Just something i had in my files for a while. Not sure whether i should continue it, but it's very likely since i'm getting tirred of reading all the mushy Mpreg's on Fanfiction, most of them not taking into account what would happen if the 'mothers' were rejected by the 'fathers'. (I have yet to read one where this situation is put into play. If there is one, may i ask you send it to me via review or PM? Thankies~)
This was written about a year ago, so it's got suckish writing, lack of detail, etc, etc. I will re-write them Later, but right now, i am too lazy, and want to know how well the story will do first. Please review, and if well liked, i will continue writing. If not, most likely i'll continue it anyway, just for the heck of it, because maybe there's that one messed up person like me who is interested in it.
Summary: England has had a pint too much to drink, and America finds him walking on the street. Taking him back to his house, Alfred is suddenly attacked by an angry Brit, only to be brutally hurt afterwads. Thinking it was over, America shrugged it off as just being drunk. Though, when syptoms submerge from the deep, America is faced with a terrible decision. Abort, or lose everything. What will America do? He loves his baby so much... WARNING - MPREG, ASSAULT, CURSING/SWEARING, UNDESIREABLE SITUATIONS, ALCHOHOL, DRUGS, RAPE, HATE, DARK THOUGHTS, SUICIDE ATTEMPTS, CUTTING, MENTAL ILLNESS, INSTABILITY, PHYSICAL PUNISHMENT, BLACK MAGIC, BURNING, BDSM, ANIMAL ABUSE, YAOI, AND [OC] CHARACTER DEATH.
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Stumbling around the rain-drenched street, Arthur took a left into a filthy alleyway, tired and wanting a nap. Though, he found that the Alley had already been taken by a couple of people whom were homeless, drunk, or turning up on a fuck.
"Damn wankers... I was going to sleep there..." He mumbles, turning and heading back to the pub. Though he noticed someone familiar walking around, a bag of groceries in his arms. Alfred F. Jones. Damn the bastard... he just HAD to have his independence from him 237 years ago... "America... Bloody wanker it's 2 in the morning..."
Looking up, Alfred just looked at him blanky for a second. "That don't make you any better then, cause your here and lively at 2 in the morning too." The American points out, the Englishman stubling around with words on his tongue.
"B-Bastard..." He muttered under his breath, slapping the American sloppily. "Don't you *Hic* D-Dare speak *Hic* Like that*Hic* to meeee!" Alfred flinched, yeah, the guy was out of his mind drunk. Picking him up over his shoulder, the Brit thrashed around in his strong hold as he took him back to his home.
At Alfred's house, Alfred had tucked the Brit into a sofa bed he had in his living room. He cautiously put his groceries away, not wanting to wake him up. My, the Brit was so cute when he was asleep. Baby, yeah, even he would pound that fucker into the wall. "Britain..." he whispered.
At the sound of his name, Arthur got up, by no means awake. "Alfred... C'mere you fat-ass log..." Insulted, Alfred turned to see Arthur sleepwalking, searching around with his hands. "F-FAT-ASS?!" He yelled in disbelief. "The fuck man! I know i eat McDonald's allot by god damn, i don't take it that far!"
As he cussed Arthur out, Arthur had grabbed a kitchen knife, holding on the hilt a little too tightly. "Damn America... You played with me... so now it's my turn to play with you!" He rushed torwards him, Alfred dodging the repeated attempts of assult. Being an experienced pirate, was able to find the American's blind spot, stabbing him in the shoulder.
"AAAAGGGGHHHHH!" He screamed out, clutching his injured shoulder. "Ar-" He was cut off when Arthur grabbed the collar of his shirt. "Don't you 'Arthur' me. You are not leaving unpunished..." He growled, slamming the American's head harshly into the oven, breaking the glass on the oven door. "Sweet dreams Alfie..." Were the last words he was able to hear from Arthur before passing out.
Waking up, Alfred found himself lying on the floor, covered in deep cuts that were healing slowly, and a white sticky substance on his chest and floor, mixed with blood. "What... happened?" He asked himself, staring at the scene before him. "England..." he called out, but no answer came. "ENGLAND!" Still no answer. He must've left.
"What?" Alfred still couldn't understand or comprehend his situation. Attempting to get up, he couldn't since the cuts stung his entire being, and for some reason, his whole body ached with soreness. What had England done? Lying back down, he took a nap, hoping he'd be at least a little better when he woke up again.
When he woke up again, Alfred found himself in the hospital, body sore and hurt as he sat up. "Alfred, you should stay still and rest." Said a soft voice Alfred instantly recognized as his brother's. "M-Mattie?" He whispered, wondering if it was too good to be true.
"Yes Alfred, it's Matthew... Are you alright? Who did this to you?" He held Alfred's hand, holding it by his face as he let tears fall from his violet eyes.
"H-How... did i get here...?" He asked, Eyes hazily scanning the area around him.
"I went to your house... to give back the Devil May Cry game i borrowed last week. The door was open, and i found that strange, you never leave the door open. I walked inside, your house was in terrible shape. Pictures were sitting on the floor in broken frames, things broken, some things stolen. I looked around, looking for you, and i was about to give up before i checked the kitchen..." He paused, taking a deep breath. "A-And... There you were...covered in glass and bloody, P-Passed out and so pale... Alfred!" He broke down, the scene had been too much for him.
Reaching out, Alfred attempted to rub his back, but Matthew shooed him away, glaring at him. "Who. Did. This?" His eyes were clearly angry, not going to let it slide. Though, as much wanting to get back at England, Alfred gave him the most common answer, "I don't know. I didn't see who it was."
Letting out an agrivated sigh, Matthew gave him a hug. "Well, when i do find out, i'll make sure the guy goes through something even worse than death." Well, being a brutally devoted hockey player, Alfred could actually count on that being true.
A couple weeks pass by, Alfred recovering from his injuries and everything returning back to normal. Though, on a bright summer day, America felt a bit... Weird. His stomach churned, a delicious morning's breakfast urging and pounding to come out of his stomach. Giving in, he rushed to the nearest toilet, paying his respects to the unit of porcelain in front of him.
Overhearing him, England opened his stall to find him lurched over the side, catching his breath from the episode.
"America, the meeting is about to start. You think at your age, you'd start to behave properly." He set a hand on his forehead, displeased with the scene. Wobbily getting up, England kicked him in the ribs with all of the force he could get out, causing the other to double over in pain. "Pathetic. Dispicable. I don't even want to look at your ugly face." He scoffed, returning to the meeting hall, leaving Alfred to cry silently in his closed stall.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXI know, Arthur is very mean to America. He won't get any softer early on, but maybe later. Matt, he cares for his brother allot. Sticks and stones may hurt him, but he can beat your ass good at hockey, probably even knocking out a couple of your teeth and breaking all the bones in your body, and still be able to repture your appendix with a glare.