I Guess That's a 'Yes' (America x Reader)

A capped head was bobbing past the window and up to the porch. You inhaled sharply, arms covered in soap and water, and snatched the dish towel on the counter before rushing towards the front door.

You refused to believe it.

He couldn't be.

It was too early and he hadn't told you–

But sure enough, there he stood – crisp and as handsome as ever in his officer's uniform, a few beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face from the hot, summer sun – with a grin so wide it threatened to shatter his face.

The dish towel landed in a heap by your feet, forgotten and unnoticed as you stared in wide-eyed awe at the man before you.

“Al...?”

Alfred grinned cheekily. “Hey babe. Miss me?”

His image became clouded as tears flooded your vision.

“You idiot–!”

You propelled yourself off the porch and into his awaiting arms, your fingers curling into his back as you held him close. Choked noises erupted from your throat and soapy bubbles splattered everywhere from your hands, but all Alfred gave in return was an even tighter hug and a slightly strained laugh.

“I guess that's a 'yes'.”




“You can't tell me you didn't want more than that kiss on the cheek and 'best friend hug', Alfred. The look on your face at the station said everything.”

Alfred fiddled with his hands, not daring to meet his brother's eye. “No. I'm fine with the way things were... are.”

Arthur scoffed. “Don't be an idiot – I saw the way you looked at her when she pulled back.” He paused. “And I saw the way she looked at you, too.”

“She didn't look at me any way. Just let it go.”

“Are you just daft or mentally ill? Never mind, don't answer that; I think I already know. In fact, there's no point in arguing over this anymore because I know the answer.”

“Great. So just let it go, would ya?”

“I will. But just let me say one more thing: You two have been playing the best friend's game since high school. I thought it would all end when you decided to share an apartment after senior year, but I guess I was wrong. But you can't tell me you haven't thought it about – you know, you and her. Together. Can you? Didn't think so. Look, she isn't going to wait around forever. If you're too scared to admit how you feel then she'll be snatched up by someone else, and there won't be a single bloody thing you can do about it. You've already been gone three years, Alfred. That's a long time. Imagine what she may have back at home that you don't know about. 'Hero' returns home to find his girl taken by a mysterious stranger...”

“It's not like that. And besides, if _______ has someone when I get home, then that's okay. I just want her to be happy.”

“Whatever you say...”




Alfred stared around his small, poster-laden room, the tiniest of smiles pulling at his mouth.

“I'm surprised you didn't take them down while I was gone,” he said, running a hand down a picture of Super America, his favorite super hero. “It was your chance.”

______ shrugged, tucking her hands into her apron pocket.

“Can't say I didn't think about it....” she admitted somewhat sheepishly. “But I couldn't bear the thought of actually doing it. Somehow, it seemed like you would really be gone, then.”

Alfred collapsed on his bed, letting out a sigh as he sunk into its homely depths. Everything was clean and dusted, and the sheets smelled like they had just been through the wash.

“Did you clean my room while I was gone?” he asked curiously, opening his eyes to gaze at _______ who was watching him.

“Of course. Kept it dusted and the floors clean,” she said. “I did the sheets twice – once while you were away to make sure they weren't dusty, and again just yesterday. But if I had known you were coming home I would have done them today...”

Alfred watched her for a moment as she brushed a hair behind her ear, her lips closing and opening as she continued on with the list of things she would have done if she had known he was coming home so soon; how she felt terrible for not having even greeted him properly or picked him up at the station; how she would have made his favorite meal and got something for him to drink...

His lips twitched.

It's like she's my wife...

The thumping in Alfed's chest suddenly picked up in speed. Arthur's words rang through his ears, fresh and clear, and washed over _______'s endless list of guilt as she continued on about how many things she would have done for him if he had told her he was coming back.

“But you can't tell me you haven't thought it about – you know, you and her. Together.”

