This chapter was a request from a reviewer, it was so amusing I had to write it

Jealous punk England isn't seen enough in the fandom, also a lot of English/British slang used here

Review or private message me with any update ideas

England swore he'd turned his back for a millisecond, getting drinks from the bar and making small talk with other patrons, being a polite gentleman and conversing with someone who approached him. Talking to the bartender as one usually did when at a bar, it was tradition in his country, everyone became sociable with pints in the system. Merely going to refill their beverages and return to the conversation, as if nothing had changed. He and Francis had visited many bars together over the years, France often helping him back home when he had drank too much. Taking care of him when he had hangovers, when he tried to drink away his sorrows or when they went out to parties together. Though he was now trying to control how much he drank, the memory of it would always longer. But he had quickly sobered when he witnessed the sight in front of him, all drunkenness dissipating entirely. He was more than used to this occurring, but the ballsiness of this woman was unbelievable, wondering if she was just blind. Taking no for an answer or just accepting she was a homewrecker who thought the world needed to kiss her ass. An entitled moronic vixen desperate for the attention of men because clearly she'd never been rejected before. A woman had approached France without hesitation, finally making her move like a starved predator and waiting until England was no longer guarding him. Trying to snatch him up and steal him away from right under his nose. But she was a fool to think she ever stood a chance, he'd seen her making eyes at his husband all evening. Now this wasn't something England was new to, in the past he'd always harboured a bitterness of it due to France's unfair advantage of being painfully attractive. The two of them competing to see who would possibly pull that night. However, since their marriage, the only attention they wanted was from each other. Now he was just fighting off the strays that still thought they had a chance with France, whenever they went out in public together Francis always drew attention, someone always staring, blushing or giggling in his presence. The gaze of others drawn to him like a bee to the nectar, his pheromones stirring a feeling of desire in anyone he was around. Even a few other nations before him had slept with France, unable to resist his charms. He could pull men and women alike, taking them back to bed and living up to his reputation as the nation of love, he'd lost count of how many lovers France had experienced. But since he and England had become involved, both sexually and romantically, putting aside their differences and realising that no matter how many people came into their lives. The only person who could make them feel whole, satisfy them and truly understood them was each other, fate determined that long ago. Soon putting aside their pride and choosing to speak to one another maturely, laying all their cards on the table, announcing their feelings and becoming a married couple.

France had rejected the casual lifestyle, no more flings, no more friends with benefits, no more flirting etc. He was a monogamist, he'd never so much as looked at another person whenever they were in public. That wasn't to say he stopped spreading love in other ways to make people happy, he was still friendly and complimented people. He was the nation of love and people truly needed to smile in order to feel good about themselves and see the beauty within. It didn't stop people from trying their luck however, trying to win France's affection try to worm their way into his heart. Unable to accept that Francis was unavailable and would remain that way for eternity. He could see her throwing herself at him with a pathetic excuse for seduction, she wasn't being subtle, pulling every trick in the book in hopes of Francis giving her the time of day. It was failing miserably but she wasn't paying attention to the fact that Francis wasn't responding to her advances in the slightest. Wearing an outfit that left little to the imagination, pushing out her cleavage in front of him, trying to draw him in, leaning across the table to bat her eyes at him flirtatiously. She clearly planned on trying to have sex with him, taking him home and having some fun, she wasn't giving up. Pushy women weren't in the slightest attractive and their controlling nature was growing tiresome to England. Rejection was part of life and she needed to accept that. Francis's face was as red as the roses he loved so much, biting his lip and looking for a way out, searching the bar for England to come back and rescue him. Flustered yet trying to keep a conversation and reject her advances, but he could see France's gaze subtly averting to her breasts. England growled, screw the sodding drinks, this was war and he was going to fight for his husband.


"So, are you here alone?" the girl asked curiously, fingering a strand of her hair playfully, she'd never met someone as gorgeous as him before, given his accent he was European. She'd hit the jackpot with this cutie and she wasn't going to let him slip away. She wondered why someone like him wasn't snatched up and how lucky she was to have bumped into him. He was so bashful too, she loved awkward boys, melting like putty in her hands, he couldn't resist her charms.

Francis shifted, he'd noticed this woman staring at him earlier in the evening but thought nothing of it. Just because he was with England didn't mean everyone knew, people would still find him attractive. But this woman refused to accept his rejection, she didn't seem to understand he wanted to be alone. Using every ounce of her sexuality to attempt to win him over "Non, I am here with someone" he babbled. This woman was rather pushy, he admired her confidence but she wasn't making him comfortable. Now he understood why women became uncomfortable in bars when creepy men pressured them into hooking up with them, it wasn't a pleasant experience. The intimidating aura of this woman made his skin crawl, wanting nothing more than to run away and never see her again. Wondering how long it would be before England came back, thinking that going to the bar together would have been a better option. Feeling lonely and silently begging for someone to help him.

"I don't see anyone" she pressed, was he playing hard to get? Was he not used to being hit on? He kept moving further away from her for whatever reason. His face turning pink with embarrassment which only made him more appealing. His girlfriend had to have been a fool to leave him unguarded in a bar like this, where anyone could just snatch him up for the taking. A pretty face like his would draw all the girls to him, which was just her luck.

