SKIP THE BOLD IF YOU DON'T WANT A SPOILER. THIS IS ONLY HERE IF YOU WANT IT TO BE SPOILED MKAY
Characters: Italy Romano, Italy Veneziano, Germany, England, France, America, Spain, Prussia (mentioned) Greece (mentioned) Turkey (mentioned) Canada (mentioned) Austria (mentioned) Netherlands (mentioned) Germania (Mentioned) Rome (mentioned) Belgium (mentioned)
Ships: one-sided Itacest, hints of SpUK and also GerIta if you squint, potential hints of Spamano, Romerica, and Germano though not intended...
Rated for: Graphic Violence, borderline dub-con, gore, and strong sexual references
So, the last horror fic I wrote Romano was the evil one and Feli was the victim. I think this balances out the field considerably.
It was a normal day during the world meeting. Well, at least they thought. Greece was asleep with Turkey glaring at him and Spain and Portugal arguing over ridiculous matters not that far away from them. France and England were throwing insults while America grinned next to them, throwing in his own obnoxious comments every once and awhile. Canada sighed from his seat.
However, when the fighting continued and Germany hadn't intervened, the nation's silenced themselves in realisation. They looked at his seat. England looked at France.
"Where the bloody hell is Germany?" France looked over to ask Italy only to see that the pasta-loving nation wasn't there either.
Normally, that wasn't that big of a deal. If Italy Veneziano wasn't there then Italy Romano would begrudgingly show up in his stead.
Romano wasn't there either, worrying the nations.
Meanwhile in Italy:
Veneziano smiled at the German nation, looking down at his angered—yet surprised—face. "Germany. A–aren't you proud of me?" He asked with a fake worried tone.
Germany glared at him, skin covered in gashes and scars. "Nien!" He looked up at him, blue eyes ireful.
Veneziano pouted, scraping the knife down the other nation's bit his lip to keep from doing something stupid like screaming for Prussia.
Romano, upstairs, was sleeping, unaware of what was happening in downstairs. Veneziano pulled away smirking. "Buonanotte, Germania." He headed upstairs, covered in blood. "Oh, I should wake fratello!" He headed upstairs and opened Romano's door. "Lovi! It's almost lunch time!"
Romano groaned and sat up. "Oi! idiota I was—Feli?" He widened his eyes, seeing the blood on his brother.
"Che?"
"Where the fuck did that blood come from! What nation attacked you?" He got up, racing to him.
"Silly fratello. It's just pasta sauce." Feliciano looked up, an innocent look in his eyes.
Romano narrowed his eyes. "It doesn't smell like tomato sauce."
Veneziano looked up at him, coming closer, a more dangerous look in his golden brown eyes. Romano gulped and the younger Italian's face went back to being cheerful. "Lunch is almost done!" Italy Veneziano informed him before leaving the room. Romano sighed and followed him down the steps only to come to a halt seeing Germany. His face became distorted into a mixed expression of horror and shock at the half-dead nation. Germany looked at him hopelessly.
"Uh, Fratello?"
"Si?"
"Why the hell is there a bleeding potato on our floor?"
"Che? Oh." He grinned at Romano. "Aren't you happy? I thought I would surprise you!"
Romano trembled. "O-oh…" He looked at Germany with a fearful expression before back to Veneziano. Germany sighed in relief, glad for the other Italian nation not seeming to care. He had been sure that Romano, seeing him like that, would at the least laugh and kick him while he was down, literally. But he didn't.
Germany didn't have time to think about Romano's actions because Veneziano distracted him. "And I was planning a new pasta with German wurst, but I didn't have any. Germany does though!"
Germany frowned. "Nei—" He started to say before realizing the implication behind what Veneziano was saying. "NEIN!"
"Awh. But Germany!"
"Can we hold off on the wurst, fratello? That would taste awful in pasta." Romano wrinkled his nose.
Veneziano frowned. "But—"
"No buts, idiot."
"Fratello, per favore?"
"Fine, but I'm not eating." Germany sighed. Damn you, Romano.
Romano walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table with a sigh. He winced, hearing muffled whimpers of pain from the once strong nation. The hell was... Dios mio, Veneziano didn't...