No, he would be lying if he said he hadn't. Because he had – too many times for comfort. But the problem was, friends just shouldn't think things like that about their friends. He and ________ had been living together for three years and had been friends for much longer; they were closer than close. He had been there when her parents died, and she had been their when his brothers left him. After high school, they had even moved in together to save on money; split the cost of the apartment and got jobs to make a living for themselves. Arthur had declared it to be “inappropriate”, but Alfred and _______'s intentions were purely innocent. They were friends. Nothing more.

“Imagine what she may have back at home that you don't know about. 'Hero' returns to find his girl taken by a mysterious stranger...”

“Hey _______.”

She stopped talking and paused ticking off her fingers, blinking at Alfred as if she had forgotten he was there.

“Yeah?”

Alfred gripped the hem of his jacket.

Did he even have the right to ask? Was it really any of his business? But all good friends knew these things, right? _______ had known all of his girlfriends in the past, and that hadn't been awkward.

He hesitated.

“Are you... you know... well, are you seeing... seeing someone?”

She frowned. “Seeing someone?”

“Y-yeah, like, you know...” He swallowed, wanting to punch himself in the face. She looked so clueless; so innocent. “...Like a guy or something?”

_____ waved her hand idly in the air, snorting as if Alfred had just cracked a joke.

“Seriously, Al? I don't have time for guys. I'm too busy working and taking care of you.” Her satire was comical, but her words were enough to lift the burden that had weighed upon his chest. “Besides, even if I did, I would have told you in one of my letters.”

“Oh, right. 'Course you would have,” he replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to ignore the heat that was slowly climbing up his cheeks.

If she noticed his embarrassment then she was good at hiding it. She merely changed the topic with a casual “Are you hungry? I have dinner cooking–” and then she was bustling out of his room, cursing that the food was probably burnt now as she rushed off into the kitchen.

Alfred fell back onto his bed and closed his eyes.

“She isn't going to wait around forever. If you're too scared to admit how you feel then she'll be snatched up by someone else, and there won't be a single bloody thing you can do about it.”





When Alfred walked into the kitchen, he was blasted in the face with the smell of onions and butter and various other things, making his mouth morph into Niagara Falls. He hovered around you as you expertly made your way around the kitchen and muttered things to yourself.

“You've really improved, huh?” he said, staring at the beef and onions in the pan.

“You bet!” you replied triumphantly, and held your spoon in the hair like it was a prize. “I've been working hard on my cooking skills since you left. I told myself I would make you the best dinner when you got back.”

“To be honest, after eating army food for almost three years, anything is the best dinner...”

“Even burnt eggs?”

Alfred paused.

“...okay, so maybe Arthur's food is still worse than army food,” he concluded, unable to hold back a laugh. At your look, he rolled his eyes and added, “And your old cooking. But which was still better than Arthur's, mind you.”

“I am satisfied,” you declared, returning to the pan of beef.

Honestly, your old cooking wasn't terrible... edible, unlike Arthur's, and healthy, unlike Alfred's. But you had always been so hard on yourself about it, it really wasn't a surprise you were trying so hard to improve.

Alfred watched as your nose wrinkled as you added more things to the pan, turning every so often to the cookbook beside you. A stray hair fell against your jaw and Alfred's hand twitched. You didn't seem to notice it was there as you read down the list of ingredients, and every muscle in his arm prodded him to push it away.

So he did.

His fingertips had just barely brushed along the side of your cheek when you whipped your head to look at him. He quickly took a step back, digging his hands into his pockets and trying not to look guilty.

“S-sorry, you had... you had a piece of hair, so...”

The kitchen became stiflingly quiet.

Without another word, he spun on his heel and stalked off to his room, muttering that he was going to change out of his uniform.

He suddenly felt very warm.






“How to Care for Your Soldier: A Guide to Post-War Return,” you read, staring at the cover. You flipped it open curiously, scanning the contents.

“Your husband return from service, ma'am?”

You looked up from the book to see an elderly man behind the store counter, smiling kindly at you. Flushing, you shook your head and snapped the book closed.

A knowing twinkle spring into his blue eyes.

“Suitor?” You shook your head, face growing steadily more red. “Fiance?”

