Author's Note: This is just a short little story I wrote that was inspired by a random picture I saw (it's the main photo, click on it to get an image ^-^)) I took this down and edited it a bit, I had a helpful commenter who pointed out a mistake I made. So danke, commenter, you're the one that mentioned Shirly Temple~!
Antonio's Thoughts:
Most people would think that running a little bakery off of the coast of Sicily would be a bit boring. There was no major events going on, the town was as peaceful and silent as the gleaming sea. But I loved it there, especially since I ran my bakery with my lover. My lover, no matter how stubborn, foul mouthed, and rude as he could be; was the center of my life, the reason that I got up in the mornings.
I had met Lovino when we were in high school. I was the highly obnoxious quarter back that everybody fawned over because I was so nice, and frankly, not bad looking. And my precious little Lovino was the artist in the school. He was hated by most, because he wouldn't run –nor cower- from a fight. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind and he wasn't afraid to draw a mustache on the teacher of the year photo if that teacher had given him a bad grade on a test.
To most people, he was annoying. To me, he was absolutely perfect. Even though he didn't smile often, if I ever managed to make him grin, it was all the more of a reward. We had started going out in our Senior year, though I'd been flirting with him since the beginning of Junior. I had graduated with the average grades, a few A's, a few B's, a really high C in my Math class because my teacher had hated the very ground I walked on. Lovino graduated as the Valedictorian of our year, and gave a speech that I could have cried at. (I will never, in my life admit that I did).
Neither of us planned on getting a college degree, though we ended up parting ways for four years as we majored in different things. Lovino in Art, and I in Cooking. That had to be the longest four years of my life, even though we talked every night and said the lines, "Te amo," (Lovino, of course, would say 'ti amo, bastard… My bastard) I still didn't get to hug him, nor kiss him though.
When those four, torturous years ended, we met up on the coast of Sicily. Lovino, if possible, had gotten even more beautiful. He had grown from a teenager to a man. His shoulders had widened a bit. He'd grown an inch (though I was still a good three inches above him), he'd let his light hazel hair grow a bit, it had only come down to the tops of his ears in high school; now it rested near the nape of his neck and fell down slightly in front of his always beautiful caramel eyes. His skin wasn't as pale, rather it was sun-kissed from his four years of studying in a college in Italy.
I myself had grown up from a teenager. I had grown an inch, my skin was still its normal, tanned color from all of the hours I spent on the beach at the coast of Barcelona. My dark chocolate hair was still as disheveled as always, my eyes the same bright emerald green color, my personality was still a boisterous, cheery Spaniards.
Together; we started a bakery.
Not just a little run of the mill, stereotypical bakery. Not one with chipped walls and a broken ceiling fan. But a nice, cozy little bakery. Lovino used his wonderful art skills, selling a few of his paintings to help afford the little building, since it was on such a beautiful scape of land. Our house was a small, one room, one bathroom, apartment that was coincidentally, the flat above our bakery. Each morning, I would get up and begin to bake all sorts of things. Macaroons, scones, croissants, cookies, cakes; everything in the world that you could imagine. Each morning we always made everything fresh, and that gave us the reputation of 'best bakery on the coast of Sicily'. Within a year of business, we didn't have to stress so much about how we were going to pay rent, or how we were going to get good, fresh ingredients for our pastries.
And now, at present day, I was handing a little girl at the counter a cookie, as she handed me a few euros for it. I smiled and thanked her, before she ran out onto the streets and showed her mother that she was capable of buying things on her own. I smiled at the sweet little display, a sudden thought coming to my head. Did Lovino want children? It wouldn't be so bad, I thought, to have a little girl or boy running around the bakery and hugging Lovino's or my knees whenever a customer walked in.
I turned to the Italian, who was a few feet away from me. He didn't know I was looking, and I happily took this time just to stare. I loved him, honest to god, I wouldn't be able to live without him. I thought about kissing him, it was a wonderful feeling. He had such soft, perfect lips that seemed to melt up against mine. His lips (and his mouth) tasted like a sweet honey, which had me completely addicted since the first time I'd ever kissed him, in the back of my History class in the eleventh grade. Yeah, yeah, I know it doesn't sound very romantic but it sure as hell felt like it at the time.
