spiders, flowers and butterflies | england + america

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- england x reader x america -

OLD - Based on the song above.

* ☆ *

You were friends, no, best friends with a young boy named Alfred. You and him were both 8 years-old when he had to go away to the so called palace ran by the king of England. He screamed and struggled but they eventually took him away to that horrid place. Your (H/C) blew in the wind, along with your tears.

* ☆ *

It's been a few years since that and you practically forgot all about Alfred. You were a commoner. Well, not for long. You were destined to marry the prince of England. Arthur. You and him met in the ball room. You were wearing a long red dress that had a black ribbon around your waist and a black and red ribbon on your hair. Your (E/C) complimented your outfit as the lights made your skin and hair glow as everyone wondered who you were. You were greeted with a man, no older than 20. He had lovely blonde hair, and amazingly big eyebrows. To finish it off, he had bright emerald eyes that shone in the light. He reminded you of someone.

'. . .'

You knew who he was, as everyone was staring at you, woman gave you a deadly stare while the men looked at you with amazement. You fell silent as he kissed the back of your gloved hand, his beautiful eyes never leaving yours.

After a while of dancing and talking while laughing, you found out he was quite interesting. He loved books and chess and his favorite tea was Earl Grey.

Soon after the ball, you went home, not before getting a slight peck on the lips by the prince which quite frankly, shocked the hell out of you. The prince liking a simple commoner? Impossible!

A few days after the ball, a royal guard had stepped into your property. He was looking for you, But he looked kind of like the prince...

Oh.

It was him. Alfred. He looked the same, blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and a slight cow-lick on the front of his hair. He just stared at you, wearing the same expression as you too. He moved one step closer to you.

'Is that you, (Y/N)?'

You nodded like crazy. 'Alfred?'

He ran up to you and hugged you only to be hugged back and be slightly pecked on the cheek. He blushed. He told told you that Arthur sent him there to collect you from your house.

You were going to be the princess.

You just stood there. What did he mean by that? You mean... Marriage? But how did he see anything in a commoner? And what about Alfred? You just got him back and you had a huge crush on the dude, even when you were little. Damn it.

You went with Alfred as he told you that he was the prince's top guard and he could hardly do anything with out the content of Arthur.

You finally made it to the palace and you were greeted with a green-eyed man, waiting at the door with a few guards. Alfred was dismissed and you were left alone with Arthur. He told you all about the arranged marriage and you hated that idea. Sure, he was the prince and all but you had your eyes set on Alfred. But of course, this was the 1800's and he was the prince. He could do anything he wanted with a person like you. You unwillingly agreed and spent the day with him.

Little did you know that a certain guard held a liking to you.

(Time skip, Bought to you by my computer.)

It was your wedding day. Oh how you wished this day would never come. You had confessed to your crush and it turns out, he liked you too. However, if the prince loved you, he couldn't. He was very loyal to Arthur. You understood.

You walked down the aisle hand in hand with your farther who was smiling like crazy. You could see Alfred in the side of your eye, simply watching you with a sad yet emotionless face which was strange for him. The vows and the kiss was done.

You were now a princess married to Arthur, soon to be King. You were forced to see Alfred for the rest of your life as he lived and worked in the palace and out. You both hated it. Arthur seemed clueless about the whole thing. Alfred couldn't take it anymore. His happy self has disappeared and was replaced by a lifeless one.

He couldn't take it anymore.

. . .

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