Fight or Flight | 2p Hetalia x Reader

Chapter Two: Forced Apologies

So, fun fact, I wrote a reader-insert smut fic about Allen (2p America) where he and the reader essentially have hate sex in the back of a car. I never finished it tho. Am I ever gonna post it?? nahhh. def not lmao. but y'all do get to know that I did write that at some point

Anyways I'll let y'all get back to the story

...

Behind the display counter stands the strawberry blond you'd seen in the kitchen before, now with his arms crossed and absolutely fuming as he stares down the brunette, whose name you'd just learned was Allen.

"Come back here. Now," The man behind the counter practically hisses, narrowing his bright blue eyes and jutting his head towards the kitchen.'

Allen huffs, yanking his hand out of the blond's, who he called Matt, grip. He casts one more angry glare at you before stomping off to the kitchen. The strawberry blond followed him and slammed the door to the back, though the shut door didn't do much to muffle the shouting that suddenly erupted from the back.

Pursing your lips, you glance over to Matt, though you couldn't tell if he was looking back at you due to his darkly tinted aviators.

"So. Did you want to order anything?" he asks with a shrug of his shoulders, rolling up the cuffs of his flannel. This time when he speaks, you're able to pick up a subtle French accent in his voice.

"Umm..." you trail off, peeking around him to look up at the menu on the wall behind the display, "I'll have the muffin of the day, a slice of coffee cake, and a hot chocolate."

The blond nods, scribbling something onto his own palm-sized notepad before casually walking back to the kitchen. When he pushes open the door you're able to hear a clear snippet of the argument Allen was involved in:

"... just don't understand how on Earth you could say that to a customer!"

"She ain't no normal customer, Oliver, that bitch was picking a fight with me last night-"

"Allen! You know how I feel about your language, that's another quarter in the swear jar."

"Oliver-"

The door to the kitchen is shut, drowning out the rest of the conversation.

Peering around the rest of the bakery, the handful of patrons sitting at other tables and booths were looking between you and the kitchen, clearly curious as to whatever had just occurred between you and Allen. After a quick sneer and a glare though, they're all quick to return to their own conversations.

Rolling your eyes, you pull your phone out- a burner phone, and a flip phone at that. Easily erased of all its information and discarded if the need ever arose. Smartphones were too easily traceable, and you made sure to do your best to keep your trail short just in case any smart detectives started to piece together your location or identity.

While there's little to do on the small electronic, there's a handful of old-school games you can play to pass the time in situations like these. The minutes fly by as you play brick break, successfully achieving your previous high score by the time the trio of men re-emerges from the kitchen.

Allen walks out, holding a tray of food, followed closely by the strawberry blond, who you assume is Oliver, and Matt. The brunette begrudgingly walks over to your booth and sets the tray down, and attempts to turn around and walk away before being stopped by the other two men.

"Apologize," Oliver says in a harsh whisper.

Grumbling, Allen turns around to face you once more, his crimson eyes struggling to meet yours. "... sorry," he mutters.