(Alright, so this is my Spain X fem!Romano story. It was previously called "Caught In A Shit Storm," but I changed the title due to it violating FF's guidelines. However, I have not changed the title on Deviant Art.)

Breathe in and breathe out. The air is fresh. Warm. Comforting. You feel the sunlight beat against your bare skin as it floods through that huge ass window. Your legs are tangled in a torrent of bed sheets and you feel the soft pillow against the side of your head. Your eyes are closed. You're awake, but you don't want to open them. You're too comfortable.

You feel a pair of strong arms around you. Your bare body is pressed up against another, toned, sculpted, perfect. Fits you like a puzzle piece. You breathe in his scent. The faint smell of fresh tomatoes soothes you and a smile finds its way onto your lips. You love this. This is where you belong. Here. In bed. In his arms.

Last night was fucking fantastic. There was no words to describe it. All passion. All love. All lust. The kisses. The touches. The erotic thickness of the air. And now you're here. On this summer morning. You feel his heart beat steadily as he breathes in and out. He's still asleep. You bite your bottom lip out of joy and snuggle closer to him.

Nothing can go wrong. Nothing can…nothing…

Then it all stops. Because it hits you. Like a fucking train. You lose your breath and your eyes shoot open. The first thing you see is his perfect tan neck. You want to scoot in closer and kiss the skin…but no.

What the fuck have you done?

You screech and squirm in his arms. Your heart pounds in panic as your mind starts to whirl uncontrollably.

He stirs, and then wakes up. His emerald green eyes meet yours, and realization clouds his face. He becomes pale as he quickly unwinds his arms, and sits up.

He's so beautiful. So so so beautiful.

But you can't believe the atrocity you had just committed.

You furiously grab a handful of sheets and cover your exposed body with them. Your face immediately flushes a furious red and you're filled with shame, with regret.

"Fuck!" You scream out in anger.

Alright. So you're probably confused. Want me to explain? Well, that will take an awfully long time. But I suppose I can give it a shot.

My name is Lovina Vargas. I am the personification of South Italy. And whoop-dee-fucking-doo.

I slept with the fucking tomato bastard, who also happens to be my younger sister's boyfriend, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo...or as most would call him, Spain.

Yeah.

Si.

Spectacular.

Manifico.

Favoloso!

Okay, let's start from the very beginning shall we? Oh trust me, this is pretty good. You won't want to miss this.

XX

So let's back up. Hmm…let's say, around three months earlier. Yeah, that's about right. May, I believe. Well, more like the end of May. Summer was just around the corner and the sun was definitely showing it.

Okay, look. I don't mind the sun. I really don't. In fact, I think it's pretty damn nice. But when it beats down on your fucking head all day, it can give you an eye twitch. Especially when you're out in the fields picking some tomatoes with none other than the infamous tomato bastard himself.

Hey, on the bright side, it gives me an excuse to eat the extremely delicious fruit. When the idiota isn't looking, I take huge bites out of the tomatoes that I pick, especially if they're extremely red and big. They're just so delicious! I can't help it. If something looks that appetizing, they're meant to be eaten on the spot. I'm not taking all this bullshit about properly cleaning or cutting or whatever the crapola Antonio spews out of his always smiling lips. Even as a little kid (and I was fucking cute, dammit!), I always snuck outside when the bastard wasn't looking and picked and devoured as many tomatoes as I could.

So there I was, lying on my back against the dirt, under the beating sun. I knew that my cheeks were red as hell, and that when I got up later, my dark hair would be a tangled mess of leaves and soil and maybe even some creepy crawlers, but who the fuck cares? I sure as hell don't. Especially when I'm eating this delicious tomato. Damn, this tastes so good! I could literally make out with this thing. Hmm…how erotic. Making out with a tomato. Is it possible to get an orgasm from a tomato? Pfft…how can you not? Tomatoes are the sexiest fruit ever!

Hey, don't look at me like that you bastard! I'm just stating some simple facts here.

"Lovi, I told you not to eat the tomatoes. They're not clean, and you could get sick!"

I winced at the Spaniard's voice. Of course HE would be the one to ruin my mental tomato sex. Although, Antonio's voice is (EXTREMELY) sexy. I used to beat myself up for even thinking that, but now I see no use in it. Just because I find his voice sexy doesn't mean I actually have feelings for the damn bastard. It's just a general opinion. So yes, Antonio Carriedo's voice is sexy. Maybe it's the accent, or the pitch, or…something.