Veneziano came in after a minute, one eye bruised, presumably from being hit in the face by a German. Romano gulped, watching him walk from the doorway to the pot full of already cooked pasta and set the insulting appendage in the freezer.
"I know Fratello doesn't like German food, so I'll save that for later." He said with a smile. "You know," He added thoughtfully. "It's smaller than I thought it would be."
Romano blinked. "The hell were you even thinking of that for?"
"Is Lovi jealous?"
Romano spluttered. "Of getting my vital regions chopped off? Not a chance, dumbass."
Veneziano looked hurt. "I wouldn't do that to you fratello. You're too precious to me."
"And the potato bastard isn't?" Veneziano let the pasta boil, coming back to him and sitting on his lap so that he was facing him.
"Si." He leaned in, kissing his cheek softly. Romano shivered from the unwanted proximity.
Veneziano moved his mouth slightly, giving him another peck on the corner of his mouth before going back to the pasta, stirring it.
"Fratello can you finish the sauce?" He asked.
"S-Si." Romano stuttered, standing up to do so, more out of fear that a willingness to help the younger out.
Veneziano smiled as Romano added the tomatoes that he had already chopped into the tomato paste before adding a few spices, humming under his breath.
The two brothers completed their lunch, Romano attempting to ignore the younger Italian as much as he could. He thought about the thing that Veneziano had put into the freezer, wanting to puke. And his fratellino was even planning on eating it...
He tried to push away the unsettling thoughts as he sat down at the table, cautiously sniffing at the pasta to make sure it wasn't skin or something.
He took a hesitant bite, trying to ignore Veneziano's gaze. The younger Italian watched him, waiting for him to be done.
Once he was, Veneziano spoke. "Fratello, you got some sauce on your mouth."
Romano licked around his mouth attempting to get it off, frowning when he felt nothing. "Che? Fratello. There's nothing there."
"Oh?" Veneziano dipped a finger into the sauce, coming around and pressing it onto the older's mouth. "You do too, fratello!"
"But you—"
"Hush, fratello! I'll clean it off." Veneziano crawled into Romano's lap, causing the older nation to gasp. He leaned down, licking Romano's lips in a circle before kissing them softly. Romano widened his eyes in shock, unsure how to react.
Feliciano pulled away, fake tears in his eyes. "Fratello? Do you not love me? You won't kiss me back." He frowned at him.
"Brothers don't kiss like that dumbass!"
Veneziano frowned and reached out, rubbing the top of a now squirming Romano's curl, making his eyes light up in anger and unwanted arousal. He squirmed more attempting to shove him off only for Veneziano to hold him down harder. "Fratello? Is there something wrong?"
"Fuck you, Feliciano."
Veneziano grinned, pecking the older's lips again, receiving reluctant reception as Romano gave in this time with a resigned sigh.
Veneziano pulled away suddenly. "Oh, the world meeting is today!" He jumped off of Romano's lap and went to leave. Romano sighed, walking over to the pot with a frown. He reached up for a different bowl, pouring it full of pasta.
He took the bowl to the living room and sat it down in front of Germany. "Nein! I'm not eating that!" Germany scrambled away from him, looking up at him in a look of disgust, shock, and under it, badly concealed pride. Obviously for the fact that his precious Italian had finally grown something resembling a backbone.
Romano glared. He didn't have to take this damn bastard food. Why the hell could he have that look on his face after Veneziano had tortured him that much? How could he still like that asshole more than him? Of course, all nations did. So it wasn't a surprise.
He sighed. "Veneziano didn't... Add it in." He sat down next to him, no anger in his voice. Just pity. Germany slowly reached for the bowl, hands shaking.
"Danke, Romano." Romano sighed, watching him attempt to eat it, finally taking the bowl from him and feeding him himself, scowling.
Germany didn't understand why Romano was feeding him while Veneziano was gone or even being nice to him. However, Germany decided to embrace the rare actions of the Italian, giving him a grateful look. After that, Romano moved to tend to his wounds, bandaging most of them. They looked like they were more severe. They'd take a little longer to heal on their own.
Germany sighed, leaning back as Romano concentrated. "I wouldn't have thought you knew how to heal."
