Okay so...tonight I'm at my friend's house and on the computer. And she suggests I write a FrUk fanfic for since I promised to write her one like...a year ago or something. So I do and...and...this was born... Yeah... I feel like shit. :/

Warning! This contains attempted suicide, horrible things, and a giant douchebag whom I don't usually make a douchebag.

Disclaimer: I OWN NOZIIIIIING!

When I was a child, he held me close. He never once made any move to show he hated me. Or that he wanted me dead. I was so happy whenever he was around...but then my people began to grow more powerful. My Kings began to grow greedy. They wanted more land and sought it from anyone that was near enough. They would steal from each of my brothers, most of them conceding to him. The Welsh didn't fight, neither did the Irish(at least not for several more years).

But He was different. He and his people wouldn't go down without a fight. So many of them died – a red sea of bodies with fiery hair scattered over my home. But still, they did not give up. They wanted to get away from my people, my king, my nation. It didn't work, it never did. I've always admired their courage at being able to do that.

So many years later, I have nearly lost count, our relationship is still broken and damaged because of that. I know He hates me for what my people did to his but I still love him. I love him more than the ability to be immortal as my nation. His crimson locks clash so perfectly with my flaxen ones, but our eyes are the same sea-green of the Kirkland family name. All of our siblings had these eyes.

But His are the most beautiful.

When He is happy, his eyes are flecked with gold and crinkled cheerfully around the edges. When He is sad, they fleck with a sad cobalt colour. And when he is furious, especially with me, they turn nearly black and haunt every single one of my nightmares and wet dreams. Their intensity is so vibrant that no one can resist His charm, even if they do know his true nature.

He can set fire to the rain with those eyes.

The majority of my colleagues don't like Him. They say He is too rough with me but I don't mind. Whatever makes Him happy is what will make me happy. The bruises on my hips, arms, lower back and my thighs are just markings after all. He just does it to make sure no one even thinks about taking me away from Him. Like a collar, only without the leash and leather part. And when they fade, He creates new ones. Ones that will last longer and hurt more so He can see my flinch and shift in pain from so far across the room, a sadistic, beautiful smile on his thin lips.

At least, I used to think like that. I just can't love Him anymore. I keep remembering how Francis cried when He took me away, holding our babies close to him as he called my name out into the night. The pain in his nearly violet eyes ripped a hole in my heart that nothing has been able to fill. I haven't been able to be with my babies since and it hurts me more than I ever thought it would. But I can't go see them or Francis because of the control He has over me.

Even now as I am pinned to the wall, thin legs wrapped around His waist as He thrusts violently and brutally into me, I know I will be covered in head to toe from His purple and black love. My head falls forward onto His shoulder, whimpering pathetically from His agonizing thrusts into my prostate. The pleasure is nearly too much, my head fogging over with it's ever constant presence. But I know I can't come yet. I can't come without Him tell me to. Or the pain He would cause me is one that I wouldn't be able to handle.

I can't risk that.

"You're enjoying this aren't you? You filthy little slut," He growls and pulls my hair back roughly with one hand. All I can do is gasp softly in answer. His face darkens and He slams me hard into the wall. "You will fucking answer me when I speak to you, you bitch!"

"Y-Yes,,," I nearly sob in answer. The tears streaming down my cheeks had been falling for so long. I was beginning to forget they were there.

He smirks, bending slightly to kiss my neck gently before sinking His teeth in, breaking the skin and tasting the blood that seeped from the wound. I jolt in His embrace, letting a raw scream wrench itself from deep within my abdomen. The tears spill hotter now and I'm sobbing uncontrollably. I can feel His grip tightening and I know it's a sign that he is close. He should let me finish soon.

I hope...

"Fuck, baby... I'm so close... Scream for me, baby. Come on, Artie. If you do, I might let you come. Wouldn't you like that? To blow your load all over yourself like the filthy piece of shit you are? I know you would..."

I shudder at His words, my lower abdomen tightening. I nod in answer.

I can feel His smirk growing larger through His words, "I said SCREAM!" He slaps me hard across the face. And I scream at the very top of my singers lungs.

My eyes fly wide and I finally let out every single noise that I have been holding in and just shriek. I shriek until there is no breathe left in my and then just keep going. I vaguely make out the sound of Him grunting his release as a warm sensation fills my lower half and His hand makes it to my neglected length.

With a few swift tugs, I release into His grip and we both slip to the floor. I am a panting mess in His arms, gripping His biceps as we both drop down slowly from our high. I can feel myself becoming more numb again, the only feelings on my body the ones from where He gripped and bruised me. I don't lift my head as He pulls away from me, not even when He gets dressed and leaves the room with me still dirtied and naked against the wall.

