Iceland x Reader. Arguments

    "What the hell?" Denmark said, voicing your thoughts exactly. The two of you gazed at the crowded street. People bustled past, holding heavy shopping bags, some chattering away on their phone mindlessly.

     "Hey," you whipped your head around, panicked, "where's Finland? I think I lost him!"

     "Oh, god no! Not again!" Denmark ran off into the crowd, leaving you behind, confused and sort of lost.

     "Wait! Mathias, y-you dick!" You yelled after him over the constant chatter of the crowd.

     "Dick?" A confused voice asked, startling you. You shrieked and whipped around, fully expecting some creeper that wanted to talk dicks all day, but finding someone much worse.

     Iceland. Or Emil on some cases.

     "Don't scream like that. It's only me, not France." He replied in an annoyed tone that only made you just as equally annoyed.

     "I'd take France over you any day." You smirked.

     "Shut up!" He commanded, crossing his arms and sending a half-assed glare towards you. A sort of small amount of passion lighting up slightly in his violet eyes, but it was gone just as fast as it came.

     "I refuse to!" You smiled triumphetly and walked past him to a sparkling fountain, sitting on the wooden bench in front of it. The waters behind you rushed quickly in a calming and constant stream.

     Emil followed behind, his hands in his jacket pockets. He sat beside you, gazing out at the crowd with a bored and almost blank expression. His eyes were once again cold.

     "So," he started, earning a glance from you, "you never called me."

     You shrugged, "Lost your number." It was a lie, you knew exactly where the small slip of paper with his number was.

     He rolled his eyes, "Sure you did. I know girls like you. Always playing hard to get and using stupid little mind games."

     "There's no games involved," You crossed your legs arrogantly, making them look a mile long, "get over yourself, Emil."

     "You should take your own advice, Miss I'm Too Good For Everyone Else."

     "I was actually going for a Miss Bitchy and Rich Girl thing, but what you said was good too." You cracked a small smile, knowing your words annoyed the Icelandic man beside you.

     "You certainly look the part." He muttered, referring to the expensive clothes your older brother Denmark made you wear constantly.

     "Oh your god, are you hitting on me?"

     "You see," Emil turned towards you in his seat, crossing his arms, "it's comments like that that make me not want to hit on you. And did I seriously just hear the phrase 'oh your god'?"

     "Yes you did, and I have no regrets about it."

     "I bet you don't."

     "What's that supposed to mean?"

     "My assumptions that you were a pretentious little snob were true." Emily confirmed, the passion that always came with arguing lighting back up in his eyes, as if someone had flipped a light switch on.

     "Ugh, I can't believe I used to have a crush on you!" You scooted farther away, wrinkling your nose.

     "Oh yes! Tell me about your stupid little childhood fantasies." Emil commanded, leaning back and feeling as cocky as Denmark at the moment.

     "I used to have a bunch of pictures of us in my room..." you trailed off. Those same pictures were all gathered together and inside a box under your bed. Safely tucked away in hopes that Emil would never find them.

     The Icelandic man blushed deeply, staring at you in wonder. "R-really?"

     "I have no regrets." You said firmly, not wanting to look at him.

     "I bet you don't." He muttered, not noticing how the earlier conversation was replaying.

     "What is that supposed to mean?"





    


    "Those two are..." Denmark paused, still gazing at you and Emil arguing passionately.

    "Loud?" Norway finished.

     "I was going to say tastey, but loud works too...."