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Ivan Braginsky was known to the world as a terrifying, threatening monster with a childlike smile that hid the darkness of his heart in order to draw you in, make you feel pity for him.
What the world didn't realize was that that smile was a mask to protect himself.
Yes, to be quite honest, Ivan - the personification of Russia, itself - was actually very tender and fragile on the inside. And lonely. Oh, so very, very lonely. The numbness that had become his constant companion since his days as a very young nation only became clearer and clearer over the succeeding centuries, especially over that particular spat the humans called "the Cold War" he had with the popular-but-not-popular-yet-somehow-still-popular America. Loneliness was normal. Loneliness was familiar. So was cold. The dream of feeling warmth, of feeling cared-for and loved, was simply that - a dream. After all, how can you miss what you never had? Sure, his big sister Ukraine had cared for him before, when he was very small: a "chibi nation," as the strange, soft-spoken, small Japanese man would say. But not in the way that he craved.
He wanted to feel loved by someone who wasn't obligated to love him. And he found that in you, though not at first.
[Y/n]. The sound made his heart flutter with unbidden, strange palpitations that unnerved and pleased the Russian man at the same time. [Y/n]. A shiver went up his spine. [Y/n]. Rolling the name over and over and over again in his mind never made it sound any less beautiful, and, well, you. Tenderness touched the corners of his mouth upwards as he thought of the way your eyes flashed with your emotions, and the way the sunlight refracted off your hair and portraying it as fine, stained glass. His fingers twitched at the thought of running his long fingers through your hair, watching your eyes close in relaxation and trust as he brought you closer to his chest...
Though he'd never admit it to anyone, secretly, Ivan was such a hopeless romantic.
And to think that this all started just about three months ago, when you had someone ended up in the middle of the World Conference meeting, lost and confused. You had seemed so adorable and vulnerable standing before the angry and widely upset Germany. Honestly, there were some days where Ivan half expected Ludwig to either start frothing at the mouth, or have an aneurysm. Whichever came first, really. But in seeing how lost, confused, and frightened you had been, most every other country with a heart (mostly the annoying America, stiff England, flirtatious France, and wimpy Italy) had risen to your defense. Russia had remained the same as always, smiling his childlike smile while you were chewed out by the frustrated Germany and supported by the various other countries. At the time, you had merely been a pretty face to him. A person that would be there, in his life for no more than the one meeting by accident, and then gone again - forever.
But that was before anyone realized that you were a nation, yourself.
A small island nation in the Pacific, lonely and forgotten by the rest of the world - even during the conquering and exploration years - until this age, you had been allowed to retain your own language, thoughts, art styles, and way of living until you were able to become something significant in the eyes of the other nations. You had control over very rare, very beautiful precious stones and other natural resources by virtue of the creation of your island. Accordingly, everyone wanted to do business with you once they realized they weren't dealing with a child, by any means. No. You held wisdom that countries that had seen centuries pass by them with naught but a blink could never dream of possessing. You understood the world and all of its personifications on a level unparalleled by any other.
And - and this was the most important factor of all - you adored sunflowers.
All of this alone would have grasped the attention of any nation, but the fact that you were beautiful, strong, and willing to give your all to whatever you did, endeared you to the colder nation before he had even exchanged a single word with you, himself. Of course, as a Pacific island nation, you were coddled by America, taught by Japan, friends with Canada, and generally accepted by the other Pacific Ocean nations. In fact, if everyone were being entirely truthful, they would admit to how much they spoiled you - some in the hopes of cutting better deals with you, others simply for the fact that you were a kind and adorable young country, and a last group formed the minority of a strange blend of both forms. Russia would be classified under the last category. For as much as you had him smitten, he was still savvy and mistrustful of anyone and everyone, and he had a duty as a personification to do all that he could do to make things even a little better for his snow-and-ice-ridden country. Still, he wasn't fully in love.
That changed the day that a World Conference was finally held on your little island.
Ever since he could remember, Ivan had dreamed of staying someplace warm. Someplace that was inviting and accepting, someplace where even he could forget the bitter numbness of his heart.
Your little island was a paradise.
The paradise.
The one he had always dreamed of.
Due to this being an entirely new experience for everyone, you had taken all of your visitors - as dysfunctional and rambunctious as they were - on a grand tour of the highlights of your island. America and Japan and the Italian brothers fell in love with your beaches. France, Germany (and Prussia - he was there too!), and all of the Middle Eastern countries adored the artistic qualities and organization of your cities and urban areas. The personifications of the various countries of Northern Europe felt at home in the tiny hamlets in between. All of the Asian countries were amazed at the natural phenomenons outside of human touch. And even Australia and New Zealand found some rugged spots to meet with their approval.
Your island was perfect. And so were you.
But, the very best part of the tour was when you took them all off the beaten track and lead them, with a shy smile, to a meadow on the way back to your capital.
It was full to the brim with sunflowers.
Seeing you walk amidst his favorite flowers, a soft smile tilting your lips upwards, calm and serene and warm and full of life... it was almost more than he knew what to do with. He was finally in love, even if his head didn't know what his heart had already declared. All he knew was that he had to talk to you, get to know you, understand you, keep you close. He wanted you by his side, to have you warm up his icy exterior when no one else could, to understand him like no one else ever cared to try. He wanted your attention, your affection, your love.
But how could he get it?
Most countries - if not all of them - were intimidated by his size, alone. His personality was rough around the edges, at best, and you were so... so delicate to behold. So fragile. Yet, so strong and wise. Would you be able to see beyond the harshness of his exterior to held mend the cracks and heal the wounds within?
"[Y/n]?"
"Yes, Ivan?"
For the sake of comfort and a lack of confusion for humans that may or may not be nearby, you had made it a rule for them all to use their given names instead of their country titles.
The personification of the mighty country of Russia shifted nervously from foot to foot, playing with the edge of his scarf.
You simply smiled expectantly up at him.
This was just after the meeting. Everyone else had filtered out to be transported to the closest hotel, where they would stay for the next week for the duration of the conference... More likely than not, at least half of them would end up calling in vacation days in order to spend more time on your island paradise.
Ivan hesitated. There was so much he wanted to say, and yet he couldn't find the strength within himself to say it in a coherent fashion.
Sensing his awkwardness and forgiving him for it, you simply took his hand in your much smaller one and asked, "Would you like to go see the sunflower field again?"
And that, dear [Y/n], was the beginning to Ivan Braginsky's, the personification of Russia's, everything.
"Я люблю тебя, [Y/n]..."