Italy x Reader: Thunderstorms

Feliciano Vargas

-x-

You hammered your fist against the front door of the Vargas house; your hair was plastered to your scalp as the rain pelted you mercilessly from above. A grumpy looking Italian appeared at the door, opening it just wide enough for you to slip through before slamming it shut on the storm outside.
“You better have a bloody good reason for calling me out here Lovino.”
“Mi dispiace ragazza, but-” a deep roll of thunder interrupted him, closely followed by a painful shrieking. The man before you became noticeably more frustrated, rolling his eyes and gesturing for you to follow him.
All the furniture in the lounge had been rearranged to form a fort-like structure in one corner of the room. The long curtains were drawn, and the only movement was that of an odd yet familiar curl of hair that protruded from between the cupboard and the sofa upon which it had been precariously balanced.
“There was no way in hell I was calling the potato-bastard, and you’re the only other person who’ll be able to stop him.”
“Can I ask why-” Lightning flashed followed by more thunder and wailing. A white flag was produced from within the make-shift fortress and it began waving frantically.
“He thinks we’re under attack.”
“Ah…” You pursed your lips and watched the terrified younger brother for a moment longer.
“Per favour ragazza.”
“Alright, fine. But you owe me a change of clothes.”
“Gratzie.” He sighed in relief, shooting you a rare smile before disappearing upstairs and leaving you with the terrified wreck at the other side of the darkened room.

“Feli?” You called softly, not wanting to cause any more panic. You approached his stronghold warily. “Feliciano, it’s __________.”
“B-Bella?” Dewy golden eyes peered over the edge of the sofa only to vanish a moment later as the thunder rumbled again.
Too cute.
You crept over to the edge of the piled furnishings and lent on the back of the sofa which formed one wall.
“Come on Feli, it’s just thunder. I promise it can’t hurt you.”
“But Bella~” His whines only caused you to giggle; you found his cowardly nature almost endearing. Offering one hand in a gesture of comfort, you gave a gentle smile. However, just as he’d gingerly grasped your fingers, the storm decided to intensify. With a high pitched squeak of fear, the Italian grabbed your wrist sending you toppling forward into his castle of cushions. Groaning, you attempted to sit up only to be restrained by two strong arms which clutched at you as if you were the last life-line.
“Can’t. Breathe.”
“Sorry Bella.” The grip loosened slightly, giving you just enough room to look up into the face of your handsome yet watery-eyed Italian friend.
Crap. Your heart stopped beating for a moment as you assessed the situation. You were lying on top of a grown man, in a dark room, appreciating the subtly toned muscles of his chest (proof that Ludwig’s training did actually work). On the other hand, the man was Feliciano Vargas who was probably the most innocent flirt on the planet, and he was only holding you so close due to fear, not for any other reason. Not that you wanted there to be another reason. It was at the point that said Italian started to nuzzle the crook of your neck that the beating of your heart resumed at an erratic pace.
“Feli?” Your voice had involuntarily risen an octave.
“You smell nice Bella, like pasta~” You shivered as his hot breath ghosted over your skin with each word. After a moment he pulled back, and you met a questioning gaze. “You’re really wet.”
You violently suppressed the voice in the back of your mind which chose to comment on the innuendo. “It’s raining and Lovino called me out here only to leave me on your doorstep for five minutes. Yes, I’m absolutely soaked.”
“Why did mi fratello call you here in this weather?” His voice had changed from one of puzzlement to concern. You opened your mouth to answer but nature got there first, and you were pulled into another bone crushing embrace. You lay in the darkness, and relaxed in the warmth of the Italian’s arms. Managing to remove one arm from where it was previously trapped between the two of you, you started to rub his shoulder comfortingly while murmuring words of comfort in his ear. Amongst his whimpers of fear, you managed to pick out short words and phrases: War. Surrender. Don’t shoot. Please don’t hurt me. I don’t want to die. Help me. Don’t abandon me… not again.
The last one was like a knife to the heart; despite the knowledge that both the brothers (as well as some of your other friends) had been through a lot in the past, you’d never really seen any signs that it had scarred any of them this badly. Least of your concern was the bubbly Italian who seemed immune to serious emotional trauma or any unhappiness at all. It hurt to know how much he was suffering.
“I won’t leave you Feli,” you hugged him to you best you could in your position “I could never leave you.” You’d hoped that your words would comfort him somewhat, but it seemed to have the opposite effect, turning the Italian hysterical. You grimaced as the volume increased tenfold and the ferocity of his grip caused you to gasp from lack of oxygen. Over the sobbing, you could hear an approaching voice call your name.
“H-Help… Lovi-no…”

