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{APH} EnglandxReader - Substitute Date

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VALENTINE DAY COUNTDOWN #1

EnglandxReader - Substitute Date

(f/n) - friend's name
(f/r) - favorite restaurant
(c/n) - city name
(f/s) - favorite song

SYNOPSIS :: I go to all this work and my date stands me up? Guess you’ll have to take their place…

(P.S reservations do not work this way. I repeat, no one in their right mind charges for a reservation. It just worked for the story :> Ok, continue)  



It all went down during a light dinner between (f/n) and you. Sure, the plan had been to enjoy the nice relaxing cafe atmosphere while you munched on a sandwich, but as per usual, the scenic aura was shattered; and by your mobile device no less. You wouldn't have paid it any mind, if you hadn't, earlier that day, told a particular Arthur Kirkland to text you if anything amiss happened during his date. A date which totally did not cause a twinge of jealousy in your chest, cause that would be just ridiculous.

Like you, your phone didn't like being ignored, and continued buzzing restlessly in your pocket; you paused mid-chew and set your sandwich down to retrieve it. (F/n) stared, transfixed and curious as you retracted a glistening smartphone from your back-pocket, only to watch it blow up with text after text from the aforementioned Englishman. "Holy crap," she muttered, "good date?"

You shrugged, offering a helpless, "No idea," as you clicked your screen on and proceeded past your lock screen. There, before your very eyes, flashed 2, no 3, then 4 and 5 text messages as, somewhere in (c/n), your best English friend tapped at his keyboard with furious precision.

☕ Mr. Teacup ☕

She's late.

Sent at 3:45 PM

☕ Mr. Teacup ☕

Actually, I really don't think she's coming.

Sent at 3:45 PM

☕ Mr. Teacup ☕

(y/n), I think I've been...stood up.

Sent at 3:46 PM

☕ Mr. Teacup ☕

She was supposed to be here an hour ago!

Sent at 3:46 PM

☕ Mr. Teacup ☕

...Are you ignoring me?

Sent at 3:46 PM

"What's wrong?" (f/n) asked, eyes squinting as she pondered over your popped mouth and squinching eyes. You didn't answer her at first, thoughts too busy crisscrossing themselves for you to formulate some sort of reply. Thoughts such as: What sort of @#$*!@ girl had the audacity to stand up an English accent and free dinner?! Who in their frickin right mind would 'forget' to show up to a date hosted by one of the sexiest blonds to ever grace the world? I mean, this was Arthur Fudging Kirkland, we were talking about. The man whispered and gossiped about among cheerleaders, fantasied about by art students, looked up to by literature fanatics, pestered by history buffs. To stand him up was to bring eternal shame to yourself, because one could bet 100 kittens on the fact that you'd have the entirety of the student body on your tail after such an event; and not in the good way. More like, 'what the crap were you smoking to turn him down like that?' on your tail.

"(y/n)." Your friend snapped a few choice fingers beneath your nose, causing you to blink and sit up. You met her taut frown and furrowed brow, dropping your phone to the table for the time being. "What's going on?" she asked again, tone tinged with sticky concern.

Another buzz, another text, and your hands quickly reached for your device. "I...," you muttered, not sure yourself as to what you should say to your friend. You settle with the simplest answer. "I...I'm not sure." Eyes flick down to the vibrating phone in your hand.

☕ Mr. Teacup ☕

(y/n)!

Sent at 3:48 PM

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" (f/n) popped an eyebrow, throwing an expectant hand out and wiggling her fingers for your mobile device. "If you won't tell me, just let me read for myself-"

"Give me a sec, I'm gonna ask hi-"

But before your friend could rip the phone from your clutches and before you could text-ask what in the world happened...(f/s) began to play. Vibrating incessantly between your fingers and melodiously singing in the form of a familiar ringtone. The screen of your phone was bright with a particular contact photo - blond hair, tangled in the usual bed-head, with two amulets of bleary emerald slowly opening for a good morning yawn. Bushy eyebrows happen to frame the squiggly mustache and monocle haphazardly scribbled across his face, which, at that time, you'd thought added a bit more sophistication to the snobby Englishman; extra detail work thanks to you and your accomplice, Alfred F. Jones, of course, not just you.

