A Dip in the Channel Part 1- An England X Reader X France insert
What's the space separating two long time rivals and allies? Why it's the English Channel, or as the French call it, La Manche, a sea boarder that keeps England and France from ripping each other's throats out.
You, dear reader, are figuratively put in this otherwise compromised neutral space, however not without years of fighting over anyway. This puts France and England in a position to make a very rare compromise with each other, allows them to exchange their love for you; something they might not get to do unless they share you.
Time period is Now
ish, with mentions of the Olympic opening ceremony and of younger days.
If there was any particular person who had not felt good about them selves for a long while, then it was certainly Arthur Kirkland, the representative of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
Adjusting his patriotic Union Jack cuff links, quite a nice touch to his brown suit and burgundy tie, he inspected himself in the full-length mirror situated in his bedroom. In doing so, the blond, bushy-eye browed nation couldn't resist a prideful and victorious smirk that was similar to the one he flashed at the Spaniard after defeating his rather pathetic Armanda.
Tonight was the opening night of the 2012 Olympic games held in London, an event that set the tone for the host country's preparation in handling such an important event. After years of planning, work, and money, the nation of Great Britain was finally ready to kick off hosting the Olympic games with a splendid opening night, even the former Beetles member Paul McCartney would do a performance and the queen herself, good old Bess the 2nd , would do her first acting role with an famous British icon. Indeed, today it was good to be him.
It had been Frances' idea to revive these Greek games back in the summer of 1896 in Athens. While one might reminisce pleasantly about being present on such a historic day, the memory only brought a scowl to the Brit's face as he had been made to become bothered by the Frog's indecent advances on his person; all in an attempt to annoy and publically humiliate him due to their bad blood.
Bad associations with the Olympics aside, it was mid-morning of the eve that the Opening ceremony would start tonight. It also meant that it was almost time for afternoon tea. This time, England had a special guest for this private event who was always one of the few reasons the Englishmen's mood would lift, and it was all because of you dear _______ , the nation of (country).
You see, he wanted to squeeze some personal time with you before attending the opening ceremony with all the other nations later that evening.
Being the closet romanticist that England happens to be, he figured this was his chance to finally confess his long felt desires for you. In his mind's eye, everything would go along swimmingly. You, being the teary-eyed maiden, overwhelmed by this confession and would return your feelings for him; exchanging a kiss with him and then insisting that you both share each other's passions before attending the ceremony.
Both of you would then sit together in the VIP stadium reserved for nations, holding hands and whispering sweet nothings throughout the whole event as you both admired your countries' team openings. The firework display would provide a perfect excuse to cuddle close and perhaps exchange a kiss or two.
What was your connection to England? Well, concerning your political past with each other, you and he go way back as being allies since at least the 18th century. He had defended your small country from the cocky Frogs' Napoleonic advance, all in exchange for your alliance against the Frog from thereon; however, you indeed proved yourself to him as being more than just an ally.
"In my most professional and unbiased of opinions", England lectured to his reflection, "_____ has to be the most charming, witty, and courageous Lady I have ever perchance to meet. I must say, with our minds put together we can do unimaginable things."
'We can also do unimaginable things if we put our bodies together', a naughty voice in the back of the Brit's head announced, causing a light blush to dust across his pale checks.
It would take a lot of coaxing to have him admit it, but England was indeed attracted to you physically as well.
How he longed to run his fingers through your (h/l), (h/c) hair and to wrap his arms sensually around your waist to pull you into a mind-blowing kiss; one that would leave you weak at the knees upon the entrance of his tongue, slithering gently across your luscious lips to be granted permission to enter and fence with your own smooth muscle, making claim upon it.
He would sense you swooning from his bold actions, whereby he would take one of his arms to put under the back of your knees to lift you up bridal style, and climb the stairs to take you to his bed. It was a step up from just sharing a kiss with you but he would seize the moment, knowing you wanted it too.
He would lay you down on his Satin sheets and climb on top and straddle you, gazing into your (e/c) eyes full of anticipation and desire for him, as he would then proceed to
"STOP! ", the Brit exclaimed as he grasped the edge of a nearby dresser for support. His face burned bright red with embarrassment as he pulled at his messy tuff of golden blond hair in attempt to disrupt his ongoing thought pattern.
"Get it together old chap, these are certainly not the thoughts a Gentleman such as yourself must regard Ms. (l/n) as, and especially within the hour of her arrival." England rambled to himself as he tried to eliminate (mentally eliminate you Johnny perverts, he can't be caught with his pants down now, at least not yet~) the unwanted, but rather pleasant, excitement in his loins at the scenario he would love to reenact with you. He began thinking of a particular Frenchman and an American, also throwing in a certain Spaniard in there for good measure. Immediately, the flame that was previously downstairs was extinguished.