Nevertheless, I was still annoyed. For me, being annoyed and being downright pissed off are intertwined. One and the same. So you'll never find me just plainly annoyed, without some real anger there.

"Shut it, bastardo," I growled at him as I took another wonderfully delicious bite of the tomato. The juice soaked my lips and ran down the sides of my face.

"I'm just telling you, mi tomate. May I remind you of the time you became extremely ill from eating an unclean tomato?" he asked.

Why can't he just shut up? I gritted my teeth, my tomato eating experience completely demolished. So I sat up, and glared at him, praying to the Almighty Jesus Christ that the fiery furnaces of hell would engulf the stupid tomato-head.

He looked back at me, a carefree smile on his face. His dark locks were tousled and messy, sticking up in extremely odd directions. His big emerald green eyes twinkled at me, glinting under the golden glow of the sun. Seriously…his green eyes are always twinkling. For as long as I could remember. I mean, come on! How is that even possible?

I accidentally break a vase (okay, not accidentally) when cleaning, and I expect some sort of harsh cruel punishment from the boss. His eyes are twinkling.

I hit and punch him repeatedly out of anger and frustration, simply because he makes a remark about how cute I look when my face becomes red. His eyes are twinkling.

I go to a bar, get drunk off my ass, and start moping to the bastard about how much I hate him, and how my life sucks, and how everyone loves my younger sister more than me because she's so much more talented than I am at everything. Even as I throw up all over his shirt, HIS EYES ARE TWINKLING.

What the fuck? If someone threw up on MY shirt, I'd sock them in the face. Drunk or not. That's just not okay.

Antonio reaches up a hand and wipes some of the perspiration off his forehead and upper lip. I notice that he smudges some dirt all over his nose as he does this. I smirk and laugh to myself. Bahahahaha, he looks so stupid. With his dirty and sweaty face, stupid messy hair, and…and…tan sculpted arms…and toned abs that glint in the sun…and…

VAFFANCULO! WHAT THE FUCK!

NO! NO! NO!

LOVINA! WHAT THE CRAPOLA WAS THAT?

I quickly shake my head to clear any more unwelcome thoughts about the tomato eating son-of-a-bitch. It's sort of freaking me out to be honest. It's been happening a lot lately. Ever since the New Years' party that Francis hosted, ever since I saw him move on the dance floor with various partners (Spanish dancing is fucking sexy. Seriously, people. Look it up on youtube!), ever since I saw the lights flash across his fac, and frame his constantly flickering silhouette, ever since he grabbed my hand, looked me in the eyes with those big twinkling emeralds of his, smirked at me, and twirled my body….

Well yeah. It was a good night.

But it sort of changed…no…SKEWED my perspective of things.

It made me realize that Antonio Carriedo is an extremely attractive man. I mean, I always acknowledged the fact that he was attractive before, but…not like this. I mean, what I saw on that dance floor was freaking nose-bleed worthy!

Yes. I stab myself inwardly for admitting that.

Ever since then, I've been constantly struggling with my thought process involving the tomato bastard. I mean, come on!

I may be older now, but this is Spain! SPAIN!

He's the one who raised me! Fed me! Let me cuddle with him when I got scared! Dealt with my very unattractive kid breakdowns! Comforted me when my first boyfriend dumped me! Always cleaned up after me when I got drunk off my ass! Punished me for even getting drunk in the first place!

Point is…he's the tomato bastard, and I'm his…henchman. Yes. I hate to say it, but it's sort of true. He likes to refer to himself as "the boss." I just throw my drink in his face when he tries to enforce that idea.

When he's not around, I can usually control it. But when he's in the room, that's a whole different story. I literally have a plethora of epic fantastical wars occurring in my brain. Like those big battles in Lord of the Rings. With all the orcs and uruk-hai and elves and dwarves and nazgul and shit. New Zealand forced me to watch all three of them with her a few years ago. I will never admit it to her, but I loved them.

Alright. Back to the present.

Antonio laughed. His laugh sounded so sweet, so melodious, so…so…Oh shit. Look at that! LOOK AT THAT! There I go again.

"Aww, Lovi! Your face looks like a tomat…"

"Si, si! A tomato! Madre di Christo! You're so fucking predictable!" I spat at him, finding that my limbs were trembling. See, whenever I get frustrated, or "annoyed," my limbs tremble. I can't control it. It just happens.

He just kept smiling at me. Damn those twinkling green eyes.

And why can't he just wear a damn shirt? It's not that hard!

I don't need to be looking at his glistening, tan, sculpted, Spanish glory….I mean…monstrosity.