Unfortunately, Arthur hadn't agreed.

He'd actually been pretty pissed when he'd gone in to wash his face that morning, and if you thought hard enough, you even recalled a toothbrush being chucked at Alfred's head; because everyone knows that boy's not short of idiocy and stupid comments.

The memory flashed briefly through your mind, as it did every-time Iggy called you, and even managed to tug out a rueful smile despite the seriousness of the situation. With an obvious eyebrow furrowing and confused pursing of lips from your friend - that shrieked all too well that she wasn't understanding why you weren't answering the call - you swiped the 'Answer' button and pressed the mobile to your ear.

"Hey, what's up?"

Oh dear. (y/n), facepalm now because that was most definitely the wrong thing to say in this situation. And Iggy's going to call you on it in 3, 2...

"What's up?! " demanded Iggy's tinny, accented voice. "Are you bleeding serious right now?!"

You began picking at the crust of your bread, wondering how you could possibly make this situation diffuse while also being horribly obnoxious and difficult. Because one must stay true to their personality. "Um...well...let's see...I laughed maybe 2.3 minutes ago, so...yes? Does that constitute as me being serious? Like, in this very moment? I mean, I know, we've had this talk-"

"Don't-don't... do this right now, (y/n)," he stumbled out, ferociously hauling those furiously whispered words through the phone. "Tell me, were you dying when I was texting you?"

"Depends on your definition of dying."

"Will you stop that?!"

"Stop what, Iggy?"

You heard a frustrated squeal scream from the other side, before the phone was taken away and all you could make out was, "Shows here...you looked...all the texts! Never...no text...ignoring me...bloody women...this funny?"

Poor thing, sounded like his brain was starting to misfire. "Iggy? Iggy, hon, let's pause for a second, take a deep breath-"

He must've brought the phone back to his face, because a very not so calm tone of voice briefly snarled out, "I'm perfectly calm!"

"-inhale with me ok? Breathe in-"

"I don't need to do bloody breathing exercises, I need this bloody Yank to get her bleeding arse over to Miss Pendlewald-"

You glanced at (f/n), mouthing 'He's ticked', to which she rolled her eyes and muttered, "Everyone thinks he's the perfect man at school, wonder what they'd think if they knew how snobby and prickish he was in real life."

You couldn't help but agree. Arthur was well-mannered and polite and an all-around perfect gentleman, but he...had a temper. A short one that exploded with certain triggers, some of those triggers being 'smart-arses' like you and Alfred, and others being the silver-tongued flirt of a Frenchman, Francis Bonnefoy. He wasn't beneath arrogance and cynicism, blunt in his opinions of people and obstinate in whichever stance he found himself in.

And he, for some odd, unnameable reason, had a soft, golden spot in your heart. Probably because you liked to tease him half-to-death, right? I mean...cue nervous laughter...why else would he mean so much to you? He was just a stupidly attractive redcoat with an actual red coat you liked him to drape across your shoulders and he had the most irritating eyes that would watch you read and reread English literature aloud and...and nothing!

Shifting in your seat and giving your friend the '1 minute' finger, you popped away from the table and walked a few paces off, finally adding a soothing touch to your words, "Arthur, what in the world is the matter? So she didn't show up, big deal! That's money you've saved-"

"Big deal?" He exploded again; you briefly imagined his crimson face and confetti poofing out of his hair, before returning to the matter at hand. "I'll have you know," he began pretentiously, "that I spent at least eighty dollars on these bloody reservations! Eighty dollars!! "

"Wow, that's uh...a lot of money for a girl who isn't your wife."

He ignored you. "Eighty bleeding dollars! Do you know what I could've done with that money?!"

"Yes, I know you've always wanted the First Edition of Pride and Prejudice...oh wait, jk, you already own it . Seriously, Artie, what do you want me to do? "

Finally the other side of the line got quiet and...slowly, ever so slowly, words that made your arms snake nervously across your waist and a tongue flick out to wet your lips breezed from Arthur's mouth: "I...I was hoping you'd...take her place. It's such a waste, leaving a reservation like this...so I thought I'd treat my...best friend out."

