Pairing: England x fem!America
Disclaimer: I don’t own Hetalia! Only my plot!
Francis Bonnefoy a.k.a. the personification of the nation of France was skipping down the hallways of the G8 Summit building looking for something to do. The Frenchman sighed. He was in desperate need of someone to talk to (read: assault). The blond turned a corner and came across England—grumpy, PMSing, alone England. France smirked. He had found his next victim.
“Hey Arthur~!”The Frenchman sang while making his way over to the Brit.
England’s eyes narrowed. Every time the Frenchman was looking for him, the Brit always ended up in jail because the blond could not, for the life of him, keep his hands to himself.
“What do you want, Frog?” England asked harshly, his day already ruined by the presence of the man.
“Oh, Arthur, I’m hurt,” France put his hand to his heart.
Arthur scowled. The last thing the Brit wanted to do was deal with the Frenchman. “Cut the crap, Francis, now what do you want?”
Francis smirked. Time to get this Brit into his bed. “I was just wondering if you would like to—oof!” The French nation was abruptly cut off by a roundhouse kick to the back of his head.
Arthur gawked. Only one person would be dumb enough to do that. “Amelia, what the hell?”“
Amelia ignored Arthur in favor of glaring at the Frenchman’s face under her boot. “Back off, Frog! He’s mine!” the American steps on France’s face and runs over to hug Arthur possessively.
Arthur, embarrassed and touched at Amelia’s actions, flushes and tries to get out to the girl’s iron grip. “Let go of me, you insufferable git!”
Amelia hugs Arthur tighter. “But, Artie-kins! That’s not what you said last night!”
Arthur froze. She did not just say that in front of Francis.
Francis took in Amelia’s words and snorted. Then, he erupted into full blown laughter while rolling on the floor and everything.
Arthur flushed ten shade of red and glared at the smiling American.
“I hate you so much.”
America’s smile got wider. “No you don’t!”
“… I know.”