The room is quiet, not even the sounds from my soft breathing can breach through it. I don't know how long I sit there before finally raising my head. I blink my bleary eyes to focus them; they sting from having cried so hard and for such a long time. Shivering as I feel His seed begin to seep out of my abused entrance, I stand on shaky legs and wobble across my hotel room and to my normal, full sized bed against the wall.

I crawl carefully onto it, careful of my battered body, and sit in the centre. I don't make any moves to accomplish anything as I sit there. My mind is still blank from what had just happened but I don't really mind. It's nice not having to think about anything. Stark whiteness is all that surrounds me. All for sides of me are just bland, emotionless white. But at least they were constant. The lines on the wall directly across from me slowly draw my attention to them and I begin to wonder if they were cracks caused by he and I before I slowly start tracing them with my gaze. Up, down, up down. Right, left, right, left. Abruptly stopping before starting again, the partner repeating over and over until my head is swimming from the dizziness it produces. I blink furiously and, finally, pull myself with great effort out of the daze I had fallen into.

My hands lift up and rub at my eyes, trying to get rid of the stinging feeling in them. They drop onto my lap soon after. Ever so slowly, I turn my body and look at my night stand. My gaze lands on the item sitting on top.

It's His pistol. The shiny silver one that He has always been so fond of and never let me touch before. Even when I was small and not a threat, He would keep it carefully away from me. With laughter dancing in my eyes, He would say: "No, laddie. Yah be much tah small to be dealin' with firepower such as this beauty." Then ruffle my unruly hair with His big right hand and slip the pistol back into His holster with the left. It has always been the most important thing to Him. I couldn't believe He had left it here. And with me of all people.

But there it was. Sitting and mocking me with it's smooth clip and intricate detailing. How I despise the way it seems to laugh at me. But that's preposterous. Inanimate objects couldn't do that. Even if it does feel that why, I know it's ridiculous and that I should be embarrassed.

Swallowing any doubts that I have, I reach out a trembling hand and carefully lift up the hand held death machine. I balance it carefully in my right hand, curling my fingers around the handle and slipping my index finger over the trigger.

The pistol was heavy in my hand and I find that I need to carefully place my left hand around my right one to keep it steady so as it won't drop. I swallow heavily, a cold sweat creeping along my brow.

"Come now, Arthur, old boy... You know you need to do this..." I whisper softly words of encouragement, but my voice trembles. "No one is going to miss you... Alfred has Mathieu, Alaois has Lars, Vaughn has Jett, all your babies are fine and will be happy. Your babies will get a new Mama...they'll be well taken care of... E-Even Francis will be okay... He-He can find someone else...someone who doesn't have a person like...Him haunting them and keeping them away from being home. He deserves so much more than I am able to give him because of Him..." Hot tears fill my eyes again and my body starts shaking again. I grip my bottom lip between my teeth before continuing to whisper to myself.

"Ev-Everything will be alright without you...everything will be...al...right..." gripping the pistol tighter, I open both my eyes and bringing it to hover in front of my right eye. The tremble of my wrists was magnified so I still my breath, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm myself enough so that this didn't have to be any more painfully then I already knew it would be. My voice clear but trembling a bit on the edges, I slowly begin my countdown.

"One..."

I click the safety off.

"Two..."

I take a deep, trembling breath.

"Three..."

I take aim and-

"I don't think you want to do that, Angleterre..." A deep voice drawled gently from my right.

My eyes widen and the gun falls into my lap, trembling hands remaining up in front of me in an almost defensive way. That...that voice... how could he be here? There is a shifting from the doorway and the space next to me on my bed sinks with the weight of another person.

"Arthur, mon amour douce petite..." A gentle kiss was pressed to my forehead, soft hands lightly caressing my cheek. "You're safe now..." The gun is lifted off my lap and set down as far from my reach as possible while still remaining on the bed.

I look up slowly, meeting beautiful blue, nearly violet eyes with my terrified and confused ones. My throat was so thick, I can't say anything. All I can do is stare up at him, sobbing quietly. I look down at my hands, tears falling onto them with quiet plips as my shoulders quake from the force of it all. Gentle hands slip around my still naked body and I'm pulled into a warm lap, my little hands gripping his blue coat out of fear he may leave.

"It's okay, ma douce..." A few soft kisses are dusting over my temple and forehead, comforting me instead of wanting something from me.

After what feels like hours of just this, though I'm sure only a minute has passed, I grip his coat tighter and hide my face in his chest. I murmur his name softly though I know he can't hear me.

"What did you say, Angleterre?"

I draw back just enough so that he can hear me. "Francis..."

My voice is hoarse and rough, as if I've swallowed sandpaper and it has lodged itself permanently around my vocal cords. Slowly, ever so slowly, I raise my head to look up at Francis. I met his eyes and my breath vanished, eyes widening a bit. Francis' beautiful eyes are sparkling with so much love that I feel lightheaded and everything around the room starts wobbling a bit around the edges. Slightly twinkling tears at the corners of the Frenchman's eyes made my heart clench and skip a few beats.