Ba-bump-le-bloody-bump. Blinking and swallowing nervously, you pressed two fingers to your chest as your heart began a pattern of weird and foreign palpitations. "Me? In a fancy restaurant?"

Arthur cleared his throat, voice softening a wee bit at the nervous twinge in your voice. "Uh, yes. You. In a fancy restaurant. Hopefully it's not as disastrous as it sounds."

You should've told him you were busy with a friend. Should've told him you didn't like the idea of embarrassing him like this. Shouldn't have taken a deep breath and girlishly toyed with the fantasy of you draped on Arthur's arm as he led you into a fancy restaurant with fancy silverware and fancy tablecloth and fancy food you couldn't pronounce.

He shouldn't have offered it to you in the first place. Because friends weren't supposed to do this. Friends weren't supposed to take friends on dates. Friends weren't supposed to imagine going on dates with friends. And friends were most certainly not supposed to get excited about going on dates with other friends.

Your hushed words seemed to clog the sudden silence between you two, words seized with an iron vice and tossed dangerously at the blond. "Where should I meet you?"

.

.

.

"Reservation for...?"

Arthur stirred beside you, chest puffing as he lavishly announced, "Kirkland."

Ok, tell me o wise and beating heart that can't sit still ...why is his last name so exciting at this very moment? Or, wait, is it because he has a hand nonchalantly across your ribs that he's already used to direct you away from the sparkling lights? And his arm is getting tired and starting to sag against the middle of your back, is that what's causing such a ruckus?

Tsk, tsk, you silly little thing, quit fangirling and get back to doing what you do best: beating rationally.

The hostess glanced at you, suspiciously eying the most definitely not fancy dress you had on. It's a fancy (f/c) color yes, but that's really the only 'fancy' thing about it. It also ended just above your knee, while many of the other dresses donning the ladies around you ended mid-thigh or touch the floor.

You offered her a cheeky grin and a casual wave of your hand. "Hi!"

Arthur gently squeezed you silent with his hand, bushy eyebrows twitching and mouth quirking into an enchanting smile. "Is something the matter?"

The hostess ignored him; a pretty little thing with a snooty nose that turned up the more she surveyed you. She had scouring navy blue eyes and clacking pink acrylics that tapped irritatingly against a list of, what you assumed, were the reservations. "And you are?" she asked, snobbishly sniffing in your direction.

Your 'date' stiffened beside you. "Excuse me, I made a reservation earlier this da-"

She ignored him and barreled over his words with, "Your name, miss?" Still staring at you.

You'd been taught since you were a little girl that honesty was a virtue one should never stray from, and despite the fact that you usually strayed farther than you probably should've from said virtue...you decided today was as good a day as any to put it back in action. "(y/n). (y/n) (l/n)."

Arthur started up a tune against your side, fingers taking turns in tapping some sort of song against your ribs that caused your skin to prickle and your neck to heat up and your heart to start flip-flopping again. It didn't feel like a particularly happy song.

"(l/n)?" The hostess raises an eyebrow. "We have down that a Mr. Kirkland and Miss Longton are to be sharing this reservation."

Thank goodness for quick thinking. You shoved aside the spurt of terror and nerves that exploded at hearing the other girl's name, instead miming a look of recognition and nonchalance. "Oh, right! See, I have this thing, multiple personality disorder-"

"Miss Longton couldn't come, this is her friend," Arthur quickly injected, pulling you closer against his side. He'd stopped tapping his song. Pity. You were stating to get the hang of it too. It was worth feeling the roughness of his suit coat and being able to inhale the adrenaline-spiking musk of his cologne, though, so bonus points there. "I realize I should've called, but with what happened and all...cancer, as you know, is a very fickle thing, and the stages change so quickly..."

Miss Snobby Hostess' face paled. Lips parted and fingers moved deftly across the reservation list. "Oh I'm...I wasn't aware-"

Of course she wasn't. No one was. Not even you, the supposed 'friend'.

