Author's note: My first fan-fiction. Well, I wanted to do a sly/seme/dark France. Oh, it's female America because I think it just makes it better. I really like Fem-America though (especially with England), but I still love my yaoi. It's complicated, non? To put it simply, it takes place during the War of 1812; more specifically: on August 24, 1814 the day England burned down the White House. Takes place a few hours after when everything has calmed down.

Title: A Twisted Little Promise

Summary: "After all, Amerique will do just about anything to make sure you do not get into any trouble." France leaned out, and he walked towards the doors; he was getting a bit hungry himself with all that commotion. "

Rating: It dances on the line of M and T; however, since it doesn't actually give the smut, it only heavily implies it; I'll make it a T+.

Warning: Fem-America, hidden Fem-US/UK, France/Fem-US, and mentions of smut and references to other animes and movies. Not historically accurate, so please bear with me.

August 24, 1814

The young nation had taken a deep sigh in relief; her chest still ached, but it had gone down as the flames began to die. America looked up, closed her eyes, and leaned against the tree she was sitting in front of. However, even that small action caused her pain in all parts of her body. If she would try to get up, it felt as if her legs had run through flames (which she did) and had gotten burned in the process. If she tried moving her arms, it was useless; one arm was covered in bruises and cuts which left stains of blood on her severely ripped sleeve, and she had broken her other arm and lost all feeling in it. And to take a breath was the equivalent of trying to breathe while under water. America's lungs were filled with smoke as she wheezed to get cleaner air into her system. Her vision was a tad blurry, but she was still able to see. Yet most of all: her heart was throbbing in pain deeply. The blonde girl reopened her eyes and looked upon the site before her: the sky was black, but it faded into a dim red as her eyes followed the source of the smoke. The House had still been burning, and it didn't help that that damn Briton kept adding fuel to the flames causing her to cough harshly. She felt like crying, but heroines don't cry, so she wouldn't.

"Damn you England…Mr. Madison and Ms. Dolly…where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe?" As long her boss and his wife were safe, she would be alright. If they weren't then she could never live with herself knowing she failed as a heroine. Just as she tried to get up to look for them, she heard a noise to her left. America slumped back downed, and tried not to breathe so loudly; if she were quiet enough perhaps whoever (or whatever) the person was, he would go away. However, it just kept coming closer, and although it hurt her the young nation's heart began beating quickly. Was it England? Was he here to finish her off? Sweat began to drip from her temple, and she grasped the grassed beneath her. As the steps became louder against upon stepping on the broken branches, America looked down at her musket; even if she had no bullets left, she could pretend she did, and then attack the person with the weapon itself. When the footsteps stopped, she held her breath, and grasped the musket ready to attack…

"Scarebleu, Angleterre really did a number on you didn't he?" It took her a short moment, but upon hearing the accent she knew it could only be one person: France. When she turned around to face him, there he stood with a concerned smile painted upon his face, and greeted her like he always would. America tried to smile back, but even that hurt; somehow France understood and sat down next to her. She tossed the weapon aside seeing it as no reason to keep holding on to it.

"Ah! I had to sneak away and everything, with Angleterre watching all our trade movements it was hard to go by. But enough about moi; how are your states holding up?" France took his eyes away from the burning building and focused on the younger nation beside him. Even with the dim light he could still see all her injuries, and a twisted feeling developed in Frenchman's stomach. He was fully aware of what America did to his little Canada at York, but did England really have to give the girl a living hell? Even if he was at war with him, France did not want to think it was retaliation for the war thirty-six years ago. It was only when the American girl spoke up again that he focused on her again.

"Well…the other seventeen are managing well." America still didn't look at him; instead at the flames before her.

"I see…and you yourself; how are you managing, Amerique?" When he tried to make eye contact with the blonde girl, she avoided his gaze. The young nation brought her knees to her chest even though it was evident to the older nation that it caused her a great deal of pain. France had to give her credit though; if that was Paris being burned to the ground, he would be soak in tears and filled with rage. So the simple fact that she had not been crying nor showing her anger was quite admirable for her age. Not wanting to pester her, the Frenchman crossed his legs and leaned backed on his hands.