"Shut up bastard." Ah, that was the Romano he knew. "Spagna used to get his damn self hurt all the fucking time when trying to fight Turkey, England and Netherlands during my colony years so I got accustomed to it." He shrugged, soon finishing and standing up.
England and France were much more relieved to see Italy than normal as he entered the meeting late. "Big brother France!" He called, willingly hugging him. England scoffed, much more worried about the whereabouts of Germany.
When he asked the Italian, Italy didn't seem to know either. In fact, he looked like he was panicking after learning that Germany wasn't there. After all he wasn't the type of nation that would skip a meeting, even if he were sick, and Italy Veneziano was a rather clingy person.
But as the weeks went on, Turkey, and then France also went missing, along with Austria. Romano noticed a trend of who Veneziano was bringing home. It was the nations who had wronged Romano throughout the years. He figured he was supposed to feel flattered somehow but he was just creeped out. He continued to bring food and supplies to the nations that Veneziano had captured. It was his fault they were here, so he felt an obligation to help them.
France was in the worse shape. Veneziano had long figured out the perfect weapon to use against him. Romano shivered, seeing his broken down face, no trace of the long, silky blonde hair he was used to. Even four weeks after his capture, Romano was still disgusted by the odd appearance he had now. Not that bald wasn't fashionable, but Romano knew that this too was his fault.
After making his rounds, he was stopped by a pair of lips meeting his own. Veneziano pulled away. "Fratello! What should I put in the tomato sauce! I can't choose between beef or scones."
"Why the fuck would y—Oh." America or England. "Neither."
"Ve, but fratellone! They're both suspicious! I need to rid the Earth of the nations who hurt you!" He pulled him into a hug.
Romano sighed. Veneziano grinned, tightening his hold. Romano rested his head against his shoulder, eyes open. He didn't necessarily trust Veneziano anymore.
Veneziano smiled, lifting up his older brother, who gasped in surprise. Sure, Veneziano was taller, but when had he gotten this strong? Well, he did take down Germany. Romano had always assumed it was the element of surprise and Veneziano's assumed cowardice.
Romano instinctively tightened his grip, not wanting to fall. "Veneziano, what the hell are you doing?"
"Che? Fratello, I'm having fun!" Romano looked up at him. Veneziano grinned, carrying him to the couch. Romano tensed, only to relax when he was set back down, his head hitting the soft cushion.
Veneziano crawled on top of him. Romano let out a loud gasp as he moved his lips down to his neck.
"G-god dammit Feliciano." Veneziano smirked, kissing him again on the same spot. Romano hated it. It was like Veneziano was keeping him as a pet or something that he needed to protect. This wasn't normal. He shivered.
Small teeth grazed his neck, a moan forcing itself out of his mouth despite the touch being unwanted and uncomfortable, The moan urged Veneziano on, his hands moving under Romano's shirt, feeling the tanned, smooth skin underneath. He moved his hand around in a circle against Romano's hip, as if begging for Romano to return the affection. Romano laid still for a few seconds before he lifted his hands shakily to Veneziano's waist. The other licked his neck approvingly, earning a shudder from the elder.
"Veneziano y-you bastard." Romano stuttered out as the hand under his shirt moved higher. His other hand went up to his hair, tugging at the older's curl. Romano whimpered.
"Ti amo, Lovino." He muttered against his neck, leaving a dark bruise there, removing his hand from under Romano's shirt, still pulling at his curl.
The doorbell ring, pulling Veneziano from his teasing. Once he was out of earshot, his shaken brother let out a sigh of relief.
"Hey, Italy!" The voice was America's.
"Ciao!" Romano heard a scuffling of feet. He assumed the two idiots hugged each other. Well, America was an idiot. Veneziano was diabolical.
Romano was asked to come help Veneziano make America food in the kitchen. America's eyes lit up upon seeing Romano. Romano scowled at him and went into the kitchen.
A few hours later, Romano sat in front of America, waiting for him to wake up. Veneziano had slipped something into the food to knock him out. Whatever it was, Romano had no idea. America's blue eyes shot open. Upon seeing Romano, he scrambled away. Not even an idiot like him couldn't have at least noticed that his hands were tied. Literally.
