France X Reader (You're important to me, mon amour~)

It was almost time to leave for dinner break. The G8 conference room was loud, hot and incredibly irritating. England wasn’t very pleased at the moment, sitting with his arms crossed, scowling at America. The ‘hero’ was arguing with Germany over some sort of outlandish proposal, and England was so very close to screaming at them both to shut the bloody hell up so they could leave for dinner. Arthur was hungry, tired, and burning up.

On the other hand, Francis seemed to be having a grand old time. He was sitting in between Spain and Canada, who he was busy flirting with. The little Canadian was blushing hot-rod red, hiding behind his polar bear plush and smiling shyly at France’s compliments. Antonio was grinning ear-to-ear, nudging Francis when he made Romano smile.

The two members of the Bad Touch Trio were two of a kind—always trying to get into someone’s pants. Rolling his eyes, England felt his stomach turn with the hunger that was gnawing away at him. Standing, he called, “Enough! I’m going to get something to eat! I’m bloody hungry!”

With that, he gathered his things, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the conference room. Feliciano grabbed Germany’s hand and practically screamed, “Ludwig! Let’s go get pasta, si?!”

Germany, knocked off balance, sighed and shrugged into his jacket before following the excited Italian, Japan at their heels. As the disbanded Axis Powers left the conference room, China, Austria, Hungary, the Baltic States and Russia followed. America shouted something about getting a hamburger, then ran out of the room, dragging Canada away from France with him as he went.

Pouting, France sulked away out of the room, Spain and Romano joining him. When the room was empty, you slowly stood and tailed after them. The break room was just as loud as the conference room had been. You sighed softly and chose a seat far away from the other rambunctious nations. Sipping your water, you clicked your pen on the table absentmindedly, gazing off into space.

You hardly noticed as a single country narrowed their eyes at you, curious as to why you were alone. However, you were jarred out of your peace as that country sat beside you, cocking his head to the side and gazing at you with his gorgeous aquamarine eyes.

“Ce qui vous ennui, chéri?” He inquired, propping his chin up on his fist and his elbow on the table.

You jumped slightly and turned to face France. “Um…you know I don’t speak much French, right?”

“Oui.” He replied, reaching out with his free hand and tucking a strand of [h/c] hair behind the shell of your ear.

You bit your lip, worrying between your teeth for a moment, watching him hesitantly. “Do you mind translating?” You finally asked.

“I asked what was bothering you, darling.” He admitted, his eyes searching yours seriously. “You are upset, non?”

“Y-Yeah, a little.” You whispered, gazing shyly away from him.

A comfortable silence stretched between you for a minute. It was eventually broken by France, who asked, “Would you like to talk about it?”

You nodded reluctantly, still refusing to look at him.

Gently, Francis used his finger tips to turn your chin aside so you finally were looking at him. You deflected your eyes from his handsome face, flushing hotly. A smile pulling at his lips, France cupped your cheek in his hand. “Mon amour, everything will be alright. I promise. Je serai ici pour vous n'importe ce que se produit.”1

Sensing the importance of his words, tears began to well up behind your [e/c] eyes. “Th-thank you, Francis.” You choked out, burying your head in your crossed arms before breaking down in sobs.