French Lessons FrancexReader

French Lessons
FrancexReader
Part one: Confrontation

  Your eyes bored into the back of the blonde Frenchman's head. That asshole, he'll never get me. The infamous Francis Bonnefoy had every girl, except you, wrapped around his finger. He saw you as a challenge, another girl to seduce and leave. A flirt, a jerk, a pervert, that's all that came to mind when you thought of him. Besides, you had more important  things to do than to become infatuated with a French pervert, like becoming valedictorian. You weren't going to let the French pest get in the way of your grades. You sat in AP Physics, taking notes and thinking of ways to murder the Frenchman. You were so engrossed in your homicidal thoughts that you didn't hear the first three calls from your teacher.

"_______!!" You immediately snapped up at the sound of your name.

"Yes, Mister Wilson?" You looked up at your fuming physics teacher, all eyes were on you. You were the smart girl, you couldn't be slacking off in class. You blushed a deep crimson.

"What is Archimedes' principle?" You quickly recovered at the sound of an academic question.

"The bouyant force of an object is equal to the amount of fluid displaced by that object." Mr. Wilson smiled and nodded at you.

"Correct, but don't get off task too often, Miss (l/n)." You blushed again and the class giggled. A certain Frenchman turned and smiled at you before blowing a kiss in your direction. You shot him a death glare and zoned your attention in on the lesson. The lesson went on for about another twenty minutes or so and the bell rang, signalling the day's end. You quickly compiled your things and jogged out to the hallway, trying to blend in with the crowd and escape the blonde. You eventually came to your locker and put your books away. It was a Friday and you had already finished the little weekend homework that had been assigned. Before exiting, you scanned your surroundings, backpack in hand. No sign of Bonnefoy. You slowly started advancing down the hallway to begin your five minute trek back home. Most of the school had cleared out and only you and your two friends, Elizaveta and Alfred, remained. After a short conversation with Lizzy, and the exchanging of high fives with Alfred, you headed out the building only to be approached by the person you oh so hoped to avoid. How did he always manage to find you?

"Ah, _____, ma cheri! You look so beautifu--" He pulled out a rose--where the hell did that come from?--to give to you, but you quickly cut him off.

"Cut the crap, Bonnefoy! We will never go out." The Frenchman appeared downcast as if your words hurt or something. Unbeknownst to you, they did hurt. The Frenchman had truly fallen for you. Of course he was just trying to seduce you at first, but now he wanted a long-term relationship, a love. He had developed strong feelings for you over the course of his three to four years in high school with you. Oh, but how much you loathed the Frenchman. He came as an exchange student in ninth grade and has been a pain in your neck ever since. Perhaps if he wasn't such a flirt when he first arrived, maybe you would have given him a chance. He quickly dropped his attempt at flirting with you and went straight to business. He had a plan, and if successful, you would have to fall for him. "What do you want, Francis?" He smirked slyly.

"I'd like to make a deal, ____." This caught your attention, he rarely ever said your name without a French term of endearment following suit. You started walking home, with the Frenchman following close behind.

"Okay, I'm listening, Francis." He smirked at the back of your retreating head. You turned so you were facing him.

"Go on a date wiz me tomorrow afternoon. If you still see me as only a French pervert, I'll leave you alone, but if you enjoy yourself, we have to go on a second date. Then we'll go from zhere." You went over this in your head, you were a very honest person, so if you did have fun on this date, you'd have to confess. But then again, the chances of you haveing fun were very slim, you didn't even feel comfortable around the Frenchman. This would be your only chance to be rid of the man for the second semester of your senior year. Here goes nothing, ____.

"I might regret this," the Frenchman locked his azure eyes with your (e/c) ones in anticipation, a hint of a smile forming in the corner of his lips. "I'll go on a date with you tomorrow. I'm free around three," you gave him a suspicious look before continuing. "What did you have planned?" The blonde smiled with a look of pure euphoria upon his flawless face. He embraced you, rather roughly, and you blushed.

"Ma cheri*, this is fantastique*!" You pushed him off, earning a look of hurt from the Frenchman. You almost felt the need to apologize, but quickly stopped yourself before doing so.

"What did you have planned?" You asked with a little more hostility. He quickly pulled his hands up, as if to show he had no weapons.

"Just a picnic in zhe park, we can do anyzhing you want to, though." He appeared nervous, why would he be nervous? He's dated nearly every girl in the school since ninth grade. You shrugged of the question, and went over the idea. A park seems public enough.

"That's fine, which one? I'll meet you there." The Frenchman looked down, appearing a bit...crestfallen? What is with his mood swings today? "What's wrong, Francis?" He looked up at you, still a bit downcast.

"I just wanted to pick you up, is all."

"Is that necessary, Bonnefoy?" Your eyes narrowed into slits. Was he plotting to "make a move" on you? Damn French pervert. You rolled your eyes.

"Non*, it would just mean...a lot, I guess." You met his eyes, loosening your glare a bit. There didn't seem to be anything perverted in his eyes, what harm would it do? He was truly being sincere. He's serious, what the fudge?

"Well, I don't see why that would be important, but my address is (address). I'll be ready at three, so...yeah." He smiled and grabbed your hand and kissed it gently.

"Fantastique, I'll be over at three on zhe dot, mon amour*!" You blushed at his kissing you hand, but soon blushed even more when he, once again, pulled you into a hug. Feeling a bit, again, overwhelmed, you pushed him off you a bit, unintentionally, rough.

"Ey! Francis, let go!" He quickly apologized. "It's fine, but let's keep that touchy-feely crap to a minimum, capisce?" You glared at him, he nodded solemnly. The hurt he felt earlier quadrupled.

"Sorry, again, ____." Feeling a little guilty about your rash reaction to his affection.

"Hey, I'm sorry about my quick reaction, it's just...I'm not really comfortable with that. It's cool though, I'll see you tomorrow, Frenchie." You smiled in his direction before beginning your trek home. He smiled at your apology.

"I understand, ____. I'll see you tomorrow, as well, (derogatory nationality term)." He winked at you and you rolled your eyes and smiled at him, the kind of smile you would only find if you were looking for it. Luckily for the Frenchman, he was looking for it. You continued home. As you walked away, Francis smirked. Your hostility towards him died down a bit during the conversation, not as much as he would like, but still. If he kept making progress at this rate, you'd have to fall for him before the end of the year.