Temper (America x Reader)

Ah, simply listen. The clinking of cups against plates, a symphony of porcelain, and the sweet, soft sound of tea rushing from pot to cup with the majestic grace of a distant waterfall. It was afternoons like these, spent in England's quiet company, that truly brought about peace and a well-tempered chi. The scent of the tea alone, lightly bathed in an array of pale yellow nectar petals, is enough to clear your head and soothe your heart of all wearies you'd been forced to endure as of late.

Those mandatory conferences had been miserable, to say the least. Chaos and absolute anarchy seemed to be the only thing present, running rampant. Voices yelling pointlessly one over another and positively no agreement on any sort of state order or movements. But of the hectic bunch, who simply had to be the worst one of them all?

Alfred. Of course it was Alfred. It was always the dorky and uncouth America.

Honestly though. There was no country that outraged you—simply crawling beneath your skin—quite like him. He was everything a decent country shouldn’t be. It was times like those that your sympathy and respect towards the Briton sitting calmly across from you heightened to new levels. How in the world had he managed to deal with that one? Your only consolation was that Canada turned out alright, despite Francis’ influence. Why couldn’t he be more like his brother Matthew: well behaved and knew to keep his nose out of other’s affairs? Now, now. There was no need to work yourself into a tizzy after all you’d come all this way to visit Arthur, to relax and exist in harmonious peace, if only for a short time.

With a content sigh you draw the fresh cup to your lips—!

“Surprise visit!”

—only to spill the heated liquid about your lap.

With a yelp of pain, as well as surprise from the slamming of the door, you leap from your spot upon the sofa and stand to your feet, holding out the front of your dress to prevent it from burning you any further. Arthur is quick to your aid, tossing his book aside to fetch a hand towel from the kitchen.

“Whoops. My bad (name)…”

My bad? My bad! Was that all the American had to say for not only forcing you to burn yourself, but for ruining your favorite dress? My bad?!

“You are incorrigible!” you huff angrily past gritted teeth.

Goodness it was taking every ounce of pure self-restraint and your overall sense of humanity not to strangle the blonde where he stood, bare hands and all.

“Easy (name),” Arthur urges gently as he returns into the room to offer you the fresh towel

“Yeah. No need to go insulting people with large words,” Alfred teases bashfully, a hand scratching at the back of his neck while an awkward smile raided his lips.

That. Was. It!

“You…you are utterly despicable! The nerve! The audacity! How dare you try to placate me after everything you’ve done?”

You were certain that if you weren’t currently feeling quite so indignant then you would’ve snickered at the comical size of Alfred’s eyes. You smirk smugly before glancing over to the blonde beside you.

“(Name), why don’t you go borrow some of my clothes until we get your dress cleaned.”

You watch Arthur warily. It was apparent that the man was trying to diffuse the situation with the least amount of damage, either to Alfred's emotions or his own property you would never know. With a resigned sigh and a nod, you turn on your heels and silently make for Arthur’s quarters. The American is silent as he watches you go before looking to Arthur, who merely sighs as he lifts two fingers to nurse his aching temple. It’s Arthur's turn to sigh and he does so histrionically to emphasis his point.

“Alfred, what are you doing here?” he inquires softly as he drops down into an arm chair, elbow propped and head resting upon his palm.

Alfred draws close, albeit hesitantly, stopping when he’s at last standing beside Arthur before settling down on the floor beside the chair, legs criss-crossed.

“Surprise visit?” Alfred says hopefully.

Arthur looks down to proffer the American a flat look, “And what have I told you about surprise visits?”

“Umm…not to?”

“Exactly. When one, especially a country of your stature, has the desire to visit then they must schedule accordingly and appropriately. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yeah,” is his response though it comes out more like a question than the American honestly intended.

“I’m saying to call ahead. It isn't rocket science, only common courtesy.”

“No. I know. I know what you meant…I would’ve, it’s just…” Alfred falls silent as he seemingly gazes off into space, his mind likely drifting beyond the confines of this room.

Arthur lets out a weary sigh as he shifts to run a hand through his blonde tendrils, “It’s just what?”

