Hate Me {fanfiction}
Title- Hate Me
Warnings- fluff, France being a (slight) pervert, OC's
Summary- Through his limited, child knowledge of reading the atmosphere and the Irish language, it became clear that the only way to get it through to that frog about how much he was hated, was to kiss him. Whatever that was. Chibi!England X France
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~XxX-H a t e M e-XxX~
In which Ireland has an unfortunate slip of the tongue, England is unusually naive, and France realises he's a pervert
Rover put his head in his paws, growling. He could hear the screaming, as could his leprechaun friend, but he was far too drunk to even care at the moment about the fighting that was taking place between the brothers yonder.
It was an ordinary occurrence; their owner and his younger brother fighting, the elder generally having the upper hand on his vertically challenged younger. It was unfair, uncalled for, and quite entertaining in the past. Now it was getting irritating, as it had been happening every second day lately ever since the islands had finally been discovered by a certain European country.
Well, England was the one to be discovered really. And he didn't like it one little bit.
"Go away!" Ireland yelled, irked that his unwanted little brother kept following him around.
England stuck out his bottom lip, furrowing his eyebrows as he asked, "Why won't you help me! France won't leave me alone! Tell him to go away!"
"I have the same problem!" Ireland yelled, "'Cause you won't leave me alone!"
"Hey! At least I'm not invading you and bossing you around like that French frog is doing to me!" England retaliated sourly, stamping his foot in frustration, "Though I really want to invade you right now, just to show you what it's like you-you...idiot!"
Ireland sneered, poking his younger brother in the head mockingly. "I'd like to see you try, shortie," he laughed, jeeringly. 'Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this in a few hundred years?' he thought warily, brushing it off as paranoia.
"Just help me!"
"Ugh! Póg mo feckin' haon, Sasana!"
England stopped, looking up at his deadpanning brother with curious eyes, watching in thought as Ireland muttered stuff under his breath. "What does that mean?" he questioned, momentarily forgetting about the fighting.
"Uh," Ireland started, scratching his head to try and think of a less explicit meaning. He didn't want to have to deal with any of his other brothers if England went around learning curse words. 'Again, why do I feel like this is futile? Oh never mind...'
"It means, uhm, 'Kiss me'?" he answered vaguely, watching carefully to see if England bought it.
The child like country blinked, his face blank. "What does that mean?" he asked again, cocking his head to one side in confusion.
"What does what mean?"
"Kiss?"
Ireland gaped before managing to reply, in complete disbelief, "You don't know what a kiss is?"
England shook his head, grumbling. "It's not like it's probably important for me to know or anything, right?" he asked, sulkily, "Are you going to tell me or what?"
"Ah," Ireland pondered on how to word this, "A kiss is when you press your lips to another person, most likely on their lips." England blinked a few times, staring his brother down suspiciously. "Do you understand now?"
"Is that what it is?" he questioned warily. Ireland nodded and England looked indignant. "But what's bad about that? You were all angry when you said it but I don't see what the big deal is! I don't get that, eh!"
"Uhm, it's a very bad thing," Ireland bluffed, wondering when he got so good at lying to small children, "But you only understand how much of a big deal it is until you get older, so you wouldn't get it."
"So you do it when you dislike someone?" England pondered, tapping his chin with his finger, "So I could kiss you-"
"No."
"Why not-You told me to!" England retorted indignantly.
'Because that's a little thing called incest, which I'm really not willing to commit,' Ireland deadpanned. "It was a slip of the tongue. And you most certainly are not to go around kissing people. They'll blame me."
"Don't worry," England simpered pathetically, crossing his fingers behind his back and smirking inwardly, "I certainly won't be using this on anyone..."
'Again with the feeling that I'm going to regret this...'
"Eh!" England growled, looking up at the frivolous blonde in fury, "You can't enforce your stupid frog rules on me! This isn't even your country so just go away!"
"Ah, l'Angleterre," France crooned, ruffling the smaller nation's hair, smiling almost sadistically at the cute little pout forming on his features, "I don't think you understand this whole thing of 'Normandy owns you' yet. I can do what I want, kid!"
"Go away! I hate you!" England wailed in frustration, thumping the taller nation's leg with his fist. France just chuckled, grabbing the back of his little green cloak and pulled him away.
