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Description
"You've been a bad girl. Go to my room."

"Of course." [Name] purred as she opened the door to the Frenchman's bedroom. She stood in the doorway, looking at his beautifully sculpted body that was barely covered by the tousled red sheets. He always told her that red was the color of love. A mere rose covered his privates, earning a small smile from the woman. He shot her an inviting look, both love and lust could clearly be seen in his eyes. Seeing this, she smirked and stepped closer, her hand trailing the soft skin of his chest, slowly going lower.

"Why don't you stop and smell the roses?" His eyes lit up as her face came within inches of his.

Naturally, his alarm had to go off, waking him up again. This was not the first time Francis had had the dream, but he always woke up before anything good happened. Francis groaned and flipped over in his bed, missing the warmth her non-existent touch had provided.

"Mon amour...." He muttered. The Frenchman had a bed big enough for two, yet no lovely miss to share it with. He knew that every woman secretly desired him, (I mean, who wouldn't?) but he only had one in mind- [Name]. With her long [h/c] tresses, bright [e/c] eyes, full lips, curvy figure, and delightful personality, she was the most perfect woman in France, or maybe even the world. Francis sighed as he rolled over again, stretching his arms and legs. He knew he had to get up and go to another one of those boring World Summit meetings, where all he would do is fight with stupid America and detestable Britain. Perhaps afterwords he could go get something to drink. Who knows, he might even spot [Name] at his favorite bar.

Sure enough, the meeting had gone just as he planned. The American rambled about being the Hero, while the Brit had attempted to strangle him. Strangle him, of all things! He rubbed his neck self-consciously, hoping the claw marks would be gone before he would see [Name]. Finally, he was home now, far away from the rest of the bothersome nations. He had wanted to talk to Spain at the meeting instead, but he was busy with a woman. The two of them (and Prussia, back in the good ol' days) had an unspoken agreement- chicks before dicks.

Go figure. He thought, his light brows furrowing. Spain can get a woman, any woman he wants! All I want is for [Name] to look at me!

"No, Francis," He told himself, slapping his flawless cheek gently. "You will stop complaining, and go get her now, non?"

You're so good at pep talks, Francis.

"I know." He answered himself with a grin, grabbed his jacket, and headed over to the bar.

Francis walked in, inhaling the scents of alcohol and home. He looked around, surprised to see the place so empty. There were a few drunken gents sitting in the corner, laughing loudly as they talked about their lives. They were either very good friends, or just incredibly drunk. He shook his head sadly. Men today had no social class, drinking themselves incoherent.

"May I help- Oh, it's you." The bartender greeted him flatly.

"Bonjour, [Name]." He smiled, ignoring her tone.

"Why did I even tell you my name....?" She grumbled as she swiped the counter clean. [Name] kept her eyes trained on the rag in front of her, refusing to meet the Frenchman's eyes. He visited her too often, so she already knew what he planned to do.

France leaned over and put his hand under her chin, causing [Name] to look up at him. He gave her a subtle smile, his blue eyes sparkling as he stared into her [e/c] orbs.

I can see it! She's finally falling for me!

"Did the sun just come up or did you just smile?" He teased, hoping to get a reaction different from the apathetic one he usually received.

"Francis, it's 4 in the afternoon." She sighed. It had been a slow day, but it was people like Francis that made [Name] hate her job.

He ignored her, continuing with that suave smile of his.

What is this guy doing...? [Name] wondered for what seemed like the millionth time. He must have known she wasn't interested in a pervert like him. He thinks he can get any woman he wants just by smiling at them. Well, she wouldn't be falling for that act any time soon.

"Are you as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside?"

"Like the sheets on your bed I want to cover you with love."

[Name] groaned, hitting her head on the counter. What did she ever do to deserve some creep like him always bothering her?

"I had a dream about you last night, you know." He stopped with the lines, hoping that such a deep and intimate conversation would win [Name]'s heart. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

"That's...kinda creepy." She admitted, stepping a little farther back behind the counter.

The bell by the door rang, signifying that a customer had arrived. Perhaps that could distract her and the incredibly determined Francis. This was the 5th time this week he had dropped by attempting to sweep her off her feet.