"I'm fine." America said bitterly; still not looking at France. She was not a child nor was she a colony in the need of help; she was independent damn it and God give her strength to punch someone who said otherwise.

"Whatever you say, mon petit aigle.*"

A while had passed between the two nations, and in that time America thought back to her fight –scratch that. Her head-on battle with England she had earlier; she knew well that England was a strong person, but somehow, when they were fighting (if one could call it that), he had become something like a beast. The way he looked at her with an icy cold glare full of hatred and betrayal; it sent goose bumps down her whole body. The dark black circles that enclosed his eyes as if he had been without rest since she last saw him. His harden facial features that formed a look of annoyance and his chapped pale pink lips were in arrogant smirk. It scared her deeply; but she was a heroine, and she would never admit those weaknesses.

"Well, well, well, look who it is: little weak America."

Even his voice had sounded different. Instead of the usual light preppy voice, it was more like a low growl that came from an animal when it was hunting its prey. America stiffened herself, gritted her teeth, and held her musket tighter; she was feeling a déjà vu moment except England wasn't crying like a baby. No, he was far from that; the way he talked, the way he stood, and the way he looked all said several things to her: firstly he was downright fuming with fury, secondly he was going to attack her, and thirdly he was going to kill her in the most retched way possible. When England moved a step closer, America moved a step back.

"D-don't move! I'll shoot you!"

She cringed at how weak she sounded. He had told her, or rather threatened, that if she gave up on the spot he would not harm her. England may have driven fear into humans and other nations, but not her. She remembered clutching her weapon tighter and tracing the trigger oh so heavily. America also remembered the elder nation rushing towards her, knocking the musket out of her hands, and knocked her down on the ground. Before she had the chance to scream or fight back, he covered her mouth with his left hand and held both her arms over her head with his right hand; he then settled himself between her legs. America shuddered at the fact that she could steel feel England's grasp on her mouth and wrists. She could also faintly recall the sucking he did on her neck. The blonde girl would have kicked herself for letting out any sound besides her breathing.

"You still want me, Amelia."

It wasn't odd that he would purr her name (or wear such a sly grin), but at the given moment she couldn't have been more disgusted. Having the sharp skills that he did, the Briton realized this and attacked her neck even more until he got a reaction. America tried her best to hold breath, but damn the elder blonde for knowing all her weak spots; she had gasped and let out some noise that satisfied England's ears. The young nation narrowed her eyes as she continued to remember how he moved his mouth to her ear and nibbled on it. In all honesty, she hated it more than anything else. Whoever that person was it most certainly was not England. Didn't that old man always rant on being a gentleman? Assaulting a girl like that was definitely not being gentleman at all.

"All you have to do is surrender, America. Give in to me; we both want this oh so badly." He didn't lie when he said that; she felt his oncoming erection press onto her, "It'll all be okay in the end. I'll forget what you did, I'll forgive you, and it will all go back to normal."

America shuddered when she remembered he stroked her inner thigh (still holding her wrists and using his weight to make sure she stayed down) and moved her leg onto his back. England's face had been too close to hers for comfort and he had started to unbutton her uniform; promising her that they would do these types of things whenever she desired. America smirked when she remembered she used her other leg to knee him the chin, and then kicked him in the stomach. She quickly hurried to get the musket that was thrown aside to aim at the elder nation. Her form was extremely sloppy, but nevertheless she put the hammer in full cock and aimed at the Briton.

"I, the United States of America, will never surrender to you, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland." At that point she was standing in a good distance and in the proper position to shoot, "I am not a little girl anymore! I am notyour little sister anymore! And I swear on Lady Justice that I won't be your god-damn sex toy! I declared and won my independence over thirty-five years ago, and God damn it, I rather be the most hated country than be a part of dirty scum like you! This is not a request, this is an order: take your dim-witted army and yourself out of my country or I swear to the lord himself I will shoot you down!"

Her voice was still a tad bit sore from all that roaring. After that, it all began; England, instead of taking her seriously, merely chuckled which shortly transformed into a demented-twisted laugh. When his laughter died down, he looked at her straight in the eye, and America, having restored her confidence, stared right back at him. It was the first time since the revolution that they shared such a detestable glare at one another.