'Ah, much better
Now I must set up for tea as I would hate to look inadequately prepared in front of Ms. (f/n), especially when this date is for her,' the Brit thought to himself, feeling flushed at the fact that this could be counted as an unofficial, yet legitimate "date" with you. Maybe other outings he had with you counted as dates. He certainly hoped so.
Heading down the narrow staircase that lead up to the second floor of his central London flat, England went through the parlor room and into the kitchen, where he took out his good tea set from the cupboards and placed it on a silver tray situated on the kitchen counter, already waiting to be occupied.
He proceeded to fill a clean sugar bowl with the sparkling granules his nation had fought in wars to get and also took out a full serving glass from the fridge filled with fresh crème'. He opened the pantry, and took from a tin, some of his famous English scones that he was always happy to serve to his guests and set them on a serving tray.
Once everything was assembled, the Brit carefully carried the full tray to his parlor room and placed it on his coffee table. Sitting down on the couch, he looked at his Grandfather clock to check how his progress was doing before your arrival. 'Let's see
Ah! 11:52Am, splendid! I made it just in time! Way to be a not failure me. Now, knowing _________, she'll be here on the money at 11:55 like she said she would and not a minute later', England thought to reassure himself.
Placing a leg over his knee, a rare smile crossed England's lips. Yes, things were looking up for him. He would get the girl he had always longed for, but never had the courage to pursue until he became fed up with himself for putting it off, and get the praise from all the other nations for putting on a smashing Olympic opening.
And so, England waited and waited
11:53 turned into 12:03 PM, which turned into 12:12.
Bouncing his leg nervously, England started to worry that something bad must have had happened to you that could account for your tardiness. He felt the strong urge to call you up just to check.
Turning his head at the sound of the gentle knocks upon his front door, England got up and briskly walked over to let you in.
Opening the door, he was greeted by the lovely sight that was you.
I think now's a good time to switch POVs here to the reader's.
Today, you were wearing one of your favourite professional outfits: a pencil skirt and a (f/c), long sleeve button up shirt, complete with black garter stockings and black heels. Such an outfit was required as you were having mid day tea with one of your good acquaintances and long time ally, England. You would also be heading straight to the opening ceremony as your nation's representative and you certainly wanted to look good for the cameras.
Recently, however, you couldn't help but wish for the relationship status you had with the Brit to be made into something more special, and that had certainly influenced you into wanting to look nice for England.
Walking your usual route to England's house, heels clicking against the London sidewalks as you walked past Nelson's Column in Trafalgar square, you couldn't help but think back to a particular point in time when your feelings for England blossomed.
"Bloody Hell", England screeched as he slammed his now empty glass of beer, most likely the first of many unless someone intervened quickly.
"Where does that bloody Frog get off about mocking my latest food innovation? 'Oh L'Angleterre, what were vous smoking when you came up with ze Boiled Fish in ze Bag?(1) (2) Never 'ave I seen such atrocities done to les poissons. Oh well, let us hope it is ze English fish zat suffer such a le miserable fate, ohonhonhonhon.' Absolute codswallop! The fish in the bag is genius! You here me!?" The angry Brit ranted after mimicking his long-standing rival in a mockery of the French accent and language. Turning his whole body in your direction, he then pointed to his head as if to add emphasis to his point. "Genius!"
Turning away and placing both elbows on the bar counter, he slapped it and demanded another beer from the poor bartender working overtime that evening in the smoky, cigarette filled South Yorkshire pub in Sheffield.
Meanwhile, all you could do was sit in the bar stool adjacent to him, nodding your head slowly. You pretended to sip your rather disgusting and over the top martini you regretted ordering as you tried your best not to hint your true feelings about the Fish in the bag product. Sure, the 1970s' for England right now was all about the introduction of convenience food, what with television being better than it ever used to be, but come on, fish in the bag? Can you say gross? France was right
apparently England was still high from the 60's. And he was still sensitive about the most trivial of things.
Patting his shoulder, you tried to lighten the Brit's foul mood. " Oh lighten up Arthur. You know how he likes to tease you; so don't let it get to you. He's really a nice guy."
"A nice guy?" England turned to face you with an unimpressed scowl plastered on his face. " _________, how can you stomach defending that foppish twit? He's a bloody bastard and that doesn't even provide the summary of what I really think about him
d-don't tell me," Arthur blushed as he stuttered slightly "that you prefer his company over mine."