After the cursing Italian had managed to pry you from his sobbing brother’s vice-like grip, the siblings made their way down the hall to prepare dinner while you went to get changed. After pulling on the baggy t-shirt and a pair of large faded jeans which you had to secure tightly with a belt, you followed the sound of foreign swears to the kitchen. Feliciano cowered in the corner of the room as the storm raged on, while Lovino attempted to prepare dinner. Upon your arrival the lighter-haired man lunged from the floor and slung his arms around your waist, still kneeling on the tiled floor.
“__________, mi fratello is being mean!”
“Idiota! It’s not my fault you burned the pasta!” You looked up at Lovino in surprise. Feli had allowed his precious pasta to burn? Had the storm really shaken him that badly? The Italian caught your surprise as he turned to serve the meal, and a complicated emotion crossed his face. You thought back to the phrases you had caught between Feli’s sobs earlier; clearly Lovino understood better than anyone why his brother was struggling, but you thought it better not to ask, not wanting to bring up any more unwanted memories. The three of you sat down to eat and, as expected, it was delicious. However it failed to draw the usual sounds of delight from Feliciano. He simply consumed the food solemnly, wincing every so often when the thunder struck or as lighting flashed and illuminated you all. Across the table, you mouthed a concerned: Is he going to be okay?
To which your only answer was a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders. To anyone else it may seem as if the dark-haired man was unconcerned, but you knew that to be false by the momentary worry that flashed behind his eyes.

Announcing that he was going to bed due to being tired of ‘listening to his whiny brother’, Lovino mentioned you were free to stay the night in the guest room before stomping upstairs. You watched him go, but before you could turn back to the subject of your unease, familiar arms embraced you and you felt a heavy weight around your shoulders.
“Bella, please don’t leave me alone tonight.” You suddenly became very aware of two things. One: how extremely close the two of you were. Two: the fact that the usual childlike tone had been dropped from his voice, leaving him to sound much more masculine.
“It’s already late, I wasn’t planning on it anyway…” You felt him hum against your neck and the mood lightened slightly. “Besides, Lovino just said that I could use the spare room so-”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?” The humming had abruptly ceased, leaving the air to thicken with tension. When he didn’t answer you tried to look at the usually happy-go-lucky Italian, but your attempts were thwarted as his arms didn’t budge. “Feli?”
“I don’t want to be separated from you.” This statement was followed by fluent Italian and although you couldn’t understand the words that rolled off his tongue, it would take an idiot to misinterpret the action that followed. Still embracing you from behind, Feli pressed a kiss to your hair gently and trailed kisses down your neck and shoulder, ghosting his lips across your flushed skin. In your state of utter shock, you didn’t react, and the Italian took this as permission to run his hands down your waist to rest upon your hips. His forehead rested on your shoulder as he held you close, merely happy to be beside you like this.
“Sei così bella e gentile, non posso esprimerlo bene, ma io non voglio separarmi da te. Per favore, non mi abbandonare, come il nonno Roma ha fatto. Io non voglio essere di nuovo sola. Ti amo così tanto __________.” His words were whispered as if speaking too loudly would shatter the delicate ambiance that had settled around the pair of you. Italian was a wonderful language; you’d thought so for a long time, but hearing it from Feliciano as he treated you so preciously made it so much better. You loved the sultery way he murmured your name. When you slipped from his grasp to face him, his beautiful eyes were filled with tears that threatened to spill at any moment. You stared at him, his innocent expression had become clouded and so hard to read. There was fear, fear that he’d been rejected, fear that you hated him, fear that you’d leave and he’d never see you again.
“Say it again.” You had to be sure, sure that your ears hadn’t deceived you. After a moment relief flooded his features and you were graced with a soft smile as he understood what you wanted to hear.
“Ti amo, bella. More than the sun or the moon or the stars combined.” He brushed a strand of hair from your blushing face as you wiped a tear from his.
“Even more than pasta?” His eyes widened at your teasing.
“Si bella! Ovviamente!” He was so earnest and innocent. You cupped his face tenderly and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. You felt him sigh happily and pull you a fraction closer. When you pulled away, a light blush adorned his cheeks.
“Please don’t leave me.” The word tumbled desperately out of his mouth, a clear contrast to the seductive Italian from before.
“Idiota, ti amo.” You mirrored his native tongue fondly, giggling as his face lit up and he beamed, practically glowing despite the dimly lit room. He finally laughed – all fear of the storm gone with you encased safely in his arms – and he peppered your face with butterfly kisses.
“Ti amo! Ti amo! Ti amo!”
“Feli, hush!” You pressed your lips to his once more. “Lovino’s sleeping.” Both of you smiled at the soft snores from above.
“Mi dispiace bella, io sono solo contento!”

The next morning, you were awoken by a startled Italian who had burst into Feliciano’s room to accuse him of scaring you off, only to be met by the slight of you sleeping peacefully in his brother’s arms.
“What the hell did you do to __________ bastardo!?” You could only laugh as the sleepy Italian nuzzled into your stomach, shying away from his brother’s threats.