"What a silly bitch; I should have just raped you, but you want me so much you would probably enjoy it. General Ross, paint that house red with flames and burn down this filthy country. We'll restore it with our own once it burns out."

Upon hearing this she ran towards him to get better shot; however, she wasn't even halfway close to him when she collapsed and coughed up blood. America had tried to get up, but there was a horrible burning within her heart; literally, it felt as if her heart where on fire. The younger nation glared as the elder nation laughed right at her attempts to get up; if looks could kill, England would have been dead on the spot. When America stood up, she began to limp towards England whilst carrying her icy glare. She would've made it all the way, but she once again fell and threw up more blood. Blue eyes met green eyes once again in a heated stare as she tried to get up, but the pain was too great and she could barely get up without falling back down. The last thing she remembered was England grabbing her tightly to make her face him, and wearing a dangerous smirk; after that, everything went black…

"AMERIQUE! Scarebleu, don't zone out like that; you nearly had me worrying to death." The younger blonde looked merely stared at the exaggeration of the elder blonde before looking back down; at least someone was worried, even if it was France.

"I…is there any other reason why you're here?"

"Well, I just wanted to make sure you were alright." He offered a gentle voice and smile before continuing, "However, there is another, rather serious, reason why I am here." At that point, America gave him her full attention; it wasn't so often that France became serious. Instead of meeting her gaze, he looked at the pitch black sky above them; mumbling something about how to explain 'it' to her whatever 'it' was. A small moment passed before he spoke up again…

"It has to deal with the sexual interactions you had with Angleterre...from when you were a colony." With the small sharp breath in-take, France scratched his temple; he didn't like being the stuck-up, strict, no fun older brother that England was. Nevertheless, this was America he was talking about, and he cared about her just as if she was his own. He heard her mutter something about how if it was that obvious or not. France was a country of love, a man of desire; he could sense the making of passion wherever he went. So, after contemplating whether or not to tell her, he finally began to speak. The blue-eyed man explained to her that there are rules for every colony and country out there just as humans had for themselves and minorities. If these rules were to be broken, the consequences were to be extremely severe; that not even money would help get them out.

"It is like a death row for us personifications, except we do not die…in a sense. We, how you say, go back to our original state before we became a country." When France looked at her, he saw the complete anxious expression upon her face. The Frenchman put a reassuring hand on the American's shoulder even though his voice wasn't. He continued on saying that a colony would be demoted to a human status, but that she had nothing to worry about that since she was a free country now.

"So what, it's illegal what me and eyebrows did…together…?" Instead of responding, France chuckled and took off his gloves. With one hand, and much to America's shock, he cupped her face. His touch on her cheek was gentle and soft; it felt light as feather, but so warm at the same time. The younger blonde girl found herself nuzzling deeply into his hand whilst he took her other cheek into his hand. France started to tenderly stroke America's cheek bones with his thumbs; not daring once to look away from eyes that resembled his own so much. He continued on to trace those blue eyes as she fluttered them, then he straightened her 'royal French' eyebrows, until finally he raked his hands completely through her short hair; he wanted to see her entire face. That small gesture was enough to send shivers throughout her body. Approving of this reaction, the Frenchman laid her down slowly and climbed on top of her. America would have done something if it were not for her in-shock body; and if straddling her down wasn't enough to stun her, she practically turned to stone when he began to lick her ear.

"Mon Cher, it is completely prohibited for any country to engage in sex with a colony or another country that is underage." But before she had to response, France threw his lips upon hers hard; they would possibly be swollen when he was done. Speaking of which, why in hell was he kissing her? Was he going to rape her on the spot? America was so confused that he body was frozen, and she dared not to move her lips. If the blonde girl were not in her current, she would've sent the Frenchman into another world. How dare he just attack her like that out of nowhere! Once again, before she anything to say, the damn pervert shoved his tongue into mouth; exploring it all to see what it has to reveal. Wrestling and seizing her tongue as if it was his for the keeping; he was too lost in his own lust to see if she approved or not. Was he going to rape her? But it went against that 'law' he had mention, didn't it? It was naïve, but she thought all tongues were the same; then again, the only person's tongue she actually tasted was…

When France finally let go, America gasped for air and even coughed a bit. After recollecting herself, she glared at France who stared down at her; waiting until she said something.