Alfred looks over to the Briton, to find that his brows are raised inquiring though somewhat knowing. Swiftly Alfred glances towards the door in which you exited before giving Arthur his full attention.

“I heard that (name) was here and I knew that if I called ahead you would’ve told her I was coming and she would’ve made sure to leave before I came.”

Arthur only nods with a smirk, reclining leisurely back in his seat, an elbow propped and a leg crossed casually over his lower thigh. It’s honestly taking every effort not to laugh at the blush across the American’s face as he eyes the floor uncertainly.

“I know. Francis told me you would likely be stopping by.”

“Francis!” Alfred exclaims as he rushes to his feet somewhat haphazardly, “He said he wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“How you ever fell under the impression that man could keep a secret will forever be beyond me,” Arthur replies with a nonchalant look as he examined his well-manicured nails.

Alfred looks prime to make an opposing argument, but realization dawns on him soon enough and with drooped shoulder he moves to throw himself upon the sofa opposite Arthur, arms listlessly lying beside his body.

“Hey! Shoes off the furniture!”

Alfred moans pitifully into one of the pillows before urging his shoes off with his feet, shoes dropping to the floor in a quick succession of thuds. Arthur’s hand is quick to his temple once more and a sneer crosses his face.

“That is not what I meant,” he grinds out slightly peeved, but the American pays him no mind.

“Francis told me that girls love surprises…”

It takes Arthur a few minutes to understand what was said, seeing that Alfred’s face was currently smashed against a pillow, but when he does his own eyes grow wide with his own source of surprise.

“And you believed him? You believed Francis? Francis?”

Alfred turns his head towards Arthur, cheek flat against the pillow, “Well he is a lady’s man…”

“Don’t…don’t call him that ever, especially not aloud. It’ll go straight to that uncontrollable ego of his.”

Alfred lets out an amused sort of huff  before his eyes drift towards the door once more.

“Do you think she hates me now?”

“She’s always hated you,” is Arthur’s prompt response and the hopeful look on the American’s face is instantaneously wiped clean from existence.

Arthur doesn’t stop himself from sniggering this time around. But the laughter is short lived when the American turns his face back into the pillow and begins making a shrill noise reminiscent of that awkward sobbing he used to do as a child. The sheer memory of the sound is enough to make Arthur cringe and set out to prevent a live display of those dreadful noises.

“Alfred! Listen and listen well,” Arthur demands with the attention garnering snap of his fingers.

Alfred nods into the pillow before sitting up appropriately on the sofa—or as appropriately as appropriate was for the American. Personally Alfred wasn’t pleased with the man's posture, but another thought for another day.

“A girl like (name) would not like surprises. She’s blood type O for heaven’s sakes. If it’s not on her agenda, then it shouldn’t happen.”

Alfred nods with a wistful sigh, “She did seem really angry.”

“Well you did make her spill searing tea onto her lap. Not to mention that its going to be a feat in itself to be rid of the stain the spill likely left behind.”

Alfred winces at the not so distant memory and sighs.

“But it’s more than that. That was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. As goal-oriented as (name) may be, she doesn’t dwell over the small things. It’s just that all your small things added up to one huge problem that needed to be addressed.”

Arthur’s words only seem to worsen Alfred’s spirits so the Briton quickly shifts gears. He readjusts himself in his seat, leaning forward with elbows resting atop his knees.

“Look. (Name) is a goal-oriented sort of lady. She’s ambitious and she goes straight for the prize and I’m sure she likes her men that way too. So quit beating around the bush. It’s annoying.”

“She thinks it annoying, huh?”

“No, I think it’s annoying so quit it.”

The statement brings a genuine grin to the American’s face and Arthur offers him a brief smile before clearing his throat and standing to his feet.

“Well if you’ll excuse me. I have some laundry to do. Be sure to put that abrasive American ‘charm’ to good use.”

And with that the Briton strolls from the parlor and you enter only minutes after, dressed in a pair of Alfred’s trousers and a crisp, white button-up shirt.

“(Name)!”