"-please, go right on ahead, we'll have you seated shortly." She had replaced her lock of sass and snootiness with what looked like an abashed apology, dipping her head to you in what you assumed was some sort of fancy way of saying, 'I'm sorry I judged you and your really pretty casual dress that's not fancy in the least.'

Apology accepted.

Once out of earshot, and after being led to a glittering circular table complete with a rose centerpiece and sparkling plates and silverware, you turned to the blond beside you. Well, actually, he was behind you. Pulling your chair out. And causing you to gulp because hot dang no one had ever done this for you before. "Cancer, huh?" you questioned quietly, sitting down and watching his tall, slender build waltz around the table to take his place across from you.

You'd gotten a good look at him before, but now you could really eyeball him. His hair, still fashionably mussed in appropriate Arthur-style, glistened a fresh wheat color, his depthless emeralds dancing from forks to spoons to the menu across his plate. He was wearing a trim suit, the lapels pulled back and pointing sneakily at the handkerchief poking from his left breast-pocket, the fabric making a rustling sound as he gave a tiny shake and cleared his throat. The scarlet tie tucked into his pristine dress shirt begged to be loosened and played with, and you recalled from before unabashedly admiring how toned his legs and thighs had looked in his charcoal slacks; how amusing the clack of his dress shoes had been on the walk to the front of the restaurant. All in all, he looked like a walking Armani model gracing you with his presence.
Not that you minded.

He shot you a mischievous glance, the first of many smiles to start off that night gracing his face. "Well, it's the only logical reason for why someone would turn down a date with me."

You snort. "Cocky much?"

His smile grows. "Course not. Just stating the facts."

"Prick."

He opened his mouth to say something, eyes glittering and hands tapping across his menu, when a well-mannered and well-groomed waiter approached your table; thankfully cutting off whatever words he'd been about to throw at you. "Pardon me," he began cordially, offering a dazzling smile and a glance to each of you, "but were either of you ready to order appetizers yet?"

You beat your British date with a confident, "Heck. Yes. Do you guys have cheese and nachos by any chance?"

.

.

.

It was amazing Arthur hadn't walked out on you yet.

Already you'd managed to publicly embarrass him more times than you could count, including but not limited to: asking for cheese and nachos as an appetizer (which he'd been quick to correct you on, saying you'd meant to ask for some sort of fancy cheese thing), spilling your water across his side of the table (you'd apologized profusely), spinning around in your chair to watch the sparkling lights, tripping on your chair as you went to go to the bathroom, locking yourself in the bathroom (to which the snooty hostess had to help you out of), and trying so hard to pronounce your main course choice that you made Arthur facepalm.

And now...now things were nearing to a close.

All you had to survive now was the concoction of food situated on the plate in front of you.

"What's wrong, (y/n)?" Arthur murmured after a bite of his own fancy feast. He eyed you curiously, titling his head and watching you poke and prod at the artistically crafted asparagus, potato, steak, cheese sauce...thing before you. "It's not any good?"

"No, it's...ok...I think-"

"You can have some of mine if you want, it's a little too spicy for my taste," he offered, pushing his chair back and gripping the hard edge of his plate.

"No!" you insisted, causing him to pause half-way out of his chair. "No, it's fine, it looks great, it just..." As he slumped back down, fork driving into his own food for another bite, you swallowed, nervously leaning across to whisper, "Can't we just...go to a burrito joint or something? I'm not used to eating like this, Arthur, I-"
"Absolutely not!" he exclaimed, before clearing his throat and gripping the knot of his tie in what I assumed was a half-hearted way of keeping himself contained. A few of the guests glanced curiously at him, and lowering his voice, he raised those bushy brows of his and continued with, "No girlfriend of mine is going to be eating at a bodgy ole burrito shack , do I look like that American dipstick to you?"

You ignored his frank insult to Alfred, fork frozen as you stared, and tried processing what you'd heard. Stared at Arthur and his gentlemanly show of reaching for his napkin and wiping his mouth. Stared at his passive green eyes, gems not aware of how you bored searing holes into him. Stared at his bobbing eyebrows. His cheekbones, his jaw, his mouth, lips that muttered, "Any girlfriend of mine deserves so much better...and that includes you (y/n)."