The Brit gave you a scrutinizing stare, his dark bushy brows furrowed as he played the bad cop in his interrogation.
" What? Do I annoy you somehow? Have you been taking me on some kind of ride, where you pretend to be my friend and then go laugh at my problems with the frog after you tell him? Have you"
" Oh lighten up," you giggled, playfully punching England's shoulder. " You know I don't judge or listen to what either of you have to say about each other, you and he are both so biased that way. And I would never conspire against you. You have to remember, France is my friend as well; I would defend you if he talked you down in front of me. "
England turned away, looking down at his refilled glass the bartender had slide down the table seconds ago, his mouth drawn in a thin line. He mumbled something under his breath that you couldn't quite make out, but thought you caught a 'God, I wish you could just see how , hhhherrm
the look in his
Not taking it too seriously, you continued where you left off as he stared at the counter.
"Honestly Arthur, I do care for you and am lucky to know you like this. You've gotten over tougher stuff, what with Alfred's revolu-"
You stopped when you noticed him visibly cringe.
"Okay, maybe not. Sorry, I forgot you still hate talking about that. Anyway, all you have to remember is that I think you are one of the most
the most amazing person I look up to. You've been there for me during the best and the worst of times and I've done the same for you. And I've-"
"Said enough on the subject" the Brit interrupted. His shining emerald eyes now made contact with your (e/c) ones, staring intently. You couldn't help but notice something unfamiliar was in them.
What he did next shocked you even to this day. England had reached over, took your right hand gently and placed a kiss upon it.
You immediately blushed at the feel of his lips on your sensitive skin, remaining completely still as he held your hand in his. His cool, smooth lips lingering perhaps a little longer than what seemed necessary as he pulled up to face you; your skin burning with the memory of his contact and burned for more.
"Thank you ______ , I know I can be an Ass most of the time but I appreciate the patience you have with me. In fact, I think it's time I told
. Oh bollucks ________, how do I put this? It's time that I "
"Pay your bill owd lad" A booming, Yorkshire voice cut Arthur off. Both of you turned in the voice's direction to see the tired looking bar tender across the counter from the both of you. "We're closen now for toneet n' faiv minut. Please pay your bills an' 'ave tha a good nigh' there love an' tha too owd lad, don't be nesh now." He placed your bills on the counter and then shuffled away.
Not quite understanding what the bartender said, you still managed to get the gist of what he was trying to say.
You turned back to look at the side of Arthur's head as he avoided your gaze by looking down at both of your bills. "Uh, Arthur." You prompted. "It's time that you, uh
Turning his head back to you, he looked down to notice that his hold was still on your hand. He released it quickly as if he burned himself. Eyes shifting from you, to the bills, and back to you, he finally spoke.
"It's time that I
walk you back to your car. Yes
that's what I was about to say before we were so rudely interrupted" England stressed, adding emphasis to the last sentence as he glared at the bar tender who was oblivious to the daggers in his back.
You nodded in understanding, feeling that the awkward moment needed it. Arthur then got off his stool, grumbling about how rude people were when they interrupted others, and slammed the amount of pounds needed to pay both of your bills onto the counter and started to head towards the door.
You got off your stool and stood there for a moment; trying to process how strange that moment was. You figured he was just being gentlemanly to you as a female friendhis only female friend. Yet, a small and growing part of you felt let down that his act of friendship didn't turn out to be something more.
Arthur stopped at the door's entrance, turning his head to gaze at you with an annoyed expression. "Well, are you coming or would you rather stand there and wait for Christmas to come?"
Rolling your eyes at Arthur's never ending sarcasm, you followed after him.
You reassured yourself that whatever you felt at the moment for Arthur, be it even the tiniest bit of a crush, would past with time. After all, many kinds of infatuations fade with time.
Phew, that was long. I think that flashback could have been a story all on its own. Oh well, I think it's a cool glimpse of your relationship with England.
Hmmm. Fade. Right. The act you thought would motivate you to move on. Oh, If only that had been that simple.
Your feelings for Arthur had not faded at all actually, if anything they strengthen. Whatever infatuation you had with Arthur before this event was now set in stone. That little devil had apparently struck you with his accursed arrow; as a result, your feelings evolved into a strong desire for everything that was Arthur.
You constantly replayed that memory in your head and spent whatever time you could with him. You never dared to let out any hints that he was the one you fancied and loved. You were worried that revealing your true feelings for him would ruin your friendship, so you kept completely poker faced about the matter.