I thought about his perfectly soft light brown hair, how it felt when I ran my fingers through it as we kissed. I thought about his skin, how soft it felt under my fingers, whether I was simply holding his hand, or whether my hands were sliding up under his shirt.
As of the moment, the Italian was wearing a simple white t-shirt, which showed off the slightly tanned and perfect skin of his collar bone. Over top that, he had an olive green apron tied around his neck, that fell down to his knees. It had bits of flour over it, from an issue this morning when I'd accidentally dropped a cup of it onto the floor. He even had a bit of the powdery white substance stuck in his hair, and on his nose, though it only added to his adorableness. He was sweeping up the very same flour that I'd dropped, a focused expression set on his features.
"Hola Lovino!" I cooed over to him, glancing around to make sure no one was in the small and quaint little café before walking over next to him. Absolutely gorgeous hazel eyes looked up to meet my emerald ones.
"What is it basturdo? I'm still cleaning up the mess you made this morning…" He huffed, looking down to the pile of flour that was getting all over the both of our shoes. I laughed and spared him an apologetic look.
"Lo siento, amor. I'll try to be more careful next time." I said in a quiet, but loving tone. The smaller gave him a pouty face, cheeks slightly touched with a blush for a reason I didn't know, although it only made him that much cuter.
"Damn right you will… Look at all of this work I have to do! Why don't I work the counter for a while?" He questioned, making me smile.
"You do remember the time that you cursed out an old lady because she was a few euros short for what she wanted to buy, si?" I cooed with a teasing tone, making the other huff and look away.
"That was one damn time.." He muttered , looking back up to me. I smiled and nodded my head, not replying to him other than mumbling a small, "Alright~…"
I leaned down with a smile still on my lips, even as Lovino continued to try to argue, and connected our lips for a sweet and chaste kiss. Just before I closed my eyes, I could see the Italian roll his own gorgeous hazel ones, before melting against me and kissing me back.
I adored kissing him, almost as much as I adored him. I kept our lips connected for a good long while, until the both of us had to pull away to refill our neglected lungs with air. "Te amo." I said softly over to him, hearing the Italian reply with:
"T-ti amo, basturdo… M-my basturdo."
I grinned and pecked his lips once more. I could never, in my life, imagine a day without my precious little Italian.
Author's Note: Firstly, for anyone who's following the other stories I'm writing... I swear, I'm working on them! But this just came to me as I scrolled past a picture. The pic that inspired this will be the main Picture, and I'll also include a link at the bottom of this just in case it doesn't work. I just thought this was cute, the picture especially. I'm sorry, I only spent an hour on it, so if there are any grammar mistakes, I do apologize; but unless they're really bad I won't go back and fix them.
Recently I've gotten a few flame comments on my other stories. I'm probably the only author on here that says this. If you want to flame; go ahead and flame. But don't be surprised when I yell right back at you. And like someone else who flamed, don't be very rude, and then block me from replying to you; in my opinion that's cowardice. (You know who you are, if you just so happen to be reading this). I get attached to my characters, so don't expect me to lay down when you call them mean names.
The picture is not mine (obviously), credit to whoever drew it. I tried to track them down, but I gave up after searching all over DeviantArt and others. So, if you are -or know- the person who drew it, just let me know and I'll take it down if you'd like, or just put the credits in! My friend came up with the title, because I was brain dead, so congrats to her. She doesn't write Fan Fictions as much as she does her own stories, so go read some of them right here MissWritersBlock . (C'mon guys, help her out and blow her comment box with reviews).
Here's the picture that inspired it all . /hphotos-ash4/q71/s720x720/1044408_543842605679271 _2027184126_
(Oh my gosh if you read all of that above then you get a cookie, because I'm always too lazy to read really long Authors Notes). I would like to thank you for reading, I don't write in first person a lot so it was fun to try. Tell me how I did, what you liked, loved, hated (be warned I will reply rudely if you be mean, so don't pull the whole 'woah man calm down' crap with me), anything! Have a good, Spamano filled day!