Girlfriend?

You?

...Oh, stop it heart, why are you acting up again, he's just a friend, remember?! So why in the world do you want to lean forward and draw languid fingers through his hair and trace down his cheeks and jaw and pull him close and kiss him till you're breathless and STOP IT! He's a friend! Only a friend!! We don't like him. We don't like him.

We don't like him. "Arthur, you...what did you say?"

He looked up at you, setting his napkin down and reaching for his glass of water. "I said no girlfriend of mine is going to a burrito shop. Why? Are you really struggling that much with the food here? ...Really, love, I think you're doing great, all considering."

Your cheeks flushed at the lightly tossed compliment, forcing your mouth to open and the curious question to fly, "Yeah, you...called me your...girlfriend."

Water was brought to his lips, and with a languid sip, he stared at you. Eyes bobbing up and down your face, searching, seeking, discerning. When he pulled the glass from his lips, he murmured, "Yes? What about it?"

Fingers clenched around your fork, tightening the skin into a pale white. "Arthur, I'm...I'm not your girlfriend. I'm your...friend."

He stared at you.

You stared at him.

And then it hit him. His eyes widened, those caterpillar brows shooting up into his impressive blond locks as he hastily grabbed his napkin and began twisting it in his hands. Cheeks reddening with every passing second as he spluttered out, "W-Well of course you are! What else would you be?"

Um. "Arthur, you just...called me your girlfriend."

He laughed. Then laughed some more. Tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he shot back, "Yes, girl friend. Girl. Friend. There's a space in between, you see. What, you thought I meant that 'girlfriend'? Ha! Ha ha ha! I meant girl friend, silly, not girlfriend, dear me, you're almost funnier than Flying Mint Bunny!"

His laughter stung, enough that it pricked you into hurt and contemplative silence. Sure, you understood that the two of you weren't dating but...to say it so...unfeelingly...to correct oneself so harshly like that...

Your face must've shown a little of what you were thinking. I mean, maybe pushing your plate away and biting your lips and setting your fork down might've been subtle enough hints for him to quit fake laughing and hone in to the situation. Whatever the case, he stopped. Cheeks were still red as he cleared his throat, pushed aside his own plate, and nodded his head in your direction. "Um, I'd...like to thank you. If you'll have it."

"Course I'll 'have it'," you mumbled, picking your fork up again to absently push around your main course. Although at that moment, for some stupid reason, you didn't want to have anything of his. And that included the kiss you'd briefly imagined earlier.

"(y/n), I...I'm glad it was you."

You looked up, meeting uncertain and wavering eyes. "Huh?"

"I'm glad we..." He hesitated, eyebrows furrowing and straightening as he contemplated what to say, and how to say it; finally he met your eyes again, his own green ones rivaling the intensity of his crimson tie as he finished with, "I'm glad it's you, and not the other girl. I'm glad she stood me up. If she hadn't, well..." he blew out a breath, grabbing his napkin and rubbing fingers through it, swallowing, blinking, before continuing up again, "...Then I'd be suffering through this stuffy dinner with some doe-eyed lass more worried about getting into my pants than on whether or not she acts like a normal human being on a normal date."

Oh. "Um...you're welcome...?" You cleared your throat, before a tiny grin broke between your cheeks, "Stuffy, huh? This is too fancy for you too?"

His eyes softened, his own mouth cracking into a smile that caused your heart to speed up one too many notches. "I'll admit, it's a little over the top." He titled his head, the same warm and familiar gaze he usually fixed on you during those literature sessions surfacing and causing you to gulp anxiously. "Watching you has made me rethink my restaurant choices. Maybe 'fancy' isn't always best."

"O-Oh yeah?" you ground out. Stupid stutter.

"Yes. After all, the kind of girl I want is uncomfortable in this sort of setting. The over-the-top dressage," he flicked a finger at your casual - but still stunning, if you do say so yourself - attire, "the sparkling lights, the grand chandelier-"

"No, I actually love the sparklies everywhere~" you corrected him, remembering how, earlier, he'd sweetly turned you away from all the glitz and glamour of tinsel and chandeliers that had enraptured you to the point of being moth-like.

