Inebriated (England x Reader)

You hesitated at the door of Alfred’s house, debating whether or not to knock before entering. The party was already in full swing, and you doubted anyone would actually hear it if you did knock. After waiting a few more moments, you opened the door and discovered that your notion of the party being well under way was an understatement. There was so much going on and so many people, many of whom you did not recognize, that you did not know whether to be concerned or excited.

“Hey!” a familiar voice said from behind you. “Glad to see you could make it.” Alfred proceeded to give you a one-armed hug as he handed you a wine cooler.

“No problem.” You reciprocated his welcome with a half hug of your own. “Hey, Alfred? Who did you invite? There’s a lot of people here.”

“Everyone!” the American exclaimed. “My birthday is a big deal. I wanted to have the biggest and best party ever!”

“Well, it certainly looks exciting,” you said over the noise.

“It is! Don’t be afraid to let loose a little.” And with a wink, Alfred was off to mingle with the other guests.

Slightly taken aback by his comment, you took a sip of your drink and searched for familiar faces. Spotting a certain bushy-eyebrowed Brit across the room, you made your way through the crowd to the couch where he sat, passing a silky-haired Frenchman flirting heavily with a pretty, little red-head.

“Some party, huh?” you quipped to Arthur as you sat down. “I’d say it’s even bigger than his party last year, which is saying something.”

The only response he gave was a disgruntled, “Hmph,” before he drank deeply from his glass.

You stared into your cup before taking another drink. “Are you upset about something?” You weren’t sure he heard your voice over the crowd.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” Arthur said eventually with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh.” You fiddled with your thumbs for a while, trying to find something to say that would cheer up your friend. However, your thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice.

“Arthur, how can you be in such a bad mood, especially in the company of someone like ____?” Alfred said as he walked up to the two of you.

“Alfred, please don’t antagonize him.” You gave a worried glance to the Brit, whose hands were beginning to shake in anger.

“Oh don’t worry about him. He’s just mad that no one wanted him to bring any of his awful cooking.” The American chuckled at his own words.

“Go away, Alfred,” Arthur said though gritted teeth.

“Well, I can’t very well leave you here to entertain ____, can I? You have the personality of a wet blanket.”

Before you could do anything to diffuse the tension, Arthur was up and shouting at Alfred, who only seemed to be getting amusement out of the situation. “You’re a bloody git, you know that? After all these years, and this is how you repay me? Why, if I had any sense I’d-” The blond man continued yelling in rage, his language growing more and more colorful. You could only stare in shock as the scene unfolded before you.

Alfred, on the other hand, simply smiled. “Are you done yet?”

At that last remark, Arthur’s hands shook so violently that the contents of his glass splashed out and landed on your shirt. He looked at you apologetically in stunned silence.

“Now look what you’ve done.” Alfred frowned at the British man. “The bathroom’s down the hall, ____.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, leaving the two blond men to continue their bickering.

You made your way down the hall and closed the bathroom door. You exhaled heavily as you began sponging the beverage off of your shirt with a towel. You were thankful that Arthur hadn’t been drinking anything that stained horribly; you almost couldn’t tell there had been a spill by the time you were done cleaning it.

Leaving the bathroom with your drink in hand, you noticed someone by the stairs. Francis was leading the red-head up the steps with a seductive expression on his face. When he noticed you, the Frenchman placed a finger to his lips and winked. You made a mental note to remain on the first floor for the remainder of the night.

You walked back into the crowded room where the main action of the party was happening. You saw Arthur sulking on the same couch he had been sitting in before. While you wanted to return to him, you felt it best to give him some space after what had just happened. After moseying through the crowd for a bit, you found a small, empty table and took a seat in one of the chairs. You crossed your legs and sipped your drink as you wondered if you could have done anything to prevent Arthur’s mood. You felt your foot kick something under the table.

“Ouch.”

You got up from your chair and looked under the table to see an Italian man waving and grinning up at you. “Feliciano, what on earth are you doing?”

“Hiding from Ludwig,” he said as he crawled out. “He wants me to go home so I can get up to run early in the morning. But I don’t want to! I want to stay at the party more!”

“Feliciano!” a German voice shouted.

“Uh oh, he found me.” Feliciano dashed across the room and leaped behind the couch, causing Arthur to curse and make his way to the open bar.

You want to sit back down in your chair, only to find a man had already occupied the seat. “Oops, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“No one ever does.”

“Oh.” You stared at each other for a little bit.

“My birthday was a few days ago.”

“Well, happy belated birthday.” And with that, you left the bespeckled man to himself.

You noticed an assortment of cake slices nearby. Once you browsed for a bit, you grabbed a slice of your favorite flavor and a slice for Arthur. You walked over to the open bar and placed his slice next to his head, which was face down on the table.

“I wasn’t sure what flavor to get you, there were so many. You know how Alfred likes to go overboard with food. But I brought you this,” you told him, taking a seat next to him.

He mumbled incomprehensively into the bar.

“Um, Arthur, are you okay?” You placed your hand on his shoulder as you peered at him worriedly.

“He is always like this when drunk,” said the Japanese man sitting across the bar. “Ivan, you probably should not have given him so much to drink.”

“He never was much good at holding his liquor,” the Russian said before taking a swig of vodka.

“Maybe you should make sure he gets home safely.”

You nodded and phoned a taxi. With Arthur leaning on you for support, and still grumbling to himself, you left the party and got into the cab. The British man sat with his head against the window, muttering things about, “being like a brother,” and, “that bloody moron.” You remained silent, staring at your shoes.

Nearly halfway to the destination, Arthur turned toward you. “Is your shirt okay?” His words were slurred and his eyes struggled to focus.

“What?”

“Your shirt. I spilled my drink on it. It’s not ruined, is it?” His face was flushed, but maybe that was just from the alcohol.

“Oh. No, it’s fine, see?” You gestured to your top. “No harm done.”

“Good.” He returned his gaze to the window.

After a few moments of silence, it was your turn to ask a question. “What about you? Are you okay?”

Arthur’s face reddened even more. “Yeah, Alfred just knows how to get under my skin, that’s all.” He looked down sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For ruining your evening.”

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “Everything is fine, Arthur.” His unfocused, green eyes gazed into yours. “Honest.”

A warm blush crept into your cheeks when you realized, upon arriving at his house, that you never let go of his hand. You helped Arthur out of the vehicle and through the front door.

“Can you get to your room okay?”

He nodded in response as he leaned on the wall for support.

You went into the kitchen to grab a few things that he might need. After rummaging through a few cabinets, you entered his bedroom, items in hand. You placed a bucket on the floor next to his bed, in case the alcohol proved to be too much for his stomach, and a glass of water and a bottle of pain killers for the headache he was bound to experience in the morning.

“Thank you.”

You looked over to see Arthur, still fully dressed in the clothes he wore to the party, laying on his bed, smiling up at you. “For what?”

“For helping me tonight, for making sure I was okay.”

“Really, Arthur, it was no probl-” You were cut off by Arthur grabbing your hand, pulling you close, and gently pressing his lips to yours. You could taste the alcohol on his breath, but there was a sincerity in the kiss that transcended his intoxication.

“Thank you,” he repeated before closing his eyes and falling into a deep, inebriated sleep.

You smiled tenderly as you whispered a good night. You turned off all the lights before exiting the house. You lips still tingled from the kiss and your heart felt light the whole taxi ride home.