Romano realised that everyone who had gone missing so far was a nation who had wronged him, or he just hated. Turkey was the only one of the four that Veneziano particularly even disliked. The other three—Austria, Germany, France—they were all nations that Veneziano was close to. Of course America would assume it had been Romano.
This was slightly different than Turkey and France, who had tried to kidnap Romano, or Austria, who had given Romano to Spain because he wasn't good enough. This wasn't Germany, who Romano just hated because of Germania killing Rome. This was America, who Romano had lived with for a time and somewhat liked.
With that in mind, what was stopping Veneziano from going after Spain or Belgium? Romano looked at America with a scowl. "Took you long enough to wake up, bastard?"
America glared. "Whatever you kidnapped me for, it doesn't matter. I'll always just use my heroic abilities to escape." He looked down with a frown at the rope tied around his hands. "Um, a little help?"
Romano rolled his eyes. "I thought you had practically superhuman strength, idiot."
"Oh, yeah." Romano facepalmed.
America seemed to be Veneziano's favourite of the captives and actually was fed, which made Romano's job much easier. Romano figured that America was here on a bribe of being fed non-stop. Oh well. Veneziano would decide how to torture him later. Maybe he was poisoning his food. Though considering who raised him, Romano figured he'd be immune to anything he put in it.
About three months later, another World Meeting came around and Romano wasn't sure who Veneziano had brought home. The younger had told him to stay down in the basement with Germany and Austria. A divider seperated them from Turkey, and another from France. He was curled up on Germany's lap, shivering. Apparently the basement was always kept this cold. Romano had never noticed.
Germany sighed. Austria frowned, his clothes torn and hands eternally broken. "I wonder who the hell he's bringing home." Romano muttered.
Meanwhile, Spain looked at Veneziano who was next to him with a wide smile, but a worried tone came out of his mouth. "Italy? Have you seen Roma? He won't answer any of my calls."
"Si, he's at home!" Veneziano's eyes lit up with happiness. "I-I can drive you there. Big brother would love to see you!"
"Gracias."
"Prego big brother Spain." Veneziano looked down, his smirk hidden behind his large pile of notes—or more accurately, his large pile of drawings of Romano.
Spain looked down at the drawings, eyes full of adoration. Veneziano knew exactly who his newest target was.
He did it in Romano's room under the pretense that Romano was in it, though that was a lie. Romano was still locked in the basement with Germany.
Spain's hands were tied to the bed, chest and stomach cut up, the skin on his arms peeled half-way off. Veneziano held out a cup to collect the blood for his plan while looking at him innocently, though they both knew he wasn't.
"Why?"
"I couldn't have you messing up my plan. Roma will be so happy to see you like that. He never liked you much." A lie that Veneziano knew all too well, but the expression on his face was enough. Satisfied, he walked downstairs to make some pasta.
"Roma! Pasta!" He called as he went down the steps to unlock the door. Romano went up. "I put extra tomatoes in it."
He set a bowl down in front of Romano as he sat down. Romano went to take a bite but pulled away, frowning. This... Didn't look like tomato sauce. He sniffed at it, dropping the fork.
"Is something wrong, fratello?" Veneziano frowned, sitting down in his lap, kissing his neck.
"What did you put in this?"
"I told you. Extra tomatoes. W-why aren't you eating it? Are you sick?" He worriedly brought up a hand to feel his forehead. Romano sighed.
"Fratello..."
"Si?"
"Who did you bring home today?"
Veneziano bit his lip. "Eat the pasta first. Be a good boy, Lovi. Only good boys get a present."
"What the hell do you mean by—"
Veneziano cut him off with a finger on his lips. "Pasta first."
Romano frowned, but consented to letting him feed him. The pasta sauce tasted all wrong. He frowned, not wanting to find out what was in in." .
"I fed you a new kind of a sauce. Spanish-made sauce." Veneziano spoke louder."Did you like it Lovi?"
Another accented voice spoke faintly from upstairs."Lovi?"
"Spagna?" He said, turning white. Veneziano frowned.
"Fratello?" Veneziano stepped forward, kissing his cheek. "Is something wrong?" He moved his mouth lower, sucking on his neck. Romano pushed him away, running up the stairs. He threw open the door to his room. "Spagna?"
