This is my first fanfiction, guys. Don't judge too harshly, but please, PLEASE, review. :3 It's altogether kinda based off of some RPs I've done with my Iggy, and they're both in a relationship. So that's where the FrUK came from.


It wasn't often at all that England tried being romantic. Or showing any affection at all. So it was a big deal to France whenever he did, seeing as how England usually just let France do everything. From going somewhere to even just the simplest kiss. Frankly, sometimes it left the long haired blond rather frustrated. He loved England with all his heart, but sometimes the man really just needed to treat his lover to something.

"Mon cher, where are we going?" the blue-eyed nation muttered, a blindfold over his eyes that always shined with something. Whether it be love, lust, and occasionally-hatred for those few people who really bothered France. Most of the time, he was a rather bubbly person, one would say. He was, in some ways, the opposite of England.

"You'll see in given time... git." the other man responded, almost angrily. He was quite flustered at the time. Having never tried anything like this with his lover, who was the country of love for God's sakes! How was he supposed to impress him? Thoughts such as those ran through England's head, and he contemplated just going back-No. He couldn't go back now, he had to prove he could do this- he had way too much pride to simply turn around and tell France he didn't have anything planned. So, he continued on, now with a little bit more stride in his steps as he led France to his surprise.

France couldn't help but let his mind wander in thought. I wonder where he's taking me... he thought. And he wondered if the man he loved-the man he has always loved-was actually going to be romantic. That thought alone made France's heart beat faster and faster; his Angleterre! Treating him to something romantic for once, oh! What a wonderful day this would be! ... Unless, of course, his love decided he was going to cook anything. That would lead to a nightmare, he'd throw up and- mon dieu.

"O-Okay. We're almost there. I'll ... start taking off your blindfold now," stuttered the shorter of the two. France took note of the way he stuttered slightly, and the way the place they were in now was slightly chilly. Absent mindedly, he moved towards England, who was now willing his shaky hands to untie and free France's azure eyes from the cloth that dared cover such lovely eyes.

Opening his eyes, France was greeted with... Quoi? They were at a park. "It's so pretty... Simple, like it." France smiled, happy with just the plain park. England forced a slight smile, rather than a scowl as he might normally let cross his face-the face France thought was so absolutely stunning. Well, of course, save for his eyebrows. He was scared sometimes that those things would eat his face off, but he still loved them. That's what made England; England.

England started walking, further into the park, before he turned around and noticed France just... standing there. He was observing the park, observing England... and his ass. Typical Frenchman. Ugh. The Brit sighed, huffed over to France, took his hand, and continued to walk with France now in tow.


Translations, anyone?

Mon cher - My dear

Mon dieu - My god

Quoi? - What?

Thanks for reading, people. Tell me if you want me to continue, and I can do so fairly easily, seeing as how I have no life. At all. I WANT REVIEWS, PEOPLE. SO PLEASE, FOR THE DAMN KITTENS.