"Oui, they went to the bar to get us drinks" France explained, hoping that she would look to the bar and see England glaring back at her. That she would understand what he was attempting to explain and leave him alone. He was losing patience with this woman, trying to remain composed as to not make a scene. As passionate as he was, he didn't want to embarrass himself in public. All he'd wanted was to come out with England and have some fun, maybe reminisce together before heading home. It had been a long time since they had been able to go on a date together and this woman was ruining it. Sometimes he cursed this charm of his, because he also attracted annoying women such as this one, parasites that clung to him and refused to leave.

"Well, she should have kept a closer eye on you cutie" she smiled, what woman would leave a man like this alone? Most likely an idiot, but it was her gain, she would be able to take him home. They had all the time in the world and she wanted to see what kind of man he was. France shifted away, trying to subtly escape and put as much space between them as possible. His stomach twisted and he felt his hands becoming clammy from nerves, sobering up faster than he expected, then again he hadn't had that much to drink and he had a strong tolerance. In the past he would have accepted her advances, made conversation and flirted. However, he was a changed man, he wouldn't ruin the life he had made for himself with a stupid mistake. He and England had been together for centuries, they'd been through so much together, both the good and the bad. They raised children together, they were married, he was very content in his life. He wouldn't change or replace what he had for the world, he was used to still being approached by men and women alike, after all attraction was part of nature. But when he explained he was married, they usually politely accepted his rejection and congratulated him. Apologizing for bothering him and leaving him to go about his day and amuse himself with what occurred. But this woman didn't budge, she stared him down like a predator, watching him closely and blocking him in. Constantly bringing up conversation so he wouldn't be able to leave. He couldn't figure this woman out and everything about her put him on edge. Was she into married men? Was she not used to rejection? Or was she just stubborn?

"Oi, you want to tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?" a pissed off English voice snapped, he'd seen enough and he wasn't going to stand by and let this woman get near his husband. The closer he got the further in he heard about the conversation. She had followed them all evening, going to every side of the bar they were at in hopes of getting close to Francis. Scoping him out and trying to see if she could gather information on him. He clearly wasn't here alone, England had been with him all night, they were wearing matching wedding rings if she cared to notice at all. They had been flirting, playing footsie and conversing all night. Despite his insistence and explanation that he wasn't here alone she refused to accept it. She was bullying and intimidating his husband and he wasn't going to ignore that, Francis wasn't interested, and she needed to get a clue. France stiffened, dragged back to reality with a look of surprise, his anxiety lessening and comfort filling him. God he thought it had been forever, wondering if England was ever going to come back or if he would be stuck with this woman all evening. He knew England would be mad, the Brit was infamous for his sulkiness and temper, but to truly incur the wrath of England was a rare moment. The rage that was infamous for frightening just about every nation he could think of. The inner pirate and punk that had once colonized nearly the whole world. His cheeks darkening and shiver running down his spine, after all these years he was both terrified and turned on by this side of England. I mean he was a masochist after all. He knew that tone, it was imprinted onto his psyche, I mean he'd grown up with England, he'd witnessed every development, change and growth in his nation to become the person he was now. Splitting into multiple personalities that now made up his identity, Punk England was out.

The girl averted her gaze to the voice, her playful smile changing into one of annoyance, her fun had now come to an end. Staring at England who was glaring down at the woman with intense hatred, a death glare directed at the woman. However her clueless nature ignored the threat she was faced with and acted as though it was a mere inconvenience "Excuse me?" she scoffed.

"A… Angleterre…." Francis stammered, hoping to calm his husband down and explain what had occurred. England knew France would never cheat, this was not a misunderstanding or England becoming angry at him whatsoever. This was protective England coming out, the same aura he wore when someone bullied Canada or America. The same persona as to when someone challenged him, insulted him or hurt someone he cared about. This was the ex pirate, the punk who loved anarchy and had rebelled in his youth. The guy who'd played in punk bands, rock bands and loved music. The England that loved a bar brawl, the one who could drink everyone under the table.

"You didn't tell me you had a babysitter" the girl scoffed, smirking at England, hoping he would get the message and leave them be. This man was getting in the way and she wasn't going to let him ruin her night. She couldn't let this babe slip through her fingers leading to her regretting it later. The girl moved closer to Francis, taking one of his hands, running her thumbs over him. "I'm trying to have a conversation here hun, you want to maybe shove off?" she smiled. She didn't want to have to make things ugly by making a scene but if he wanted to pick a fight so be it. France awkwardly attempted to pull his hand away but her grip was tight, it was hurting his hands too. He felt as though he was going to be imprisoned here forever. Subtly flashing a silent pleading look of help towards his husband.

