Hi! It has been so long since I've been on this website and I just wanted to formally apologize for the way I ended the FrUk fanfiction. I am writing to tell you all that I am going to rewrite the ending because that's what you deserve. I have read all of the comments from my faithful fans and newcomers. I really appreciate all the kind words (even the mean ones) that you have bestowed upon me. I just wanted to tell all of you that you deserve so much more than a shitty ending that left you in shambles- I'm really very sorry! So here it is!

FRUK PART 6 THE FINAL EDITION.

key:

england = ~

france = -

The morning that followed Francis's display of affection was ephemeral, for when Arthur awoke to plump wet lips against his own, it wasn't his beloved France, but a mean and aggresive ogre of a man by the name of Ivan. England's eyes snapped open and in an instant he was pushing Ivan's heavy frame away from him.

"Ivan- stop!" was all Arthur could say before Ivan shoved his tongue into Arthurs mouth.

Ivan allowed his hands to wander, his right arm tightly wrapped around the tiny squirming boy. Arthur began to cry. His eyes welled up with tears and his face turned sour.

"Where's France?" Arthur asked in between sobs every time Ivan pulled his mouth away from his own.

"Forget Francis, da?" Ivan chuckled flirtatiously. He lifted up Arthur's shirt and kissed his stomach, despite Arthurs desperate attempt to push his head away.

"Please- Ivan! Please, where is he? Please," Arthur blathered, a lump rising in his throat. Ivan sighed heavily and pinned England to the bed. Unable to move, England snorted and choked on his own tears and fear, his eyes wild and full of terror.

"Hush your mouth," Ivan instructed. The warning sat hard in Arthurs throat- it even crossed its legs.

He gripped the tiny nations wrists, hard. Arthur silently prayed in his head, although he knew what was going to happen now. "Please..Ivan.. tell me where he is, please don't do this," Arthur pleaded, a last ditch effort to save himself.

Ivan sighed, irritation in his voice. He pulled away from the small nation and got off the bed. He walked over to the closet and pulled it open. There, wrapped in ropes, sat Francis, with tape over his mouth and red rings around his eyes from crying so hard. Francis looked at Arthur frantically, his hair a mess and his nose running. He gave out muffled screams and rocked back in forth, desperately trying to loosen the ropes.

"Now you know where he is, and now we can keep going, da?" Ivan was back on Arthur in an instant, a smirk creeping onto his face. Arthur flinched and gasped as Ivan bit Arthurs lip roughly. The Russian ripped and pulled at Arthurs clothes until they were nothing more than a tangled mess on the floor. Arthur was going to have sex with Ivan and that was the end of it. To add insult to injury, Francis would have to witness the entire encounter whether he wanted to or not.

Russia turned England over on his stomach, and pinned his face to the pillow. Ivan ran his tounge around Arthurs opening. This sent chills up Arthurs spine and instinctively bit the pillow. Ivan then pushed his finger in Arthurs opening and licked it gently. Ivan took out his cock and spit on it, rubbing it gently against Arthurs hole. Teasingly, he pushed the tip against it.

Ivan shoved his throbbing cock into Arthur, letting out a rough groan before pumping his shaft in and out. Arthur spit and screamed into the pillow. This didn't bother Ivan one bit. Infact, he enjoyed Arthurs screams. It was over. Arthur was no longer a virgin. Russia pushed in and out fast, stuffing his dick in deeper and firmer each time. Arthur bawled harder than he had ever in his entire life. This pain was not what he wanted. He hated Ivan. He wished he would die. He hated Francis for being friends with Ivan, but most of all, Arthur hated himself for ever calling him.

Ivan buried his cock into Arthur; the pain was almost numbing. Arthur screams were muffled by the soaked pillow. Arthur begged through sobs, but Ivan took this as, 'oh, keep going, I love you ripping apart my ass,' some how..

~Please, God, Elohim,Elah, Jah! Whoever and whatever you are- please, please, please help me! Please help me, please. Oh God, please.~

The morning was bright and the sky was cloudless. Alfred had a pep in his step, for he had come up with the perfect day. He had planned it out the day before, after Arthur had ushered him out of the house. He knew that there was no way to mend Arthurs heart, but that's not what he was trying to do. He simply wanted to make up for all the scummy guys in the world and he felt as though Arthurs affairs were his as well.

Alfred skipped up to Arthurs door, knocking on it four times. He whistled, adrenalin rushing through him.

"Arthur?" he called, knocking again. "Arthur, don't be upset! Let's go do something- are you home?" Alfred called again, this time opening Arthurs door and letting himself inside. He looked in the kitchen and saw the dirty plates left over from yesterday and searched the living room and then the bathroom.

"Hm," Alfred said, stumped. "Maybe he's still asleep?"

He wandered into Arthurs room, pushing open the door. His eyes scanned Ivans body and then the small body beneath it. Anger came crashing down on Ivans shirt collar. Anger yanked him up and tossed him to the floor. Alfred was spitting with hate.

"Just what the fuck do you think you are doing? You fucking monster, get the fuck out of here. You're fucking lucky I don't kill you, you fucking pig," Alfred snarled, his chest heaving quickly, his palms itching for a fight.

Ivan stood, obviously taller than America, but he only looked. He frowned a little bit, smoothing his clothes and fixing his hair.

"I was just having a little fun, but it is apparent that you malchiks (boys) are way too serious for the likes of me," Ivan said calmly.

"Shut the fuck up, you festering swine bubble!" Alfred growled, stepping closer and shoving Ivan out of the room. "Get the fuck out! Get the fuck out! I swear to God, Ivan, get the fuck out!"

Alfred was seeing red. He grabbed Ivan by his hair and threw him out of the house, slamming the door harshly behind him. He stalked back to Arthurs bedroom.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where's Francis?" Alfreds voice was softer now, calmer, even. His eyes had stung, terrified for his young friend.

Arthur cried and threw himself into Alfreds arms, nearly hyperventilating before Alfred instructed him to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. Alfred wrapped a blanket around Arthurs shaking body before turning to see Francis in the closet, cheeks stained with tears.

"Oh, my God!" Alfred gasped, rushing to Francis's aide. He began to untie him, and gently ripped the tape from his mouth. Francis cried, his head in his hands.

"I'm s-so s-sor-ry, p-p-please forgive- me!" he wailed. Alfred helped him to stand and helped him to the bed where Arthur sat. Arthur wrapped his arms around Francis and shushed him, kissing his wet cheeks and rubbing his back.

"It's not your fault, it's not. It's not your fault, it's okay. I'm okay. You're okay- we're okay. It's not your fault," Arthur whispered, wiping Francis's cheeks with his lips. "You're okay," he said again, "it's not your fault."

A few months later, England awoke to the gentle humming of France beside him, France's arm was draped loosly over England's waist. He smiled to himself and found himself running his fingers through Francis's hair.

"I love you, Francis," he whispered. His words were born in his throat and died in the air, and even though Francis was asleep, he knew that France would feel Arthurs love for years and years after that.