"Whatever the case," Arthur said, eyes shooting down for an uncertain second, before rising once more and settling comfortably on your (e/c) ones, "I want someone like you."

Ba-bump.

"And I wouldn't have really realized that had you not been my substitute date," he added hastily, cheeks dusted a rosy pink.

You should've had a heart attack then and there, your entire body was thumping at an irregular pace and was surely going to explode, and was it just you or was it getting bloody hot in here?

"So...maybe (f/r) wouldn't be all that bad next time. Probably much more 'multiple personality disorder' friendly than this place, yes?" A corner of his mouth twitched, brows shooting up to remind you of your comical excuse earlier that night with the hostess.

Your lips curled lazily into a grin. "Arthur Kirkland are you...asking me on another date?"

He tensed. Nose flaring for a second. Eyes wide with what you assumed could be nerves and stiff uncertainty, before everything about him visibly relaxed and he flirtatiously responded with, "I have a feeling I'm going to get stood up again, and to remedy that I think I'll need a beautiful girl with marvelous (e/c) eyes and ravishing (h/c) hair." His eyes sparked mischievously. "What do you say?"

You stared at him, eyes bouncing from his golden hair and his curling lips and his pointed, flaring nose; his smooth cheeks and smoother cheekbones, the suit lovingly tucked against his frame and the handkerchief you now wanted to teasingly steal from his pocket. You took a long contemplative look at your best friend.

Arthur Kirkland.

Gentleman extraordinaire.

Cocky git with a sharp tongue and even sharper tendency to use the word 'bloody' more times than should be necessary.

Your best friend.

And the man you had an undeniably powerful tug towards. Call it the beginnings of love. Call it crush. Or call it the seeds of a blossoming relationship of 'I like you and I hope you like me'.

Whatever it was - love, like, or crush - it caused you to blush, lean forward, and softly respond with, "I'd love to."
Derp. :meow:
:la: :la: Ok, so I'm back!! (when I say back I mean from my year hiatus where I used to have only one measly and frankly quite pathetic ItalyxReader to my name, it was really truly horrible, I hope no one read it :puke:)
Here's this...literature child of mine. :> I had so much fun writing this, and it honestly would've been like...10 years longer - because I had so much planned for this reader insert *fangirls because England* - but I decided I prolly should cut it right here. Because, after all, no one wants to read about you feeding England a bite of chocolate mousse cake right? Or it starting to rain and the cliche scene where England then takes off his suit coat and drapes it around you because gosh-diddly you forgot a jacket?
Pffft, no one wants to read that. :>
Anywho.
:bulletred: :bulletpink: :bulletwhite:  THIS IS THE FIRST OF THE VALENTINE COUNTDOWN I'LL BE DOING where every reader insert I type will have a romantic/Valentiney theme to it. Obviously this one was - going out to dinner. :clap: :clap: Because college is college, these will most likely take like...five years for me to write because holy crap it's hard to juggle homework, work, and reader inserts. :>
:bulletred: The second installment will be a RomanoxReader (I like to write clean for all ages and religions and ethnicities and kittens, so expect lots of asteriks and dollar signs :3) and the link will be posted here when up -----> __________
:bulletpink: The 14th insert (to symbolize Valentine's Day) will consist of a reader insert decided entirely by you, the reader!! :D (*waves to audience*) You can vote by going to this poll ---> (www.poll-maker.com/poll969280x…) <----, where at the very end of the 13 inserts I'll look back and, well, you know how it goes: whoever gets the most votes will feature in our 14th and last Valentine Day reader insert countdown.  :smooch:
:bulletred: :bulletpink: :bulletwhite: SO!! Please feel free to watch my account and the inserts I'll be posting. THANK YOU EVERYONE!! :lick: :lick:

P.S if you see anything abhorrent I need to edit, please let me know :>
P.P.S BONUS POINTS FOR ANYONE WHO CAN GUESS THE NAME OF THE RESTAURANT!!!! (hint: I said it in the text...)
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JordanDonges's avatar
ahhhhh this was so cute