British Day (Alexander Hamilton x Reader)
Having Alexander Hamilton, the biggest, most American, patriotic idiot as a boyfriend did cause a few troubles. He was always cussing out your country, England, for something they did to the Free Nation 200+ years ago.
“Please! Just once! We can celebrate British Day! It’s also the Queen’s birthday!” You pleaded, as he stared at you, raised his eyebrows and began to google, ‘British Day.’
“National day for the United Kingdom and a celebration of Britishness.” He told you, monotone, smirking.
“(Y/N).” He asked.
“I am not British.”
“Come on! I’ve been to that stupid Island a million times already. I can show you London, oh! Where I was born, my favourite tea shop, how much better the McDonald’s is there! Also the chicken sandwiches in the Underground are pretty good too.” You smiled faintly, presence here but mind wandering off to the streets of England.
“Ugh. Fine. Don’t expect me to where some British Flag hat or something.” He got up, kissed your temple and prepared to leave your apartment for the night.
“I wouldn’t ever make you.” You dramatically gasped, before grinning and waving him goodbye as he left with a gush of New York air and click of a door lock.
You squealed in your seat, leaning your head against the white surface of the plane, staring out at the New York City skyline glowing in the early light. Almost like little sparklers, twinkling, dying out, being struck alive.
“Are your excited?” You tore your attention away from the skies and looked at your boyfriend.
“Only because you are with me.” He smiled, putting his arm around you, and leaning in on your shoulder.
“Alex, what are you doing?”
“Taking a nap.” He murmured, sounding muffled from the fabric of your jacket.
“Well then I am too.” You giggled, successfully laying your head among the silky brown hair of Alexander Hamilton.
(10 HOURS LATER)
“…Welcome to London!” A perky flight attendant in red lipstick greeted over the microphone.
“Alex, get up.” You exclaimed, wide eyed as you shoved your drowsy off your shoulder.
“WE ARE HERE!!” You could practically feel the happiness rushing through your veins.
“That’s what you get for keeping me up all night!” You smirked at him, handing him his carry-on from the overhead compartment.
“I know you liked it.” He grinned and kissed you on the cheek.
“Let’s go!” You zoomed down the isle of the plane, almost knocking over a few people, anxious to see your home city.
“YOU SEE THIS ALEX? THIS IS LONDON AIR!” You shouted, rolling your suitcase on the cobblestone on the way to the hotel.
“It’s just like New York air (y/n)!”
“THERE IS A DIFFERENCE!”
“Thank you Ms, your room is 120. Enjoy your stay in London.” you cheered.
“Why does everyone have such a posh accent?” Alexander nudged you, and the clerk looked a bit taken aback.
“This is England.” You sighed, before smiling apologetically at the clerk and heading up to your room.
“TODAY IS THE QUEENS BIRTHDAY!” You raced out of the hotel bedroom, flipped on BBC and began making a cuppa.
“Today, we head into the heart of London.”
Everyone stopped to stare at the handsome man you you dragged him across the rough stone streets, laughing occasionally.
That was, until you saw he stopped at a small gift shop.
“Alex, what do you want from here?” You questioned, spinning the trinkets on the racks as if they were inhuman.
“I want something.” He muttered distractedly, scanning the shop.
You almost burst out laughing at what he chose…a navy blue jean hat with a big, sown on British flag and underneath ‘London’ scrawled in black fabric.
“Do you remember what you told me…? Ugh, never mind. Happy British Day you nerd.” You grinned as he fumbled counting the pounds correctly.