Warnings (for the whole story):
Angst, AU, Child abuse!
Anal, Bondage, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Fingering, Rape, Rim, Spank, Toys (for the whole story, not the single chapter)
Hetalia, the story and all characters belong to Hidekazu Himaruya.
This will start off with a few broken scenes to introduce the whole happening. Things start at the next chapter.
"So beautiful, Matthieu…", Francis murmured, his face blushed, sweaty and his mouth warped to a kind smile. "You are my son from now on." With those words he kissed the small boy's forehead, wrapping his small frame into a soft, bright blue fabric.
Left behind as Francis turned around was a hospital bed. The woman whose shape was recognisable beneath the blankets was fully covered. Neither heart beat nor breath existing no more.
"Mon dieu you dirty little boy. You are papa's little reeker, non?", he giggled as he lifted the young boy, placing him on a soft surface. Taking a small bowl of warm water and a soft cotton cloth, he opened the diaper of the baby, starting to clean him again. "Yes, you like that, when papa makes you feel comfortable again, hm?"
Yes, Francis was a devoted and caring father, he loved his son more than anyone else. He reminded him of his dead wife every second he looked at him. He caressed his cheek as he had done with the most beautiful love of his life. Gentle. Loving.
The laugh of his adorable Matthieu warmed his heart. Because of that laugh he knew that his son loved him as well and felt safe close by him.
It did not take long that Francis felt the full extent of losing his beloved.
At night he cried when the baby did not, during the day he worked and tried his best to be there for his son. And when he played with him, the happy sparkle of his dearest child's eyes reminded him of the days when she was still alive.
"You know…", he started telling the boy, "…she could still be alive if we had not wished for you…" His voice was broken and sad. The sun shone down on both of them, their surrounding of green grass, clean air and thousands of butterflies blurred in the older man's vision as tears fought themselves to the surface, tormenting his soul.
Matthew, not knowing what was wrong with his fahter continued laughing. For him, the world was still in one piece.
At home again, Francis lay down along with his son, stroking his short, soft hair. "You have your mother's eyes. Just not her colour, but the sparkle of eternal kindness and happiness lies within them. And the shape of them… She had those big eyes you have. Those long lashes… You would die to see your mother, I swear, Matthieu… She was so beautiful. She would love you as much as I do…"
With that, he hugged his baby. "The only difference is your colour. When you were born, you had greyish-blue irises. Now they have a hint of purple in them. I hope this fades again…"
Smiling again, Francis was cleaning his little boy, bathing him this time, rubbing and washing his whole little body. "Beautiful Matthieu…", he whispered, stroking his chest, beneath his hand not just soft skin but a layer of soap as well. "You know, Papa has a new lover. A man this time, because Papa is scared of women since he lost his precious wife." Along with his words, he continued stroking his son. "And he does cruel things to Papa. He puts his fingers in places where they don't belong. He ties your Papa up, tormenting him with touches. That man shows your Papa completely new pleasures of the flesh. Too bad mon little fils is too young to experience it."
Matthew looked up at him, confused but started giggling again as his legs were cleaned with a wash cloth and Francis laughed down on him kindly.
But as he heared the laughing of his child increase and the sparkle of happiness of his wife returned to those purple eyes, something within him snapped. He was reminded of his life at times he was still married. His gentle look turned into an angry, desperate and at the same time hurt glare and before he knew what he had done, Matthew cried.
"So, Francis. You told me, you have a son. You never bring him along to our dates, I was wondering for a while if you have a baby sitter or someone else beside me who takes care of him. Wouldn't you want to tell me?" Sly, green eyes met Francis' as only luke warm tea disappeared beneath small lips. Clacking of porcallain let the frenchman know that Arhur had finished his cup finally, so he looked up, sighed and smirked. "I would never have a person beside you. I looked through a few black boards because students always look for easy jobs beside their time at university. And Matthieu is a really quiet child, good and easy in handling."
Arthur smiled, visibly content and raised his hand to ask for a waitress. "We would like to pay please!" The request came out firm but not too loud. This man was a perfect man. He knew all attitudes of being a gentleman, as well he knew every single trick of pleasuring someone. There was no kink he had not, yet there was nothing to romantic for him either. Arthur was devoted, handsome, both, a wonderful bottom in bed as well as a dominant master in roleplays. With a delicacy of feeling he always added the right amount of tips in restaurants, knew when it was his time to pay, knew when he had to be thankful for an invitation. Yes, he even knew when it was appropriate to bring a flower. The only thing that rankled Francis imensely was the fact that Arthur had no temper in quarrels and he never knew when it was time to shut up. …Well and then there was this little habit of his that he could not hold his liquor. He drank too much when they went out drinking together. Yet, he had no problem with that, because every time that happened, it ended up with him being thrown onto the matress, dominated and his brain was fucked out of his head.
At those times he was glad that Arthur lived very close and that those students he always asked to take care of Matthew were so adjustable.
As the waitress reached their table, Francis was ripped back into reality. "Together please.", Arthur answered to a question Francis seemed to have missed. At first he did not understand but as his lover paid a higher amount than he had expected, he understood.
"Shhh~" A finger was placed on his lips. Every other lover – at least that was what Arthur had told him – had continued talking despite the finger trying to silence his partner. So both of them were glad that both of them were smart enough to get such a subtile and gentle message.
"Your place or mine?", he breathed, voice barely audible. Francis gulped. He opened his lips and after a cracked answer escaped him, they got up and left.
Well, even though I don't consider France as the type that abuses, betrays (in a relationship) or uses someone else, I kindof wanted to write this nevertheless.
For me, France is a lover, not a fighter, not a rapist. I beg everyone's pardon who thinks that France is not like this. I know he isn't.
Child abuse is a sensitive topic. I am against it. But it does exist, so shut your mouths and protest against the real happening, not against fanfictions.