Sigh. I'm not even going to attempt to fix that statement.

He smirked slightly at me. "My Lovi knows me to well, si? That makes me really happy."

I sprang to my feet and marched over to him. I don't know why I got this sudden urge to smack him, but I did, so I decided to act on it. Simple as that. Plus, these urges are pretty common. Which is kind of sad because that means the bastard knows how to deflect them.

I attempted to clock him in the face, but he easily rose a hand and grabbed my wrist. How the hell does he do that? AND he has a basket of tomatoes in his other arm. The corner of his lips turned up and I found myself mesmerized by that slight movement.

"I always taught you violence is not the answer, mi tomate," he said softly. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Why must his voice be so fucking sexy? Why? WHY?

And why do beads of sweat actually look extremely attractive on him? Like, glittering jewels. (No, not that sparkly disco-ball vampire shit.)

Seriously! It's sweat! Sweat's supposed to be gross!

The way strands of his dark hair were plastered against his forehead, or how there was a few dirt smudges on his bare skin, or how his eyes constantly GLITTERED.

GLITTER. GLITTER. FUCKING GLITTER!

I scoffed and ripped my hand away from his grasp, hoping he wouldn't notice how flustered I truly was. I knew that I was extremely red again, but Antonio was an oblivious man. Insanely oblivious.

"Whatever," I mumbled darkly, looking down at my feet.

I spotted three huge baskets of tomatoes at his feet. I eyed them, subconsciously hoping that we'd make pasta tonight. Or pizza.

"How many tomatoes have you gotten, Lovi?" Antonio asked, that smile still present on his lips. I turned around to glance at my…um…rather vacant basket. I did pick a lot of tomatoes, they just…sort of made it to my mouth before they could actually reach the basket. Hey! We went over this, bitch! Stop judging!

He gave a small laugh. "I shouldn't have even asked. It doesn't matter, though. I picked more than enough. Can you help me carry these back to the house?"

I looked back up into his face and scowled. "You picked them, bastard. So you take them."

Antonio pouted. Shit. I could never resist his pouts. I always pretended like I could, but I never truly could. Not even when I was a kid. "Why are you so mean to me, mi poco tomate?"

Don't look into the eyes. Don't look into the eyes. Don't look…DON'T LOOK INTO THE FUCKING EYES.

Shit. I looked.

I gritted my teeth, bent over, and picked up a basket of tomatoes. I glared at him, hoping that he would physically burn under my torrential demonic stare of doom, but he just beamed at me. Is it just me, or did the sun seem to brighten dramatically?

"I win!" he stated teasingly, ruffling my already messy hair.

"Bastard," I spat.

XX

"Lovi, can you hand me the kni…no. no. no. I said hand it to me. Not throw it," Antonio insisted. I reluctantly handed him the knife. Dammit, I wanted to practice my knife throwing skills! I bet I'm better than Natalia.

Shit. Don't ever tell her I thought that. She'd throttle me in my sleep.

I watched shamelessly as he continued to chop the tomatoes into small pieces. I noticed that a small crease appeared between his brows, and that his glittering emerald eyes were intent with concentration. Antonio wasn't one who cared for extreme precision, but he loved cutting the tomatoes in evenly shaped pieces. Which is why he never let me cut them because I just sort of chomp down on them, which results in uneven, ripped tomatoes with bite marks, as well as a copious amount of tomato juice all over the floor.

Then, he looked over at me. He smiled, and my stomach fluttered. Yes. My stomach fluttered. FLUTTERED. That's the cheesiest thing I've ever let myself think. Actually, no. That's a lie. A huge lie. I've come up with cheesier thoughts.

"What are you staring at?" he asked.

My face flushed. I felt the room around me grow hot as I snapped my eyes away from the bastard.

"N-Nothing. Mind your own fucking business!" I growled oh-so-eloquently. And when I say eloquently, I mean it! Okay, not really.

Then the bastard had the nerve to extend a finger and poke me on the cheek. "You look like a tomato again, Lovi!" he sing-songed. I cringed.

"Whatever," I snapped.

Then it was silent. It was a strange silence. Like…almost an awkward silence. I frowned. There's never an awkward silence between me and Antonio. Why was it happening now? I fidgeted uncomfortably and stared at him. He was frowning as well, his movements a lot less graceful as he continued to cut the tomatoes.

Okay. Weird. This is…weird. I don't think I like this very much. Antonio was giving off the impression that he wanted to say something. Something important. Something that he was reluctant to tell me. I crinkled my brows and bit my lip. This was pissing me off. I could say that it was annoying me, but as we all now know, I don't get "annoyed."