"May I help you?" [Name] greeted pleasantly, much more pleasantly than she had ever greeted Francis.

"Da. I'd like some vodka." A tall Russian man sat next to Francis, causing the Frenchman to jump.

"Coming right up." [Name] smiled, getting the requested beverage.

"R-Russia?!" France stuttered.

Why is Ivan here? He'll scare [Name]!

"Da?" His purple eyes glinted happily upon seeing the expression of terror upon the Frenchman's face.

"Here's your drink, Ivan~" She handed it to him, still smiling. Ivan nodded a thank you, barely acknowledging the woman in front of him. France's smile dropped. Apparently she knew the Russian. Knew him, and liked him. Francis knew women enough to see when one was in love. He also knew men enough to see when a man didn't return such feelings.

France wasn't one to give up. He always got what he wanted in the end. But he was also one to know when the battle was lost. He got up without saying another word. He opened the door, listening to the bell's merry ring, and turned around one last time, hoping to see [Name] at least glance back at him. His hopes were crushed as he saw her, staring at the Russian as she attempted to strike up conversation.

The crisp air blew through his long blonde locks, chilling him to the bone. He didn't even feel it as he kept walking, even though his house was a good couple miles away. He smiled, not one of those cheesy, romantic ones he had given [Name] so many times. This smile was one when you don't know what else to do. This smile is one you plaster to your face when you want to fool everyone around you into thinking your happy, even fooling yourself. It makes you feel as though you are joyful, when really you are empty.

Finally, the cold air got to him, and he began to shake.

No matter, he told himself, still with the plastered smile upon his face. [Name] will love me. I will never give up on her.

His feet took a familiar path, not towards his own home, but to [Name]'s. He had been going to see her for so long now, it didn't feel odd to know where she lived. Even if she didn't know he knew that little tidbit. He'd wait for her to come home. He knew her hours; she wouldn't be working for much longer. When she came home, he would be there, waiting. For her to love him back.

'Roses are red, violets are blue, how would you like it if I came home with you?'

Description
"You've been a bad girl. Go to my room."

"Of course." [Name] purred as she opened the door to the Frenchman's bedroom. She stood in the doorway, looking at his beautifully sculpted body that was barely covered by the tousled red sheets. He always told her that red was the color of love. A mere rose covered his privates, earning a small smile from the woman. He shot her an inviting look, both love and lust could clearly be seen in his eyes. Seeing this, she smirked and stepped closer, her hand trailing the soft skin of his chest, slowly going lower.

"Why don't you stop and smell the roses?" His eyes lit up as her face came within inches of his.

Naturally, his alarm had to go off, waking him up again. This was not the first time Francis had had the dream, but he always woke up before anything good happened. Francis groaned and flipped over in his bed, missing the warmth her non-existent touch had provided.

"Mon amour...." He muttered. The Frenchman had a bed big enough for two, yet no lovely miss to share it with. He knew that every woman secretly desired him, (I mean, who wouldn't?) but he only had one in mind- [Name]. With her long [h/c] tresses, bright [e/c] eyes, full lips, curvy figure, and delightful personality, she was the most perfect woman in France, or maybe even the world. Francis sighed as he rolled over again, stretching his arms and legs. He knew he had to get up and go to another one of those boring World Summit meetings, where all he would do is fight with stupid America and detestable Britain. Perhaps afterwords he could go get something to drink. Who knows, he might even spot [Name] at his favorite bar.

Sure enough, the meeting had gone just as he planned. The American rambled about being the Hero, while the Brit had attempted to strangle him. Strangle him, of all things! He rubbed his neck self-consciously, hoping the claw marks would be gone before he would see [Name]. Finally, he was home now, far away from the rest of the bothersome nations. He had wanted to talk to Spain at the meeting instead, but he was busy with a woman. The two of them (and Prussia, back in the good ol' days) had an unspoken agreement- chicks before dicks.

Go figure. He thought, his light brows furrowing. Spain can get a woman, any woman he wants! All I want is for [Name] to look at me!