I can't believe that this beautiful man – this sweet, beautiful, gentle man – is sitting here with me cuddled on his lap, crying for me. I don't deserve his softly waving, soft blonde hair or the way he chuckles and kissing me so softly as if I am porcelain and could break under every single featherlight touch. I would be lying if I said I didn't love being treated with love and affection instead of a slave to a malevolent sex master. I haven't been held in this way for so long. I felt safe for once in my life.

As I snuggle into Francis' chest again, I can hear him gently whisper to me. I strain my ears to catch what he is say.

"My Angleterre...he'll never touch you again...I promise...I will keep you safe this time..."

A happiness I hadn't felt for so long warmed my heart and I held tighter to him, smiling a tiny, minute twitch of my plump lips. Sitting up slightly in his lap, I slip my hands into his hair and grip it gently with my piano player fingers. I lean forward and brush our lips together softly, letting him know that I am here for him as well.

"Arthur-"

I stop him by hugging him tighter around the neck, shifting so I can rest my head on his shoulder. "How are my babies, Francis...?"

There was a long pause before the Frenchman spoke again, his hand lightly caressing my hair. "Mattie and Alfred are still going strong, Mattie is actually expecting very soon. A little girl they are planning to name Axelle-"

I smile softly at the thought of being a Grandmama, tilting my head a bit to watch Francis through my eyelashes. "And Alaois and Vaughn?"

"Alaois is living with Lars now in his home. Don't tell him, but Lars is trying to find the perfect time to propose to him," Francis chuckled softly. "He's so sappy even though he won't admit it. As for Vaughn, he and Jett are in my home right now on a little business and a visit to their dear old Papa." He smiled gently down at me, brushing some hair out of my face.

I feel my eyes sadden and look down, nodding a bit. "They all seem so...happy..." I wish I had been there...

"They all miss you, Angleterre..." Francis murmured, he always knows exactly what I need to hear. "And they are waiting for you to come home."

I can't answer for so long. Searing guilt is prickling my stomach at not being able to be around them for so long. I feel as if I have let them down. Like every single problem they've had, and I know they've had problems, has been from the fact that I haven't been there for them. I know it shouldn't feel like it is my fault but I can't help it. I have wanted to be with them for so long...

A gentle nuzzling at the side of my neck draws me out of my thoughts, making me blink a bit in surprise.

"Don't feel bad, Angleterre... They have never blamed you."

For some reason, those simple words affect me more then any insult and the tears just start flowing. They are harder then before, rolling down my cheeks in rivers and torrents of white hot emotion. I nearly double over on Francis' lap, arms wrapping around myself as violent sobs make my body jolt and shudder, gasping breaths being the only way I am getting oxygen. All the built up pain, all the built up frustrations, is bubbling over and spilling destructively over anything and everything around me. But Francis just wraps his arms around me and holds my close to his chest, murmuring gentle, loving nonsense as he rocks me back and forth. I move my hands quickly and clutch at his shirt, afraid to be even that far from him when my arms were crossed.

I realize now I don't need to know how Francis got here, or how he knew that I needed him. I am just so glad that he is here. His warmth is all I need at this very moment. I can nearly forget about Him and how He treats me when cuddled into Francis' arms.

I look up at my beautiful Frenchman, smiling gently at his sad expression. I lean up on my knee like I had a few minutes before, delicately brushing my lips against his in such a way that makes me warm up and feel at peace. Slowly the sobbing began to slow the longer our lips are connected, my body relaxing and molding itself to him. We were made to fit together like this. And that is the most perfect feeling in the entire world. No one was ever going to take this away from me.

"I love you so much, Francis..."

So...yeaaaaahhhhh... Not sure what's going on in my head right now. In the beginning I was all like "ANGST MASTER BE ANGSTY! ANGST MASTER TORTURES CHARACTERS!" But then I realized I couldn't completely do that. Because in the beginning I was totally planning on killing Arthur but i just couldn't do it for some reason. Don't laugh. I just love him way too much. .

Oh and "He" is Scotland. And I love Scotland! Seriously! He's so hot and a totally awesome character! But I have a feeling that if he and Arthur were ever in a relationship, Ian(Scotland) would be abusive towards Arthur because of the history they have together.

And I know I should be writing Breathe but I'm lazy. So hush. -_- Just kidding! I love you all! Have a cookie! *hands out cookies to all the readers* And if you review, you get a cookie with America and Canada frosting on it! And if you review and favourite, you get a cookie with America and Canada frosting AS WELL as a cookie with France and England frosting! Doesn't that sound wunderbar? :D

~Superschwiizer