Title: Jealousy of an English rose
Pairing: Francis x Arthur/France x England & slight Francis x OC (Jolie) with mentions of other pairings
Rating: M rated
Language: English, with French words and sentences (translated of course)
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort
Length: In progress.
Chapters: Twelve this far.
Summary: When Arthur finally tells Francis off for real, the Frenchman, surprisingly stops bothering the Brit. Though, when Arthur visits France and sees Francis flirting with a French woman, his heart boils with unexplainable jealousy. FRxUK/FRxOC
Warnings: Boy x Boy (yaoi), sexual content (in later chapters), slight AU, may occur OOC, etc. etc. ... Oh! And Francis!

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers/World Series Hetalia (The webcomic, the manga or the anime). APH belongs to ©Hidekaz Himaruya. This is done for fan-purposes only and for no profit of any kind.

"FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, FRANCIS!" roared the voice of the blonde Brit towards the Frenchman standing in his living room. The shorter haired of the two paced back and forth and hid his face in his hands, but took them away to glare at his 'visitor'. Had the Frenchman only come there to piss him off, again?

"Angleterre, chéri, écoutez-moi …" began the Frenchman.

"Stop talking that frog language, you bloody git!"

"Arthur, hear me out, chéri!"

"Don't call me your bloody darling, you frog! I never was your darling, am or never will be either!"

The French could only watch as the slightly shorter man walked up to him and rose his hand and slapped the Frenchman, hard. Francis looked at his friend/enemy/frenemy or whatever he was, with a shocked expression on his face. The Brit panted from fury and something clicked inside of Francis' head.

Whenever he visited the Brit, it only ended in either a huge argument or with Arthur slapping him as he tried to steal a kiss. Maybe Arthur really didn't want a relationship with the French? Then, he wouldn't press him further. It wouldn't do any good for either of them.

"Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. Here," grumbled Arthur, staring at the other man. When the Frenchman did not move, Arthur roared again, "Are you really that thick headed, Francis? I'm tired of this! Do you get that? I'm tired of it! Just – get out of here and stop bothering me!"


Fluttering his eyes by the one word, Arthur stared at the man again, but this time with a more soft expression in his eyes, "What?"

"I said okay, Arthur. Need I repeat myself?" the man spoke in a somber tone, but seriousness was coming out of it and the Brit was shocked. Was Francis kidding him? "I will not bother toi anymore."

"Y-you … wh-what?" Arthur cleared his throat when he only stuttered and tried again, "You serious?"

Francis sighed, "Yes, Arthur. I am serious."

Stuttering again, the Brit looked at Francis in disbelief, "How come I don't trust you then? Why should I even trust you, France?" Arthur spat out Francis nation name and almost felt sick of saying it.

"You have no reason to trust me, Arthur."

"No shit, Sherlock …"

"But even moi can see when my goal cannot be achieved. Or when someone is really tired of me. You are, my heart tells me. If you cannot believe me, then believe this: I would give you France if I bothered you again," the sincerity in the French eyes was a startle to the Brit. Not only was his eyes sincere, but his voice had no tone of arrogant French in it and Arthur really believed him, for some odd reason.

"So …"


"You will stop … bothering me, for real?"

"Oui. I will stop bothering you," the Frenchman said before he sighed, "Pardonnez-moi, but I feel that I should take my leave now," the Frenchman turned and left the room. The only sound was from his feet and the front door gently closing after Francis' voice left a 'goodbye' and Arthur fell down on a chair, deeply in shock.

'What the hell just happened?' he thought to himself before burying his head in his hand once more, suddenly sobbing from – what? Relief? Sorrow? Even the Brit himself didn't know of what.

"D-damn you, Francis …"

Closing his eyes as more tears formed in his green eyes, the Brit sobbed further, deeply wishing that everything was different. But why? Isn't this what he wanted? To be away from Francis? Hasn't that been his goal from the very beginning? He had always rejected the Frenchman and his culture, his language.

"L-language of –hic– love, in my arse …"

Angleterre, chéri, écoutez-moi … = England, darling, listen to me (hear me out)
Chéri = Darling
Toi = You
Moi = Me/I
Oui = Yes
Pardonnez-moi = Excuse me/Pardon me