Roses: FranceXReader

"Je t'aime."

France offered you a rose. You stared at it for a moment. Red – the color of love and passion, of Saint Valentine's Day and of romance. Instead of taking it, you rolled your eyes and walked away. The French Man was left with the flower and a hurt expression on his face, not that you cared or anything. He was a flirt. He was a stupid philanderer – a playboy if there ever was one amongst the nations - who changed lovers like one would, or should, their socks – no better than stories of Greek Gods or other immortal folk tales that people liked to tell the children before sending them off to bed. You weren't even going to give him the time of day.

"Whatever…"

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime."

He offered another rose. This time, you were at your favorite restaurant. You were hungry after a meeting. You always got hungry after a meeting because there was no way you would eat the scones that England made or the burgers that America brought. The only ones who actually made decent food when they hosted were the Italian brothers, Spain and though you would never admit it – France. This time you hosted. All of the foods you had catered were gone by the time you had packed your things to eat. Angered and hungry you left to find something you wanted to eat. Now, you had to face France at your favorite restaurant. For some reason, he was still in your country and he knew where you liked to eat. At least you were alone this time and no in front of the other nations.

"Whatever…"

You paid for your meal and left him there.

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime."

He had found you at the library this time. You just wanted a few quiet hours of reading. You had been minding your own business and everything. You had even gone an entire day without thinking about him or thinking about how much you hated him. Apparently, you were not on the side of the fates. They liked mocking you. Yeah, yuck it up Fates. You would get them one day. Then they'll see who was laughing. Once again he presented you with another rose. You slammed your book shut and walked away from him. You only had to pause to check out your book less you wanted to be yelled at by the librarians.

"Whatever."

However, when you got home, you found the rose in your bag.

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime."

Really? The grocery store? Could you not get a moment's peace from this man? Okay, so your boss had temporarily sent you to France and you were stocking up on groceries for the hotel you were staying in. Your economy could not afford for you to go out nightly for food so you would make your own. Besides, you didn't have to report to him just because you were in his country. You ignored him as you paid for your things. He was saying something in French that the cashier understood because her eyes went wide and she smiled at you in a way that told you she was happy for you but envious too. What was to be so envious of a stupid frog that followed you around? However, when you went to pick up your bags, he was already there, carrying your things. Fine. If he wanted to be an errand boy you would let him carry your things to your car. He loaded it with care and left.

"Whatever."

Another rose was on the driver's seat when you got in to drive home. You weren't smiling because you were glad to have gotten the rose, or so you kept telling yourself that.

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime."

He had come with tickets to the opera this time and a single rose. You spouted out a ton of excuses about how busy you were and how you were unable to do anything because you had work to do for your country and a meeting with another nation. He patiently waited on your couch as you paced back and forth, trying to convince him that you were unable to go. You had nothing to wear. You were tired. You didn't like him. You didn't want to be around him. But as he sat there, he smiled. His long pale fingers twirled the flower in his hands, back and forth, round and round. It was red, just as they all had been. But that look on his face made you sigh and throw your hands up, telling him you had to change.

"Whatever."

Somehow you ended up going with him anyways. You wouldn't dare admit to say you had fun with him.

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime."

He had surprised you after work one day. He had somehow gotten into your house and made an elaborate dinner. Part of you wondered if you shouldn't have been worried that he got in. There was no sign of forced entrance. Your locks were perfectly in place. The dishes were cleaned to a spotless shine. A single rose sat in a vase on the table. Candles made the room glow and the smell of fine cuisine hung the air like a perfume, making your stomach growl. He offered you his hand with a smile. You rolled your eyes and took his hand.

"Whatever."

After dinner though, you couldn't bring it in yourself to send him home.

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime."