“No, just my good friend,” you corrected, sliding the book onto the counter. You hesitated before spilling, “He's been acting... odd. I know that the things they see really mess them up, and I don't exactly know how to handle this new him, you know? I mean, he won't even come near me...”

The man nodded knowingly, the lines on his face seeming to deepen at the solemn turn in conversation.

“Returning to normal life is very hard on them after they've spent their days training to kill or be killed. People don't realize what they have gone through, and many times the soldiers are left high and dry by their wives and families who don't know how to handle them.” He paused, holding onto the money you were handing him so your arms hovered over the counter for a fraction of a second. Then he took it fully and placed it in the cash register. “It's very sad.”

“I don't want to be like that,” you said quietly, a pang in your chest at the thought of Alfred, alone and depressed, in your empty apartment. A vivid image of him sitting in his darkened room with no posters, watching out the window as rain bounced off your umbrella as you climbed into a car with your suitcase, flew through your mind. “God didn't abandon us, so we shouldn't abandon others. Besides... I love him too much.”

The man handed the book back to you, old hands shaking and eyes glassy as he stared at you over his spectacles. His wrinkled lips tugged up just the slightest.

“I am constantly reminded that angels exist.”






“Hey Al,” you called up the stairs, clipping on your earrings and trying not to tangle them in your hair. “Are you going to church today?”

Alfred was fixing his supremely bad case of bedhead and nearly bumped his head against the mirror when you spoke. He let out a long breathe, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat.

Still not over that, he thought bitterly, memories of being yelled at by his Sergeant still very prominent.

“Y-Yeah ________, I'll be right down,” he called back. “Just getting ready.”

“Can you get my Bible before you do? I forgot it.”

“No problem – where is it?”

“It should be in the top drawer of my nightstand by my bed,” you replied, voice trailing off as you moved into the kitchen.

Alfred gave up on his usual cowlick with a sigh and made his way towards your bedroom. He pulled open the top drawer, only to embarrassingly discover that you had stuffed a bra in it before slamming it hastily shut again, torn between laughing and running away.  

Women...

He opted for the second drawer, and found the Bible laying face-up next to a tissue box and another book. He paused, picking up the second book and reading its title with narrowed eyes.

How to Care for Your Soldier: A Guide to Post-War Return

“Alfred?” you called, voice eerily close.

He quickly shoved the book back into your drawer and grabbed your Bible, giving a casual, “Got it,” when you appeared in your doorway.

“Thanks! We have to get moving – we'll be late in a few minutes.”

Alfred followed you out of your room, but his mind was still stuck in the second drawer of your nightstand; still stuck on that book that had glared so offensively at him. And as he gazed at your back, he couldn't help but wonder if he was a burden to you.





The porch was small with a few, overgrown potted plants that hung over the side of the wooden railings and an American flag that stood proudly on the side of the deck. It was that part of the house that always got the most sun in the morning, but the most moon in the evening. The small bit of roof that reached just a quarter over the porch had a terrible tendency to collect bees of all sorts (mostly wasps; mostly wasps that _______ would make Alfred kill). It wasn't much to look at, really – average and perhaps unsightly with its peeling paint – but it was ________'s favorite place, and it was there that Alfred knew he could always find her.

Some days she would be curled beneath the sun on a blanket, a book propped in her hands and a cup of coffee resting on the splintery wood beside her. Others she would be squished beneath the small roof, watching the summer rain as it splattered to the ground. And then others she would lay beneath the stars, watching, staring, gazing with those big, curious eyes of her.

He loved that about her.

He loved that she was peaceful; that she had a special place to run away to when she was troubled. He loved that she loved to learn and loved the natural beauty around her. She liked clothes and cars and shoes and actresses, but she appreciated the world beyond those things, too. She was humble and thirsty for knowledge, and for Alfred – who had joined the army first chance he got to avoid University –  she was a very special hero to him.

And he loved that about her, too.

As he opened the door, he could see her dim outline sprawled on a blanket beneath the open sky. It was lucky for them they weren't in a large city, otherwise the stars would have been completely invisible for _________, and somehow Alfred was very sad whenever he thought about how she would feel to not see the stars. Like a bird locked in a cage, never allowed the freedom of the sky.

