen in search of ingredients.
He deposited Romano on the small cutting table near the entrance and shed some of his armor. Terribly unwieldy and burdensome in a hot kitchen. “You ready for the best churros you’ve ever had?”
Romano snorted, previous crying fit long forgotten, and plucked a tomato from the bowl in the center. “Bet I could make better. I made them before, didn’t I?”
Spain frowned, “Yes but that was with my help. I sincerely doubt you could make better churros that-”
Romano straightened up, affronted. “I’m Italian. Scratch that, I am Italy! I’m naturally better at cooking than you dumb Spaniards.”
The corners of Spain’s mouth curved into a wry expression. “Is that so? Well, why don’t we have a churro cooking contest before I leave? Then we can see who’s the better cook around here!”
“Why would I want to do a stupid thing like that with a stupid jerk like you?” Romano scoffed through a mouthful of fruit.
Spain adopted a hurt look. “Romano . . . I might not see you for awhile and I wanted to spend some quality time with you. You must get lonely all by yourself in this big house and I get lonely on my ship so I just-”
“Fine!” Romano quickly cut him off and hopped down from the table. “But only cause you look d-dumb when you cry!”
In no time at all, Spain was his usual grinning self. “I’ll go get the ingredients! You go find the pans!”
“Don’t tell me what to do, dammit,” Romano muttered mutinously, but went to get them regardless.
After he had amassed a small collection of pans and utensils (as well as the frying skillet because he was feeling particularly nice) Romano was free to sit back and smirk at Spain’s mad dash around the kitchen.
After Spain dropped yet another jar of milk, Romano deigned to stoop and help the poor man. Of course, Romano’s idea of help translated to picking up a flour bag by its bottom and covering both the kitchen floor and them with its contents.
They were laughing too hard to care much.
The pair were eventually able to secure everything they needed to make churros and Spain had lit two fires over which they placed their pans.
“Okay, Romano. You’re on your own now. You remember how to make churros, right?”
Romano was closely scrutinizing a carton of sugar. “Yeah, yeah. Now leave me to my work, stupid Spain.”
Laughing a little to himself, Spain began to carefully measure out spoonfuls of flour. Behind him he heard the sound of an entire box of sugar being dumped into a pan.
Spain winced. Double recipe it was.
Xxx
Spain hummed happily to himself as he began to roll the dough into long pipes. These were going to be some damn good churros, he could feel it.
Judging from the noises of frustration coming from Romano’s direction, his charge was having considerable more difficulty.
Oh, well he can have some of mine. Spain began to sing a (rather obnoxious) song about an angry donkey when something wet and slimy slapped the back of his neck before sliding uncomfortably down the back of his shirt.
Spain whirled around, glaring suspiciously at Romano. The boy-nation was innocently mixing his dough with a wooden spoon. The word ‘dough’ could only be applied loosely, as the mixture seemed more akin to witches’ brew.
He turned back to his own dough and was just about to add a pinch of salt when another glob caught him in the arm. Spain narrowed his eyes and peered over his shoulder. “Romano, you-”
Romano was grinning maniacally, holding two fistfuls of dough poised above his head. “Yeah, Spain?”
Smiling back, Spain began to reach behind him for his own ammunition. Two could most certainly play at that game.
Xxx
“Excuse me, Mister Spain! It’s time for us to leave!” a soldier knocked on the kitchen door and frowned when no one answered. He opened the door gingerly, peering in. “Mister Spaim, we’re late as it-” He paused a gaped.
The kitchen was an absolute disaster flour and sugar was scattered everywhere and what looked like churro dough from hell dripped from every available surface, even the ceiling. Pots and pans were strewn across the battlefield, giving it almost a post-apocalyptic look.
Two figures were lying on the floor, giggling loudly and rolling around in the mess. One was his boss, Mister Spain and the other was the Mister Romano, his master’s young charge who rarely ever smiled and only did when Mister Spain was present.
They seem to have made flour angels on the floor and were now currently engaged in cuddling each other and laughing loudly.
The soldier smiled fondly and closed the door softly. The ships could wait a little longer.
Right now, Mister Spain deserved time with his most beloved henchman.