He had brought over a bottle of wine too and, of course, your customary red rose. It wasn't like you were happy to see him at all. It wasn't like you had a bad day and wanted to just vent to someone. You shook your head, but you opened the door wider to let him in. You only told yourself it was because it was raining outside and he was already wet. He had come all the way from his home to yours so he did deserve a little bit of your time. You even let him borrow one of your oversized nightshirts so you could throw his wet clothes into the dryer. You told him he could stay, only until the rain stopped or his clothes dried, whichever came first. He thanked you kindly for what you had done for him. You scoffed.

"Whatever."

The two of you fell asleep together on the couch.

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime."

After the night with the wine, when Francis had fallen asleep on the couch with you, he had made breakfast that following morning. You had woken alone on the couch with your blanket thrown over your being, tucked in around the edges with ginger care. A single rose sat in a vase on the table in front of you. He refused to allow you to touch anything while he was cooking. He set a plate of food in front of you, just smiling at you. He sat down himself and dug in, laughing when you didn't start eating immediately. You just didn't want to look like a pig because the food was good unlike when you stayed over at another nations' home (for example America).

"Whatever."

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime."

A picnic? This was spontaneous. As you sat down to join him, he put the rose in your hair. In all the time he had been giving you flowers he had never done something like that. He had to have known that you kept all of the flowers he had given you, aside from the few you left with him. The others were dried, kept and pressed into a book. If you had your way, he would never find out, except he asked you if you were going to keep that one as well. He must have found the book when he was cooking the other morning. Your cheeks painted your embarrassment across the skin. Francis liked how you colored. He told you so.

"Whatever."

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime."

It was on a note this time with elegant writing and rose scented paper. There were three guesses as to who it was. The first two did not count. At work you found a single rose waiting on your desk. As a nation it was hard to find pleasure in work sometimes but that rose made you smile all day. Even your boss noticed a difference, especially when you started humming the song from the French opera you saw a few weeks ago with France. But when you caught yourself acting like a school girl with a crush, your eyes widened in horror. You would take a short break and then shake your head you would go back to work.

"Whatever."

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime…"

At the Next World meeting your room had been placed next to Francis'. That night you had an immense nightmare – recalling how your land was tore apart by war and how much pain and devastation you felt. Francis climbed out onto the balcony and entered your room to comfort you as you called out in your sleep. He had left a rose on your night stand. You took the rose to the meeting, clutching in your hand tightly like a child with a blanket. It was your comfort object. When Francis saw this, he put it in your hair and took your hand in his own. You stared at him for a moment, knowing this would make it harder for you to take notes, but really? Did any nation really take notes at a meeting?

"Whatever."

This time, you were blushing.

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime…"

It was written this time, not spoken. A poem was waiting on your door step, along with a box of chocolates and a cute little plush doll of your favorite animal. How did he know? You shook your head. You were tempted to scoop it all up and throw it in the trash but the chocolates were your favorites. The doll looked expensive. And the rose made your heart soften. You kept everything as you walked inside, trying to deny the small and the blush on your face. Even the poem, even if it was in French and you didn't read the language. Google translate would suffice. When you did translate it, your cheeks were pink as you set it aside, covering your face with your hand to deny it.

"Whatever."

-=-=-=-=-

"Je t'aime…"

You were sicker than a dog when he said it. Of course he had to show up. It was driving you crazy. You were throwing up. He was holding your hair back as you lost the contents of your stomach again and again. After you couldn't throw up anymore, the Frenchman lifted you up, carrying you bridal style to your bed. He left you. When you woke again, there was a tray by your bed. Hot soup, sprite and a rose in a small vase were sitting by your bedside on the nightstand. Francis was sleeping in the chair across the room. You really hoped that he didn't get sick too. You didn't want to have to take care of him, but you would.

"Whatever."

-=-=-=-=-

"Whatever."

"Je t'aime…"

A smile broke across Francis' face. He stepped towards you, pulling you into a tight hug. But you were horrified by what you said. You had just… and now he was… That smug smirk on his face made you want to scream except you didn't. You smiled shyly at him. You supposed you had cared for him just as long as he did for you. All those times he had taken you out, you had begun to look forward to it.