Hetalia Oneshots

Alasdair (Scotland) x Reader - Promise?

Dylan = Wales

Patrick = Ireland

Séamus = N.Ireland

"I still don't get why we have to practice every single bloody weekend," I grumbled, tossing the football onto the bench and slumping down beside it.

"Because I have to beat Arthur," he huffed, equally out of breath. "And you're my best shot."

I smiled as I watched the leaves dance in the gentle spring breeze above us. It was another typical Saturday morning when Alasdair dragged me to the park to practice football. He stood in goal while I, along with Dylan, Patrick, and Séamus, took shots aimed straight at him. Honestly, it was fun, though I felt a twinge of guilt whenever our kicks collided with his own balls.

"I get that, but why not train with Francis? Or Antonio? Or even Ludwig and Feliciano?" I suggested, watching a slight smile spread across his face as I named the best footballers I knew.

"You could beat them in a heartbeat," he chuckled, ruffling his dark brown hair before pulling out a cigarette. "You got a light?"

"You know I don't smoke, Al," I said, playfully punching his arm. "Ask Pat."

"Oi, Patrick!" Alasdair called, waving his brother over. "You got a light?"

"Don't give him one!" Dylan laughed, his tone teasing.

"What?!" Alasdair shot back, his anger flaring, but I quickly grabbed his arm.

Alasdair was known for his short temper whenever his brothers were involved, and I was known as the only human able to calm him down in a pinch; the only other was a totally-not-mythical creature called Nessy but she was restricted to a lake.

Yes, she is real.

"Al, just relax," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. He still wouldn't meet my gaze, but at least he seemed a bit more composed. "You really need to quit, you know." I pushed the ball off the seat and kicked it toward the boys still on the field. "You should look for something to help, like those nicotine patches, or at least stick something else in that damn mouth of yours."

"Like what exactly?" he smirked, pulling me closer to him by the waist.

I felt my cheeks flush deeply as Séamus gave me a thumbs-up from the sidelines. The others responded with whistles and playful, crude gestures, making my embarrassment even harder to shake off.

I liked Alasdair; I had liked him ever since my mother nudged me toward Arthur. Arthur and I were classmates, and my mother wanted to ingratiate herself with the wealthy elite, so she orchestrated a betrothal between us after a lot of persuasion. The truth was, Arthur was just looking for a friend, so our relationship never evolved beyond that.

With Alasdair, though, it was different. We got along famously, and his siblings were like family to me. Séamus felt like a younger brother, while Dylan was the protective older sibling, but Alasdair? He never felt like a brother to me at all. We spent so much time together that onlookers might assume we were romantically involved, but we both laughed off any such notions whenever they arose.

I had grown so accustomed to having him around that when he left for college, I felt a profound emptiness. It was then that the age gap between us became glaringly obvious. Once I entered my final year of high school, I noticed Arthur starting to show interest in a certain American student from a younger year. So, after making some connections, I decided to introduce them. A month later, Alfred was clinging to a reluctant Arthur's leg, and just as I was getting used to that new dynamic, Alasdair returned from university in Scotland. Honestly, I had never been so entranced.