He laid down beside her, staring at the winking lights above. He could hear her breathing, feel her shoulder against his, and smell her perfume.

“I missed doing this with you,” she murmured, twisting her head so she could look at him.

Alfred looked at her too. He found her much more enrapturing than the night sky.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“You just did,” she joked. When she caught the serious look on his face, she sobered. “What is it?”

“That book...” Alfred chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Is there something wrong with me? Am I crazy?”

_________ looked horrified, her eyes widening and mouth falling open.

“No! No, that's not it at all!” She sat up a little on her elbows to get a better look at him. “I got that book because I thought that I was doing something wrong – not you!”

Alfred's eyebrows puckered together.

“What do you mean?”

Now it was __________'s turn to look hesitant. She lowered back down so she was beside him, but this time she kept her hands on top of her stomach and fiddled with her fingers.

“Well...” she began slowly. “Because you've been so distant... and you've barely spoken to me... Or messed with me... Or joked around, like you usually do...” She added, “And I know you've seen things that no one should ever have to see, and I was worried I might make it worse with things I said or did, you know? I didn't want to do that to you. So I bought the book to help.”

Alfred was silent for a moment.

Then,

“I'm sorry... I'm not upset with you, and I'm not... well, you know, having problems like that too much. If anything, you're the only thing that's keeping me sane.” He smiled softly at her, and ________'s eyes brightened. “You haven't done anything that would upset me. I've just been thinking a lot, is all.”

“About?”

Alfred swallowed. He turned to stare up at the sky again, his heart picking up in speed.

“If you're too scared to admit how you feel then she'll be snatched up by someone else, and there won't be a single bloody thing you can do about it.”

“Do you ever want to be something more?” he blurted.

________ gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you and me,” he said, and looked at her again. “You know... something more than just... best friends.”

Silence settled around them.

Alfred's pulse quickened and his hands began to sweat.

He suddenly wished he could take his words back. He probably just trashed their friendship; treaded on territory that was strictly off-limits.

“You know what, forget I just–”

“Yes.”

Alfred froze.

“What?”

She looked at him.

“Yes, I think about us being something more.”

They stared at each other.

Alfred's mouth opened and closed. His heart lept into his throat and his stomach began to perform somersaults.

The stars forgotten, the moon ignored, the sound of cars going to and fro below and the echoing voices of the other tenants just mere vapors to his ears, and he was suddenly very aware of just how close she was. So close that all he needed to do was move forward... just the slightest...

Alfred slowly sat up. He bent over her, one hand brushing against her cheek while the other sought to entangle with her own between them. He lowered his face to hers.

If it was possible for his heart to pound any harder, it would have beat right out of his chest. His whole body felt strangely warm and his shoulders considerably lighter, like a weight had been lifted from them.

His breathing matched hers; their noses brushed and oxygen mingled, and their eyes remained wide and staring, hers dancing with a million different things, the reflection of the moon like a shivering ocean.

He was hovering just above her now, their lips just barely touching, and he felt her hand slide up his back, slow, nails dragging along his spine, to tangle in the back of his hair. Her head lifted, lips brushing against his, beckoning him closer with a tantalizing nibble.

Alfred broke.

He shoved his mouth onto hers, caution and passion and romance thrown to the wind as he hungrily replied to her; years of confusion, of want, of jealousy and of fear releasing into every motion, every movement of his mouth and every twitch of his fingers against her own.

His hands moved to slide up her sides, catching on her dress where his callouses were still rough from wear and tear. He redirected them to her arms, reveled in the feel of her silky smooth skin against his palms, and coaxed her hands above her head.

“I've loved you,” he breathed against her mouth, “for a very, very long time.”

________ grinned as best she could. “I've loved you for a very long time too, soldier.”

“...she'll be snatched up by someone else, and there won't be a single bloody thing you can do about it.”

Alfred closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers.

Not this time, man. She's all mine. And that's all she will be until death do us apart.