❤︎Countryhumans Frussia「🇫🇷x🇷🇺」oneshots + artᝰ.ᐟ

┊: ❝ You Hold My Heart In Your Hands. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DISCAIMER!!! GORE. LIKE,  A LOT YOU MIGHT FEEL DISGUSTED- SO I WARNED YOU!

Characters: MALE!France and MALE!Russia.

(Reminder- Sometimes I change AU's like one where Russia stays with France in Paris for safety after the Russian revolution(The Romanovs plan was to escape to Paris, only Nicholas' mother-in-law made it there, and there were rumours that Anastasia did too. SO YES, this "au" is historically accurate.), or even another AU where France failed to help him as he got taken over by the communists.)

7 February 1917

Versailles, France

The Great War.

Whoever that such a name was fitting should have been shot. There was nothing great about war, not when nations scratched at each other like rabid animals, humans dying and cities falling beneath a terrifying barrage of destruction in the face of the Central Powers' ever-growing hunger for everything they could get their hands on. None of them were handling it well, not them, not the Allies, and certainly not France. Somehow they had managed to hold the German advance with Britain's help, but he was growing tired, so tired. So many men had fallen, so many lives had been snuffed out, and France could feel each one deep within his bones.

He'd taken refuge in one of his most beloved cities as the Allies tried to sort out their next move, holing up in one of his oldest homes without a single soldier to guard the door. His people were more desperately needed elsewhere, and there were so few who knew of his whereabouts anyway, so he hadn't been worried about being discovered.

Imagine his surprise, then, at finding a familiar figure on his doorstep, silent as the grave.

"Russia??" Leaning heavily upon the crutches which were the only things allowing him to walk these days, France shifted the handgun he'd been holding back into its holster, staring up at his lover with no small amount of confusion. "I thought you were at the front? Is everything alright? What are you doing here?"

The tall Russian did not answer, simply shaking his head and thrusting a silver box towards him as if it might hold all of the answers to his questions.

"What is this?" The small box Russia pressed into his hand felt warm to the touch, as if the polished metal were heated from within. It shone in the moonlight as he turned it over in his hands, seeing nothing of interest decorating the plain surface but a small lock. Confusion furrowed his eyebrow, red rose eyes searching his boyfriend's face for an explanation.

"It is... just something I need you to hold for me." Russia's heavily accented French was flat, emotionless, much like the expression on his face. So unlike the lanky nation, whose smiles and shy, frequent laughter were two of the things France so very much loved about him. "Very important."

France stared into the Russian's eyes, concerned about the lack of a spark, of warmth, of Russia. It was like staring into the face of a statue, and he did not like it one bit.

"My God, Russia," he breathed, reaching out to grasp the other's forearm; The Russian seemed not to notice the shaking hand bound in its bloodied bandages. "What have you done?"

"What needed to be done." The grin that suddenly split the other nation's face held no humour. "I do not know when I will need it back, but I trust that you will take good care of it until then."

France fingered the small lock, the soft clink of metal against metal sharp in the otherwise quiet night. Part of him wanted to refuse, to demand that Russia tell him what the hell was going on, but what if he refused? The older nation would be left with no answers and even more worry as to what had happened to his strangely empty-looking lover. "Are you keeping the key, or...?"