"What was that about?" The young blue-eyed nation furiously asked. The elder merely let out a small sigh, and set a sad smile.

"It is evident that you still want that English pig's heart." At that point, his smile faded and was replaced with that of a disappointed frown. "You clutched on to me for your dear life, and now matter how much harder I kissed your lips you still mumbled his name." Upon hearing this, America covered her mouth and looked away disgusted. Had she been really doing that? Her mind denied him, but it was becoming clear to even her that her body craved him. It craved his touch; his kisses; his hugs; those rough hands that nearly raped her just a few hours ago; even those fingers that traveled to her oh so forbidden place. Instantly, the blonde girl flustered; such thoughts should be locked up and forgotten.

"You don't want Angleterre to get into trouble, and you most certainly do not want to get into trouble yourself, non?" When France continued speaking, it snapped America out her train of thought; she looked at him and narrowed her eyes. The small disheartened smile had slowly been transforming into a sly smirk. She did not know what he was planning, but it helped her when he licked both of her ears so seductively that it sent a blush to her face. The younger nation's eyes went wide as it hit her. This was just like France; he did not speak his words, instead showed them.

"If you understand my deal, then please Amerique kiss me with your beautiful lips, kiss me hard!" Although hesitant for a few seconds, not sure whether to kick him or actually do it, America most certainly gave into him, and granted his wish. It wasn't like they were using tongue, but instead sucking on the other's lips. Upon breaking this 'kiss', the elder looked down on her whilst she did the same. France's expression softened as he cupped her face with one hand, and embraced her with the other; steadying her features oh so carefully. With eyes only one can dream of; such a shade of blue that were lighter than his and so much clearer than his. Her high cheek bones signified that she was still a young girl, and he straightened her brows revealing an even prettier-younger face. The American's hair, although tangled and dirty by the rain and mud, was still a bit soft and as light as his the sun. To the Frenchman, her whole being reminded him of Jeanne. His Jeanne, the one that that disgusting, monstrous and absurd English man took away from him; it was not fair how life worked. The elder's face fell into a grim expression; was it really that possible for someone to be this beautiful as America? As Jeanne? No, he shook his head; no one can be beautiful as his Jeanne, but he also cannot deny that this young nation in front of him possessed such attractiveness that made him blush. Ah yes, her people, her land, even herself America was certainly stunning.

"France, are you ok?" Said person snapped out of thoughts when a small gloved hand touched his face. The blonde man gave her small smile, and kissed her softly all around. If he was going to make love to her, he was going to do it right.

He leaned into her ear, voice low and hypnotizing, "It's painful isn't it? Don't you want to feel comfort?"

"F-France…?"

So said man continued along, "Forget him, Amerique. Wouldn't it be good to forget everything even if it's just for right now? Indulge in pleasure, mon petit aigle. Breathe in this sweet pleasure and freedom that you fought so hard for. I only want to explore that secret place deep inside of you." He readied himself into position, and leaned into her again. His eyes were filled with lust as were hers; he knew there was no going back now, but that was fine. At the back of his mind, he hoped that filthy English man was watching him; watching him take the precious purity of his once colony.

"Mon cher, do you know how to French kiss?"

Ah yes, revenge was sweet.

The Time was WWII

"Okay so I've design a really sweet attack which I'm calling 'Attack Plan Alpha' like Alpha dog." The American barked, "I think it makes great use of our strengths in the best way possible." She closed her eyes, cleared her throat, and then looked upon the other allies. When the others saw that mischievous grin appear, somehow they all thought, "Run! Get out now!" as America was the type of nation for her ridiculous ideas.

First, pointing at England, "Britain goes in suicidal. It's your charge of the blockade routine.*" The latter looked at her with a surprised face, and merely sighed. He felt an incredible headache coming on because the git.

Second to the Frenchman, "France gives up without a fight!" He also was shock with America's strategy.

