France's Dilemma

France was distraught. He paced back and forth outside of the entrance to the G8 meeting hall, wringing his hands together. His blonde hair was unbrushed and his beard was longer than usual. He was clearly nervous about something. Nibbling slightly on his bottom lip, he glanced up as England peeked out of the room. 

"C'mon, frog." The Brit began gently. "You can't avoid him forever. The meeting's about to begin." 

Reluctantly, he entered the room behind England. He managed to slip into his seat, avoiding Russia as if the other's glance would kill him. The meeting was long, awkward, and tortuous. Russia smiled at France constantly in that creepy, over-bearing stalker style of his the entire meeting through. At the end of the meeting, Russia loomed above France and said calmly to him, "Why have you been avoiding me, mало семян подсолнечника?"1

France shuddered and slowly turned to face the large nation. "I have some...news to give you, mon ami." He bit out, raising a hand to his mouth and nibbling lightly on the nails.

Russia gently took France's hand and kissed the knuckles cheerfully, sending shivers dancing through the Frenchman's body. "Is it good news?"

"N-Non." Francis stammered, weakly following Russia as he lead France towards the door. 

"Oh, really? Well, out with it then. the suspense makes me have funny feelings." Ivan's words were childish, but the tone was serious and frightening.

"Um..." France ran his free hand through his hair, trembling slightly. "I..." He leaned up onto his tip-toes and mumbled so only Russia could hear, "I am pregant."

Russia's violet eyes widened in surprise and much to France's shock, delight. "Вы беременны?!"2 

France shrunk back in fear, aquamarine eyes wide with fear. "Oui...desole..." 

"Oh, mало семян подсолнечника, this is wonderful!" With that cry, Russia threw his arms around France and picked him up in a hug, laughing loudly.

The remaining countries-who hadn't already been staring-turned to gape in shock at the peculiar sight. Francis, realizing that Ivan was pleased by this development instead of angry as he'd expected, relaxed and buried his face in the other nation's scarf-clad neck, sighing in relief. When Russia finally had decided he had spun them around enough times, he gently set France on his feet.

"Is that why you have not answered my phone calls?" The larger nation inquired, smiling down at France, who nodded, biting his lip. 

"Oui. I thought you would be angry." France admitted shyly, moving closer to Russia and hesitantly wrapping his arms around the other's waist in a hug.

Russia held France close to him, humming in agreement. "I would be scared, too." He said happily.

Francis chuckled, snuggling up against his lover. Although they had been dating for a month or so, Francis still had moments in which Russia terrified him. However, as Russia's mало семян подсолнечника, he knew that no one else could hurt him. He loved Russia, he honestly did. However, now that he was pregnant...again, France knew that his chances of ever leaving Russia were gone. 

Maybe it would all work out.

 Russia loved him back. Even if his ways of showing it were as odd as putain.3

1: Little sunflower?

2: You're pregnant?!

 3: Putain. (French for whore, but is commonly used as fuck.)