Spain was about to give up—beginning to think that Romano wasn't really there or worse—when he heard Veneziano say, "Did you like it. Lovi?"
"Lovi?" He said, glancing to the door. He heard a deeper voice than Italy's speak, which he recognised faintly as Romano. He tried to bite back his relieved grin. After all, if innocent Italy could do this, then what was stopping Romano?
He heard feet running up the steps. He tensed, assuming the person was going to hurt him, whichever of the brothers it was. The door opened. "Spagna?" He glanced up, seeing Romano. He shrunk back.
Romano watched him, face emotionless as he stepped forward to help him. Seeing him like that was sickening. Sure, as a child, he had seen Spain much worse than this, but this was more nauseating than any of those times.
He walked towards him, reaching up to untie his wrists. Spain's eyes locked on to him, lacking the happiness he normally saw on his face when he saw him. Romano skilfully freed his arms.
Spain reached out for him, a cautious look on his face. Romano, shocking both of them, willingly crawled into his arms, laying against him as if he were a scared child needing comfort from a father.
Spain pet his hair softly, blood dripping onto the younger nation, who began to let our sobs. "He forced me to drink your blood..." Romano cried, sobs wracking his body.
Spain remembered the cup that Italy had had with him that he caught the red liquid in as it fell from his wounds, now knowing what he had done with it. He had fed it to an unwitting Romano. Spain wrinkled his nose.
"You idiot. What the hell did you do to get him to do this to you?" Romano asked.
"Que? I asked where you were."
"O-oh." Spain leaned over to plant a kiss against his forehead. Romano closed his eyes, snuggling up against him.
Veneziano frowned from the doorway of the room, looking at them with a frown. "Roma, we were going to spend time together. Fratello?" Romano clutched tighter to Spain's shirt, sniffling before reluctantly letting go.
Veneziano wrapped a possessive arm tightly around Romano's waist, kissing the side of his face. The younger Italian glared at the Spaniard. "You know, you have a nice ass. It would be bad if something were to happen to it." Veneziano pulled a knife out of his pocket, trailing the tip down Romano's cheek teasingly with a giggle.
Romano shivered and then remembered the promise Veneziano had made. "Do I get that reward now you dumbass?"
"Oh, Si!" He moved the knife higher, gently grazing Romano's curl with it, not enough to do damage, but enough that Romano could feel it. He gasped.
Spain raised an eyebrow. Romano whimpered, looking at him hopelessly as Veneziano pulled him away from his room and into his own.
Romano soon found himself on his brother's bed. Veneziano was on top of him, kissing him senselessly. He couldn't see how this was supposed to be a reward for anyone but Veneziano. He tried to shake him off, but that only encouraged him. Veneziano grinded against him, a feeling unwanted.
Romano let out a moan anyway, his body betraying him. Veneziano stroke his cheek lovingly and Romano winced.
"F-fratello, off." Romano weakly said, reaching out an arm to push him away. Veneziano pinned his arms above his head, moving his mouth over Romano's to silence him.
"Lovi." He murmured against his lips. "Ti amo."
"Ti voglio bene, fratello." Romano replied shakily,body tense under him.
Veneziano pulled away from his mouth, moving to suck on his neck as he had attempted earlier, and Romano, resigned to his touch, allowed him to. Veneziano smirked when Romano began to let out small moans of his own, signalling that his body at least liked what he was doing.
Romano, on the other hand, absolutely hated it. He would do anything to get him to stop. Veneziano's fingers played with the waistband of Romano's pants, the older Italian involuntarily bucking into him. Veneziano moved one of his hands to Romano's shirt, sliding a hand under it. He rubbed at one of his nipples.
"F-fuck, F-feli." Romano slurred. The older felt a tongue flick at his curl teasingly.
Veneziano smirked. Romano glared, not liking the position he was in. Veneziano spoke. "Can I take this off, Lovi?"
Romano gasped, but never one to let someone like Veneziano have an upper hand over him in this type of war, he glared, flipping them, causing Veneziano to whine.
Romano leaned down, eyes half-lidded in lust. He had given in to Veneziano's advances, too worn down seeing Spain like that to reject him.
Veneziano reached up to take off Romano's shirt. The older allowed him to, returning the favor.