Finally, she pointed to Russia, "And for Russia just keep sending us your canon fire. You'll draw the guns away…from me!" Although Russia was annoyed with this plan as the other two were, he couldn't help but ask what America would do. When he did, she responded, "Good question; I'll do what I always do best, and that means: I'm the heroine!" And flashed him her signature thumbs up and grin.

And so, the meeting of the Allies began…

"No thanks; I'll not be a part of another one your half-wit schemes." And again, England denied the girl's ideas.

"Why do you hate me? Are you still pissed off about that whole revolutionary war thing?" America complained; it wasn't unusual that her former carrier always disagreed with her. However, it would be a serious problem now if he was still angry over her declaration. Moreover, how dare he always shoot down her plans; wasn't he the one that went down on his knees, and practically begged her to joined this Second World War? And if she clearly remembered, he did it the First World War as well along with that French pervert.

So England responded, "Since you're illiterate and not our leader, mostly my mind wonders why you're speaking. Like recalling how we burned your capital to the ground in 1814. Sometimes I picture as the diabetic fat person you'll most likely be in a few years on your strictly hamburger diet!" Not being able to take his insults any longer, America decided to fight back; no way was she going to let him walk over like that.

"Since we're all sharing our feelings here, I'll gladly let you know that when you came over to my house and practically got on your hands and knees crying, 'America, America! Help Us! Help us!' I had to use all my strength not to laugh at your pathetic face. And I honestly considered eating your cat's shit over those things you fed me yesterday!" Now, the entire room was heated with tension between the two nations.

"While I'll never," The elder blonde got up from his seat and approached the younger blonde, "You bloody arrogant git!"

"Come at me bro!" At this point, the two superpowers were at each other's throat…again. This is the usual way the Allies meeting began: America would play heroine, England would disagree, the two would fight, France would say something, then him and England would fight, Canada would get ignored (as always), and Russia would be there smiling and speculating like he was now. However, instead of adding fuel to the fire, France decided to take a stand and end it while they could; he feared one might go to the Axis and then they would be in even bigger trouble.

"When you two are done releasing your sexual tension, we've got a meeting we need to finish!" He knew what he said worked, because the bickering two stopped. They stared at him with awe; neither of them knew such rational words could come out of his mouth. America merely smacked England's hands away from her neck, and stomped out of the room; saying she was hungry and that the meeting was paused. Russia also agreed, and left followed by Canada who thought he should find his sister before she did any public damage. The room was now completely except for France and England. The Frenchman crossed his arms and leaned on the table; he waited for the rant to come out of the tasteless country.

"I can't believe that bloody wanker! Always trying to seize up to me! Who does she think she is? Huh? I'm the one that bloody raised her, and the least she can do is respect me!" Upon hearing the rage of the man in front of him, France merely rolled his and sighed; it was like this between the two. He wouldn't be surprised if he found the two releasing ever more sexual tension somewhere else; if they didn't want anyone to see them they could just get a room.

"Sigh, Angleterre, you must not be so hard on Amerique. She is still young, and does not have much experience compared to the rest of us." France looked up, attempting to make eye connection with him; however, he made another valid point, so England crossed his arms and looked away.

Pretending he didn't hear anything, England continued, "What are you going on about now, frog?" The Englishman regretted even beginning a conversation, as the look on France's face changed severely. It wasn't so much that it scared him (he was never afraid of something that he could crush under his boot) it was more the suddenness of it all. The slow creepy opening of his eyes, revealing a cold glare, the lop-sided smirk as if he were going to rape someone, and the way he approached him with his hands in his pockets all set a disturbing chill down his spine; telling him to run away quickly. They were the same height, but at that point, England felt a bit shorter than France (not that he would ever say that aloud of course). The latter leaned over to whisper something the green-eyed man's ear, something he hadn't suspected him to say.

"After all, Amerique will do just about anything to make sure you do not get into any trouble." France leaned out, and he walked towards the doors; he was getting a bit hungry himself with all that commotion. Meanwhile, England stood in place not being able to process anything at the moment. His hands trembled, and his mouth went dry. All he could think was:

'What the bloody hell was that all about…?'

*Mon petit aigle= My little Eagle.

*I don't know if he says that exactly in the dub, I just wrote what I heard down.

Yes, I did in fact use that quote from chapter 28.

Please review now.