Battle Scars (France)

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by Justapuff

by Justapuff

Long time no see, dear readers! I have had this little story for going on 3 years!! Looking through another chapter, I saw someone requested France (though nothing more) so here's the late request even though it was never intended as so. Happy day!

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"Try harder!" you scream, evading the stab.

"I should have cut you already...." the French mumbles as he strikes out.

Easily, you evade this but do get your sleeve torn. The two of you seem to be locked in an elaborate dance, circling each other and attacking with swift precision, then dodging with grace. But this is no dance. It is a battle of life and death. You are fighting Francis Bonnefoy–your enemy–who is the personification and embodiment of France. You hate the French man before you. The things he's done to your people.... You have stopped him many times–from burning villages to kidnapping citizens–but it is time to end it for good. You can't handle his madness anymore. You can't stand his cocky attitude.

"You have loosened up, mon amour," he teases.

"Vous devez être plus préoccupés par vous–même, français homme." You grit through your barred teeth. Again, he strikes out but you parry his, the sound of metal on metal sending a high squeal through the already-loud air.

"Hohohohon~ Mon guerrier~" Now, the two of your swords are clashed against the other, fighting for the upper hand. This also means you two are brought face to face. Just like his cocky self, Francis holds you down with one hand held behind his back while you hold two to the hold of your weapon. His leg also stands firmly beside yours in a strong defensive stance.

"Je pense que j'oublié la force d'un combattant que vous êtes, y/n."

"Dommage que vous ne serez pas en mesure de le voir pour longtemps....." you grunt, retorting quickly.

"Vraiment?"

"Oui."

"Hmph." Francis nods. Then he smirks and whispers very closely to your ear, "Je ne pense que je pourriez gagner contre une telle beauté que votre exemplaire de toute façon, y/n."

You gasp and move away from him, face flushed from both anger and flatterment. "You cheat!" you hiss. The cutlass sword now lays limply by your side. You flare harshly at him as if to hide your flustered face.

"If it will get me to you, darling~" he steps forward but with your sudden speed catches his off guard. You rush to him, the tip of the blade at his throat.

"Come any closer and your head flies."

"Okay, okay." He raises his gloved hands in surrender. He tosses the sharp weapon aside. Though he is obviously surrendering, the mischief twinkling in his blue eyes suggest otherwise.

"Francis Antoine Bonnefoy. You have lost this war. And I, f/n l/n of c/n //AN: First name last name of Country name// now will take you under arrest and set you upon fair trial for the crimes committed against my people. You cannot object nor furthermore speak; if you do, all rights to punishment is justifiably inflicted by your arrestor." As you speak, your eyes never waver and your voice remains steady, it's high position and authority ringing through the air. Your hand, which steadily holds the sword that still points at the French nation's throat, tightens it's hold. You lower your voice to a growl.

"All your crimes will be justly listed to you for trial. Your prison time or death will be only judge by the Court, who are the only ones with the power to kill you."

His voice remains soft and his blue eyes are now saddened–you can also see the great age held within them. "And you?"

"I also have what power. But I doubt you would want me to kill you, Francis."

~•~
Authors Note:
Am I doing this right? It's been so long since I've actually uploaded on Wattpad; been active, you know?

Thank you so much for reading! Love you all♡~

Requests are still open.