"What the fuck is it, tomato bastard?" I growled, crossing my arms, and tapping my foot impatiently against the floor.

He sighed and gave me another small crooked smile. "I was right. You do know me to well, Lovi."

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the sound of his sexy voice. Dammit. Stupid orgasmic voice. But I don't like him! I swear! Just because his voice is extremely sexy does NOT mean that I like him! Because I don't! I just find him extremely attractive!

"Alright, I wanted to tell you something…well…more like ask you something," he said, his voice edging on nervousness. I noticed that he actually fidgeted his fingers. Yes. He fidgeted. And it was…adorable. Fuck. I can't believe I actually allowed myself to think that.

I grabbed the large cup of tomato juice that sat on the counter by my side and took a large gulp. The taste calmed my unexplained nerves. Why was I so nervous about hearing what he has to say?

"Well, spit it out," I growled, running one of my hands through my extremely messy (and tangled) curly hair. I was careful to avoid the long flyaway curl that stuck out near the top of my head. I don't think it would be appropriate for me to start moaning in the middle of this conversation, thank you very much.

Antonio set down his knife and turned to face me completely. He was avoiding my eyes. He bit his bottom lip in a way that was so NOT enticing; he reached up a hand to nervously scratch the back of his head.

Wait a goddamn second. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT! Was he blushing? Gesu Cristo! Antonio Carriedo was blushing! I never see him blush! Ever! He never gets nervous enough to blush. This is a freaking Kodak moment! If only Elizaveta were here…

And why was I brimming with anticipation? Why was my heart beating so fast? Why did my stomach feel like it was performing some serious acrobatics? Why did my palms start to sweat? Why did I grit my teeth? Why did I feel excited? What was I expecting?

Maybe I'm just a fucking idiot.

I don't know.

I had somehow fooled myself into thinking that Antonio was going to profess his undying love to me. Yeah, I know.

Wait! It gets even better!

The scene sort of played out in my head. He'd sweep me off my feet, tell me how fucking beautiful I was, then he'd kiss passionately before carrying me up to his bedroom where we would have hot kinky sex that somehow involved Spanish dancing, thick ropes, and tomatoes.

Oh, si, per favore!

Wait a minute. WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE! DID I JUST THINK THAT?

I don't like him! Mental slap. Bad Lovina! BAD LOVINA!

If he professed his undying love to me, I would…um…I would…sock him in the face! Yeah! That's what I'd do!

So I waited. Watched as he fidgeted, and squirmed, and blushed under my expectant glare.

"Well, I wanted to ask you…"

Yes? Keep going, bastard.

"if...um…"

I don't have all fucking day.

"It it would be alright for me…"

Mio Dio, he's actually going to do it! Okay, take a deep breath Lovina…

"…to ask Feliciana out."

Dead silence.

Numbing silence.

I couldn't process anything. The heat was gone. The excitement was gone. It was all cold. Icy…

And I saw those enticing glittering green eyes twinkling at me, as he bit his lip in anticipation.

Waiting for my answer. Waiting for ME to give MY approval for him to date my perfect, insanely gorgeous, idiotic sister.

That's what did it.

It all came crashing down. I felt a surging hungry fire of rage consume me. It burned through every crevice of my body. It licked and snarled. It snaked down my fingertips, and legs, and skin, and organs, and…everything.

And then it was all a blur. Standing before me was Antonio, his shocked face covered in tomato juice, and my knuckles going white from gripping the cup to hard.

When did I grab this cup again?

It didn't matter.

Everything was swirling. Hot. Devastation. I felt sick. Absolutely sick.

There was a violent barbaric sound, and with a shocking realization, I realized that I had emitted the noise, before I hurled the cup right at Antonio. The Spaniard ducked just in time, and the cup smashed clean through the window. The breaking of the glass seemed to wrench me out of this whirlwind of rage.

But I didn't want the fucking bastard to see that I was going to start crying.

So I turned on my heel, and booked it, running for the stairs, climbing them up three at a time.

It's always Feliciana. Everyone chooses her over me. She's so much better than me at everything.

I just thought that maybe…just maybe…

But no. I guess that's not the case.

Oh! And what a fucking great discovery! A divine revelation one might call it! So great that it could be give the Bible a run for its money!

I just found out that I am in love with Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Right as I found out that he's crushing on my younger sister. Great timing, eh?

Goddamit. Now I sound like Matthew. The world sucks.