"No, Francis," He told himself, slapping his flawless cheek gently. "You will stop complaining, and go get her now, non?"

You're so good at pep talks, Francis.

"I know." He answered himself with a grin, grabbed his jacket, and headed over to the bar.

Francis walked in, inhaling the scents of alcohol and home. He looked around, surprised to see the place so empty. There were a few drunken gents sitting in the corner, laughing loudly as they talked about their lives. They were either very good friends, or just incredibly drunk. He shook his head sadly. Men today had no social class, drinking themselves incoherent.

"May I help- Oh, it's you." The bartender greeted him flatly.

"Bonjour, [Name]." He smiled, ignoring her tone.

"Why did I even tell you my name....?" She grumbled as she swiped the counter clean. [Name] kept her eyes trained on the rag in front of her, refusing to meet the Frenchman's eyes. He visited her too often, so she already knew what he planned to do.

France leaned over and put his hand under her chin, causing [Name] to look up at him. He gave her a subtle smile, his blue eyes sparkling as he stared into her [e/c] orbs.

I can see it! She's finally falling for me!

"Did the sun just come up or did you just smile?" He teased, hoping to get a reaction different from the apathetic one he usually received.

"Francis, it's 4 in the afternoon." She sighed. It had been a slow day, but it was people like Francis that made [Name] hate her job.

He ignored her, continuing with that suave smile of his.

What is this guy doing...? [Name] wondered for what seemed like the millionth time. He must have known she wasn't interested in a pervert like him. He thinks he can get any woman he wants just by smiling at them. Well, she wouldn't be falling for that act any time soon.

"Are you as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside?"

"Like the sheets on your bed I want to cover you with love."

[Name] groaned, hitting her head on the counter. What did she ever do to deserve some creep like him always bothering her?

"I had a dream about you last night, you know." He stopped with the lines, hoping that such a deep and intimate conversation would win [Name]'s heart. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

"That's...kinda creepy." She admitted, stepping a little farther back behind the counter.

The bell by the door rang, signifying that a customer had arrived. Perhaps that could distract her and the incredibly determined Francis. This was the 5th time this week he had dropped by attempting to sweep her off her feet.

"May I help you?" [Name] greeted pleasantly, much more pleasantly than she had ever greeted Francis.

"Da. I'd like some vodka." A tall Russian man sat next to Francis, causing the Frenchman to jump.

"Coming right up." [Name] smiled, getting the requested beverage.

"R-Russia?!" France stuttered.

Why is Ivan here? He'll scare [Name]!

"Da?" His purple eyes glinted happily upon seeing the expression of terror upon the Frenchman's face.

"Here's your drink, Ivan~" She handed it to him, still smiling. Ivan nodded a thank you, barely acknowledging the woman in front of him. France's smile dropped. Apparently she knew the Russian. Knew him, and liked him. Francis knew women enough to see when one was in love. He also knew men enough to see when a man didn't return such feelings.

France wasn't one to give up. He always got what he wanted in the end. But he was also one to know when the battle was lost. He got up without saying another word. He opened the door, listening to the bell's merry ring, and turned around one last time, hoping to see [Name] at least glance back at him. His hopes were crushed as he saw her, staring at the Russian as she attempted to strike up conversation.

The crisp air blew through his long blonde locks, chilling him to the bone. He didn't even feel it as he kept walking, even though his house was a good couple miles away. He smiled, not one of those cheesy, romantic ones he had given [Name] so many times. This smile was one when you don't know what else to do. This smile is one you plaster to your face when you want to fool everyone around you into thinking your happy, even fooling yourself. It makes you feel as though you are joyful, when really you are empty.

Finally, the cold air got to him, and he began to shake.

No matter, he told himself, still with the plastered smile upon his face. [Name] will love me. I will never give up on her.

His feet took a familiar path, not towards his own home, but to [Name]'s. He had been going to see her for so long now, it didn't feel odd to know where she lived. Even if she didn't know he knew that little tidbit. He'd wait for her to come home. He knew her hours; she wouldn't be working for much longer. When she came home, he would be there, waiting. For her to love him back.

'Roses are red, violets are blue, how would you like it if I came home with you?'