It was so frustrating, wanting what you couldn't have and especially that thing being Arthur. However, your reluctance to tell Arthur your feelings was also held back by another dilemma, and that dilemma was France.
No, France wasn't cockblocking you directly. Worse, he was doing it indirectly. It was complicated, but somewhere down your long road with him you had also fallen in love with the beautiful Frenchman as well.
You could only imagine the nightmare scenario of what would happen if you confessed to one of them about your feelings. Not only did you fear rejection, but you also feared ruining your friendships with both of them.
It was a scary scenario that you predicted would happen with how England or France would react. The person you confessed to would reject you, as both a lover and a friend, while the other who heard about your proposal would be disgusted with your intimate feelings for their long-term rival and reject your friendship with them as well.
You were split down the middle, to say the least, as you could not even begin to imagine the impossible reality it would be to have both of them. Those thoughts were reserved for the fantasies you liked to torment yourself with. So you compromised to having both England and France just as close friends. So far, they seemed to accept that and you continued to suffer in silence with your unrealistic desires
Turning your thoughts from your psyche, your attention focused at the task at hand as you found yourself almost having walked passed England's gorgeous flat.
Walking up the small steps, you gently knocked on his door and were immediately greeted by the handsome, bushy-browed Englishman.
"Hey England! I'm so happy you invited me up for tea! It was a great idea as a way to catch up before all us countries attend the opening ceremony." You beamed at him, taking in his finely suited features.
"By the way, I'm Sorry I'm late. I stopped to make small talk earlier on my way here and I guess time caught up with me. Ha ha, I guess this moment is a precedent for what happens when I'm late."
Well yes, quite." England agreed curtly, his checks a little flushed as he took in your appearance. "Just consider yourself lucky you aren't late enough to have gone and made the tea cold." The mercurial British Gentleman lectured, but deep down you knew he was happy to see you too.
Stepping aside, he extended one of his arms in a welcoming gesture into his home. "Now please, before you float away from all the air inside your head, do come in."
"Don't mind if I do", you candidly replied as you stepped through the door, laughing a little at the fact that you were one of the few people to understand and appreciate his dry sense of British humor.
Closing the door after you, England led you to his parlor room where he had gone to the trouble of setting out tea for the both of you to enjoy.
And Oh look! There was also food. There were
his famous scones. Oh boy. How were you going to avoid eating those?
Situating himself on one of the cushions of his comfortable couch, he patted the opposite cushion next to him. "Please, take a seat love."
Sitting beside him, a rush of temporary joy surged through you at hearing him address you by your favourite title he sometimes called you by.
Thanking him, you reaching over and poured yourself some of his delicious Earl Grey tea, along with adding the crème' and sugar to your liking.
"Ah wait my dear!" England exclaimed. You stopped dead in your tracks before you could even take your first sip.
Bringing forth the serving tray of scones with a big smile, he extended it towards you and offered you one of his burnt looking scones.
Oh England, why did you make it so hard to be a good guest in your company? And why were you so prideful in everything? Geez.
Meanwhile, England anxiously waited; giving you a look that said, 'Well, what are you waiting for? Take one. '
Pitying yourself for your current circumstance, you took what looked like the least burnt scone and quickly took a bite of it to get it over with, just like what one would do when quickly taking a sip of some foul tasting medicine.
Immediately, a burnt taste assaulted your taste buds, but also something else. Was that the tiniest hint of flavor? Hmmm, maybe today's batch wasn't as bad as usual. Heck, maybe it would be edible if England paid attention for once and didn't burn them all the time.
England seemed rather pleased by your acceptance of his scone and had one himself.
Setting down your half eaten scone, you decided to find an excuse to stop eating by making small talk.
"So England, I bet your pretty excited for the opening games huh?"
Setting down his scone, England took a quick sip of tea, placing the teacup back in its saucer.
"Love, you need not be so formal as to call me that. Arthur will do just fine. And yes, I'm quite excited. A lot of money and time has gone into this opening event and I'm looking forward to it. Just like I'm looking forward to another event that will happen in the near future."
With that, England set down his tea.
"Oh really? Is there a pre-opening to the opening ceremony? Wow, you weren't kidding when you said a lot of time was spent planning this. But I'm sure it wasn't necessaWhoa!!!"
Your current rant was cut off by a hard squeeze to one of your stocking clad thighs; almost causing you to drop your tea. Looking at your thigh and the hand that was grabbing it, you trailed your gaze up the arm to find that it was indeed the arm of the only other person in the room: Arthur Kirkland.