“Must you yell?” you inquire halfheartedly and with a sigh, a lone hand running through  your hair.

“No…sorry.”

You roll your eyes as you make way towards the kitchen in pursuit of parchment, but you pause to peer at the blonde, whose eyes were resting anxiously upon the ground. You sigh and roll your eyes once more before speaking.

“Do you drink tea?”

Your sudden inquiry catches Alfred off guard and his eyes quickly snap to you. He could lie and tell you yes, but Arthur said…

“No, not really.”

You watch him expectantly before a small smile graces your lips and your eyes soften. You shake your head with yet another sigh—far more gentle than the last few—before moving to sit on the sofa beside Alfred. He eyes you with caution and you simply can’t help but laugh, but Alfred is too dazed by your sudden proximity to even fluster.

“I’m not one for pretense nor avoiding the issue so here goes. It was wrong of me to snap at you like that. Yes, you are an infuriating, exasperating, and trying person, but I could’ve worded my distaste much differently.”

“Well gee. Thanks…”

The pitiful look on the American’s face only urges the smile upon your face to grow.

“Well that was all I wanted to say.”

You smoothly rise to your feet with the intention of heading to the kitchen for that parchment in which you sought earlier, but Alfred is quick both to stand to his feet and catch your wrist.

“(Name)! I have something to tell you!”

“Well, are you going to yell it to me whilst holding me captive?”

The tone in your voice is more playful than anything, but Alfred swiftly relinquishes you from his hold, a slight blush about his cheeks.

“Well, out with it.”

Alfred takes in a deep breath, straightening his posture and locking his gaze with your own.

“I really like you and I only came here today in the hopes of seeing you!”

His words are rushed and you remain silent for quite some time before replying.

“I know.”

Surprise and disbelief are evident upon his visage as he looks to you with widened eyes and slackened jaw, “You know?”

You nod and hum in agreement, rocking gently back and forth—heel to toe, heel to toe—with a smile upon your face, “Francis told me.”

“Francis! God…Francis!”

Alfred looks genuinely panicked and somewhat betrayed and you find a sense of humorous guilt building up.

“Calm down. I’m only teasing. I overheard your conversation with Iggy.”

“You did?” he asks hesitantly and you only nod.

There’s a silence between you both again, one of which is most unbearable for Alfred, though you find his uncomfortable state somewhat amusing and endeavor to drag it out for as long as you deem appropriate and entertaining.

“Though…I do suppose I could come to return your affections.”

“Really?! I mean…with me?”

“I never run from a challenge. Just because something’s difficult doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Just because you’re hard to handle doesn’t mean you’re impossible to put a leash on.”

“That sweet of you to say…I think.”

The American’s eyes drift leftward as he ponders your words and you chuckle at the sight. Yes, he could be annoying. Indeed, he could be troublesome. And absolutely, the man could wreak havoc. But you supposed there were some good things about him as well, like how he was so very easy to fluster and tease.

“This relationship is going to be interesting,” you purr, “So I promise to control my temper only if you promise to at least try not to push my buttons.”

Alfred chuckles deeply as he takes up a handful of Arthur’s shirt, “No promises there. I think I’d much rather push all these buttons.”

You smirk roguishly with the roll of your eyes as you take his hand from you person, instead opting to twine his fingers about your own. You move in to lay a kiss upon his cheek before pulling back to proffer him a teasing look. Alfred looks all but ready to make your lips his own, but the sudden chime of your cellphone resting upon the coffee table thwarts all prior intentions. Ever the workaholic, you move away to pick up the device but all the while Alfred does not release your hand.

When your eyes scan the simplistic text in which you received you cannot stop the peals of laughter that rip from your throat.

“What? What is it?” Alfred questions, curious and uncertain.

“Now Francis told me.”

Alfred is swift to withdraw his hand from yours—which is fine by you. You needed both your hands to hold your stomach amidst your laughter—to take up your cellular device in both his hands. His face contorts through a series of emotions: blatant confusion, obvious contemplating, and ending with the grand finale of evident realization and palpable dander.

“Francis!”