"Lovi... I want you." He whimpered. Romano smirked, realising that Veneziano was still submissive in at least this way. He kind of looked adorable like that. Romano went down lower, licking at the zipper on Veneziano's pants.
Veneziano let out a moan. Romano pulled down the zipper and Veneziano did the same with his, rubbing at his clothed member harshly. Romano groaned, pulling Veneziano's pants down all the way, leaving him in his boxers.
"F-Fratello." Veneziano moaned, snapping Romano back to reality. He didn't want this. Veneziano had manipulated his vulnerability. That's why he had let him go up after Spain had called for him. To break him into doing whatever Veneziano wanted to do with him.
Romano pulled away, making Veneziano whine. The older Italian spoke. "I-if we do this bastard, you're going to let Spain go."
"I can't! He knows too much fratello!" Veneziano frown. "Roma? D-do you not love me?" His eyes watered.
"That's not it, dumbass."
"You love Spain more than me." He sniffled.
"I don't love Spain, you idiot."
"Don't lie, fratellone." The dangerous gleam in Veneziano's eyes was back, but Romano didn't back down.
Spain had raised him. He was the closest thing to a father a nation could have. Veneziano was nuts. He wasn't Romano's little brother now. Just a freakshow. He would do anything to protect Spain against this idiot. "Go to hell you sick bastard."
Veneziano started crying. Romano got off of him, crossing his arms. He stood up, face lacking of any remorse. Veneziano whined. "Fratello, don't leave me like this." Romano shook his head, closing the door behind him as he walked out, leaving his sobbing brother behind.
Veneziano narrowed his eyes and went to follow him. He tackled Romano to the floor. "Lovi." He stated, straddling his hips. Romano sighed. "I still need help with my problem. Don't leave me. Per favore." His tone was dangerous, and Romano, scared as hell, relented. He allowed his younger brother to carry him back into the bedroom, tensed from the knowledge that he couldn't escape this.
Someone barging into the house was what saved him. He heard England's voice, having apparently received a frantic call from America during the Spain distraction, the nation must have come all the way from his hotel. "Italy! Where the bloody hell are America and France? Not that I care about them or anything." America called for him faintly and they could hear England's shuffling feet from upstairs.
They could hear England and America sharing conversation. The surprisingly civil conversation was worrying. Then, England's feet frantically ran up the steps, calling for Spain.
Veneziano frowned. He had managed to tug off Romano's pants before England had entered. Romano quickly pulled them back up as England ran past the half open door.
England knelt down in front of Spain with a noticeable frown. "What happened to you?" He raised an eyebrow. Spain didn't have the strength to even laugh. England lifted his head up gently to examine him as Veneziano and Romano entered.
"He's just a little banged up," Veneziano claimed. "Not nearly as bad as Germany." He frowned. "England?"
England didn't meet his eye. Spain reached up for him weakly. "Mi amor?"
England leaned in to the kiss his lips gently before glaring at Veneziano. "Italy!"
"Si?"
"Why?"
"H-he was going to steal Big Brother from me! I couldn't let that happen!" England blinked. Romano began crying. "It doesn't matter now! Because you're here to keep him company! Now everyone's happy, right England."
"Only you, it would seem." England sneered. "Romano seems to be turning green by the minute. What makes you think that he likes the attention?"
Veneziano turned to Romano, lip quivering. His eyes widened seeing the tears falling down his face. "F-fratello?" He asked, reaching for him. Romano shrunk back, tripping over Spain, ending up in his lap. Italy Veneziano turned to England, shakily. "Y-you're lying."
Romano sighed, getting up despite the weak protests from his former caretaker and pulled Veneziano into a hug, not liking him upset. Maybe he was just weird. Would anyone else be as pathetic as he was, attempting to comfort a brother that had hurt him in more ways than one. Spain sighed, leaning back against the wall. Romano was going to get himself hurt.
"J-just let everyone go Feliciano." Romano whimpered.
"B-but fratello..." He whined.
"Ti amo," he lied, purring the words out against his ear.
"Lovi..."
"Si?"
"Anch'io ti amo." He muttered, kissing his cheek with a tenderness that Romano suspected was faked.