Arthur was wearing a devilish smirk and a certain gleam in his eyes; a combination you had never seen upon Arthur's face in the history that you'd known him for.
"Oh, sorry love. Did I startle you?" he asked in his smooth accent, gently removing your grasp on your tea with his other hand and setting it down on the coffee table.
"A-A-Arth - Arthur, W-W-What?" was all you could stammer out.
You. Didn't. Know. What . Else . To . Do.
Was this really happening? He seemed so un-phased by what he had just done. Damn, his hand was still on your thigh like it was very comfortable being there.
"Shhh love. I've got something important to tell you"
Something important? Aw shit. You knew you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. He had some confidential information to tell you and he trusted you as a friend to listen. This calmed your demeanor significantly even with Arthur's hand still on your thigh, which seemed to put a slightly confused expression on Arthur's face.
Well, you had been listening to him for years now, so he might as well fire away. You could take it. You'd continue to play it cool.
"Of course Arthur. I'd be happy to hear~. Did something backfire with the fireworks? Wait. Have any of my athletes been caught doping? Cause I swear I'm not behind it I-"
"NO! _____ that's not it.", Arthur said firmly, almost shouting.
Taking matters into his own hands, he used them to gently cup both sides of your face; forcing your beautiful (e/c) eyes to catch his determined emerald gaze.
His own features softening at your flushed checks as he held them tenderly, he connected his forehead with yours.
"_________, my sweet _________. Know that I'll always consider you to be my best friend. But I propose we add an additional title to that. So here it goes, __________ I want you to be my lover. Please, consider moving in with me. We've known each other long enough, but I want what we already have to be more. I want to finally have a reason to say I love you every time I see you, because I truly do, I love you__________. "
Removing his forehead from yours, he went to inspect your facial features and was touched by what he saw.
Tears filled your beautiful eyes, making them shine. A lump probably the size of your own fist was lodged in your throat, rendering you to be speechless. You couldn't believe what you had just heard; almost not wanting to believe you had. Did Arthur really just confess to you what you've always dreamed of hearing him say?
'Yes, he has' A voice in your head answered back. 'And don't look now, but I think he's going in for a kiss'
Indeed, Arthur was leaning in for what looked like a kiss. "_____", he whispered to you silently, hands still gently cradling your face, as if he was worried you'd evaporate without some kind of possession over you. His eyes half lidded, gazing at you through his eyelashes as he leaned forward, mouth almost inches from your own. Your instincts took over, causing your own eyes to be half lidded as you leaned in to exchange the kiss you always wanted to give Arthur and no one else
and no one
'Ma Cherie, S'il te plaît. Is it too much to ask for you to reconsider?'
'It is Francis. It wouldn't be fair to either you or I.'
You pushed Arthur off of you back on the other side of the couch, panic coursing through your veins. What had you done? And what was Arthur thinking?
Re-aligning himself after his stumble back from your push, Arthur's expression looked a kin to a child whose favourite toy was taken away from him as he stared right at you.
"_______" , w-what on earth is
"I'm sorry Arthur, I can't. I just can't. Don't ask why, just know it's my fault."
Standing up, face flushed with embarrassment and humiliation, you couldn't bear to look at Arthur.
"I should probably go, I'll see you later at the ceremony." With that you stiffly walked towards the front door.
Arthur began to panic; his plans were not in the lovely sequence that he planned them in. They were in complete disarray! He especially didn't want things to end the way they did. How the hell would things get better after what just happened? Oh God, what if he just screwed up your friendship, the very base of your relationship with him. He had to make things right again before it was too late.
Standing up, he moved to stop you.
"_______! Wait I"
" 'allo L'Angleterre ! You ass bouquet. ~ Your country gets more hideous by the minute no? Ready for your little ceremony to ze worst inAttendez?! . Q-quoi? _________? What are you doing 'ere at ze rosbif's shack?"
Both you and Arthur whipped your heads towards the opened window of the living room to find France's head peering in, looking both confused and unimpressed by what he saw..
Like fire to a match, an instant reaction came out of Arthur.
"FROG! Why must you constantly interfere with my life? Go bother someone else for a change! ______ and I are busy!"
"If you are busy with what I think you are doing, then I already know; there is no fooling moi mon ami. I won't let you soil mon chou with your filthy English hands!"
"YOU WANT A FIGHT FROG!? WELL YOU'VE GOT ONE!"
"DON'T THNK I'M SCARRED OF SOME GROSSIER PUNK LIKE YOU!"
Well, this is fun.
You knew Arthur and Francis couldn't settle this one on their own; they would need your help.
The question was
To be continued