England picked up on France's discomfort, the look of fear and anxiety in his eyes. The tension in his body, the glassy effect in his eyes as he withheld tears, he was scared, he was uncomfortable. This woman was harassing his husband and he wasn't going to stand for it. Arthur stepped forward, blocking the view between her and Francis, making sure he was guarded behind him. Feeling France grip his shirt with his free hand for protection, hiding his face in his coat to hide his expressions. She was asking for a fight and she would bloody well get one, she got too big for herself and didn't realise that she was not only embarrassing herself, but she'd picked the wrong man to fuck with. His punk persona radiating from him, wanting nothing more than to embarrass this woman, mock her, insult her and make a bar fight that would never be forgotten. His blood boiling in his veins, feeling the rush through his body in waves, his green eyes glowed with a silent rage. Other customers staring, averting their gaze or silenced by fear. He placed a hand on his hip and leaned forward smirking mischievously "That's my husband you're throwing yourself at missy, perhaps you should back off now before you appear more desperate than already obvious" he growled mockingly. Did she really think she stood a chance with him? Did she really think he would ever give her the time of day. He'd ignored every look and gesture she had thrown at him all night. Maybe now she would get it through her thick skull.

The room fell silent, some silent sniggering and laughter escaping the room. People realising the embarrassment this girl would be facing, that she had failed before she even tried. She'd be leaving the bar alone tonight. The girl's face warping from anger to a look of utter disbelief, to humiliation, realising how much she had messed up. Nearly falling from her seat with surprise, her cheeks darkening, she released her hand shakily from Francis and backed away. Scrabbling from the seat and wandering off into the bar, mumbling under her breath. Hopefully going to drown her sorrows. "I…. Arthur…" France babbled, he was relieved that England had saved him from that woman and finally gave him some freedom. Now they could hopefully enjoy the rest of their night in peace. They had come out to enjoy themselves and he was looking forward to that second round. But he sensed England was angry and he wanted to soothe his husband's rage, hoping to forget what just occurred. Wordlessly, England grabbed Francis's arm yanking him from his seat and storming towards the front door, dragging the stunned Frenchman from the establishment into the cool afternoon air. He felt his blood boiling beneath his skin, he was so enraged he could feel himself trembling, he felt as though he could rip the world apart and put it back together. He hadn't felt this sort of feeling in a long time, his skin felt like it was vibrating. Rage, jealousy and impatience filling him, the nerve of that woman. He had long since been used to the attention France received, but to truly assume she would have a chance with his husband of all people.

France followed after England awkwardly, making sure not to stumble over his own feet, trying to keep up pace with him. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the words. He was more than adapted to England's temper by now, he'd been dealing with it ever since they were children, comforting him whenever he was sad or lonely. At times it was nothing short of adorable, as serious as England was all it did was make France smile and tease him. But this time it came in handy, acting as his shield to ward off danger, scaring away that intrusive woman, leaving them alone together. He smiled fondly, watching England sulk over a woman who had been bothering him. He twisted the angle of his hand to grip England's wrist gently, interlocking their arms, reassuring England that he was ok. He knew England would be following him around all night after this. He would act as his shadow until they reached home, maybe even perhaps then until he cooled his head. But he was thankful to have been rescued "Merci, you saved me Angleterre" he mumbled.

England halted to an abrupt stop, France's voice snapping him out of his daze and realizing where he was. He'd become so polluted by rage he wasn't thinking clearly, he just loved France so much. Freezing in place, France swore he could hear the gears working in his brain, loud ticks and cogs working like a machine. When England got lost in his own thoughts, it was hard to drag him out again, his heart as passionate as his own. He averted his gaze to France, the latter jolting from surprise, awaiting the next words to come from his husbands mouth. Would he yell at him? Scold him? Confront him for what happened? It was hard to predict the reaction from the Brit sometimes. Releasing his grip on France's wrist to replace it around his waist, grabbing his shirt to pull him down into a kiss, taking him by surprise with a public gesture of affection. Claiming his husband for all to see without shame, passionately capturing France's lips with his own, slipping his tongue into the older man's mouth. Francis blushed, England had experience and everyone knew it, when he was serious he was a frightening being to behold. A French kiss? He nearly laughed but instead smiled into the kiss fondly, enjoying the feeling of being desired by his husband to incur such passionate jealousy. Nearly moaning at the passion behind the kiss, holding back his voice. His knees beginning to wobble, his stomach in knots, a fuzzy tingle beginning to merge towards his groin, god he wanted more, his body craved it. England pulled away, his green eyes staring back at France's intensely, panting slightly as he caught himself "Her perfume fucking stinks" he growled. He wasn't going to get off that easily and he would be punished for what happened, France was his and always would be. He hated that there were still traces of that woman on him. He could still smell her on him, like she was wrapped around him, leaving traces of her on his body. He hated that, he hated the thought of anyone touching France like that.

France blushed, this was the sexiest side of England he had seen in a while, forget drinks, he wanted to get home and entangle himself with England's body immediately. He wanted to experience his passion, his need. When England got jealous or riled up in any way, it was a truly frightening sight, scaring the likes of America so badly he cried, but to him it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, he smiled shyly "Care to replace it Angleterre?" he teased. England smirked, ask and you shall receive after all, by the time they got home, France wouldn't be able to walk.