"Ah, there's nothing you can do about it, you mere island," he chortled, sadly not realising the look of pure rage flashing across his smaller counterpart's face, "I mean, I'm bigger and there's no question of who would win if I were to fight you and-!"
England jumped, clinging to France's dress collar, making him stumble with the force applied by England's lips pressed to his. France froze in shock, taking in the smaller nation's eyes squeezed shut in complete and utter frustration.
France fell over, wide-eyed as England broke away with surprise from falling. The smaller turned back to the flustered and blushing elder, a confident smirk on his face as he ceased his grip on France's shirt that was not a dress.
"I hate you," he said simply, poking his tongue out in a sign of disrespect.
France gaped, his left hand flying to his mouth as his other tried to keep him and England supported. "Why the hell did you do that then!" he cried in bewilderment. He had probably caught some disease from the uncivilized brat.
"You sure are stupid!" England cackled, content with knowing something that France didn't, although, really, he didn't quite understand either. He swooped in again, kissing the other with malicious intentions.
'Hah,' he thought in amusement, 'This doesn't even hurt me, but I bet it really hurts France if this is some kind of violence! I think I'm even winning for once!'
France, on the other hand, was less amused. He was getting rather upset, yet his brain was not functioning well enough from the shock for him to realise that pulling away would be the best option. Instead, he sat on the wet grass, blushing idiotically as the small island nation on his lap continued to have his lips pressed to his own.
'This is madness,' France thought in despair, fighting the need to close his eyes, 'Complete and utter madness. What is he achieving from this? But it doesn't feel too bad, I guess-!'
At that thought, France saw common sense and yanked his face away from England's, pushing him away and scurrying back a few inches in a desperate attempt to separate himself from him. England's grin, as he picked himself up, was like one of a Cheshire cat; wide and unnerving. "Your face is all red and it looks funny!" he chortled, pointing and laughing.
"England, what the hell are you playing at?" he yelled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, trying to scrap together one shred of dignity, "Don't do things like that!"
"You're not the boss of me!" England wailed, stamping his foot as he stormed over and stood directly in front of the other, "You may act like it and pretend you are but you're not! You can't tell me what to do, alright! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! Die in hell, you stupid frog!"
France was confused. He didn't even bother to try and pick himself up off the ground, to make himself look taller and more important than the kid in front of him. He sat there, staring the child down. "If you hate me," France pondered, the words rolling off his tongue, "Then why did you kiss me?"
"Because I hate you," England said simply, drawing out his words as well as shaking his head at the supposedly more mature nation.
"England, that doesn't make sense," France deadpanned.
"Yes it does! I hate you, so I kiss you! Ireland told me!"
'Does he think kissing is some sort of fighting...nice one, Hibernia, nice one...' France thought bitterly, though no clue on whether or not his statement was sarcastic or not. He tapped his chin thoughtfully before crawling towards the smaller nation, his eyes wild. 'God, what am I doing?'
"So, you hate me?" France cooed, kneeling up once close and brushing strands of sand coloured mess out of England's eyes.
"I've told you enough damn times!"
"Take that as a yes, then," France replied, smiling, "So you want to kiss me because of that?"
"Yes," England said cautiously, wary of where this inane questioning was leading.
Grabbing the kid's wrists, France pulled England to the ground-which wasn't that hard- capturing him and pressing his lips to the smaller nation's. After a few seconds of struggle, France pulled away, smirking at the look of horror on England's face.
"T-t-that- you stole it!" England stammered indignantly, his cheeks burning in frustration, "Copycat!"
France smirked, though sweat dropping inside. 'I've after taking advantage of naive kid for my own creepy kicks...hopefully this won't become normality...'
And this time, France experienced the same nauseating feeling Ireland did. The feeling of resistance against fate being absolutely futile...
"Ireland?" Scotland called, noting the jump of guilt his brother made when his name was called.
"Y-yes?"
"France mistook me for you, that idiot, and told me that he is eternally grateful and he'll help in whatever war you need help for in the future. Can you explain why exactly he is selling himself out to you? It seems out of character, like the bluish on his face."
Ireland shuddered. The strange feeling was back, telling him that once England figured out, in a hundred years or so, that he'd been tricked, he was going to need all the help he could get...