TOSTERSTRUDELL

The night was quiet, but you felt everything pressing in on you — the thoughts you couldn’t shake, the weight of scars hidden beneath your sleeves. You sat alone outside the estate, your hands clenched tight against your knees, trying to breathe past the ache in your chest.

You didn’t hear Tanjiro approach until he was already crouched beside you. His presence was soft, not startling, like a lantern being set gently into the dark.

“Y/n…” his voice carried concern, gentle but firm, “you’re hurting.”

You froze, unable to meet his eyes. The shame of your scars, of everything you were feeling, felt unbearable. “It’s… it’s not something you can fix,” you whispered.

Tanjiro didn’t try to deny it. He didn’t speak empty reassurances. Instead, he sat down fully beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Slowly, carefully, he took your hands in his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles.

“I know I can’t erase your pain,” he said quietly, his eyes shining with sincerity. “But I want to be here with you while you face it. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Your throat tightened, and for the first time in days, the tears came. You hated the way they stung, hated how raw everything felt — but Tanjiro only pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a steady embrace.

“You’re precious,” he whispered against your hair. “Even if you can’t see it right now. You’ve survived so much already, and I want to keep walking beside you. No matter how heavy it feels, please… let me stay.”

In his arms, the crushing loneliness eased just a little. Not gone — never gone so quickly — but lighter, like you could breathe again for the first time in what felt like forever.

When you return from your dental treatment, your mouth is still numb, and it feels strange and heavy. You try to act normal, brushing it off, but Giyuu notices immediately how clumsy you are with your words and movements.

You insist you’re fine, but when you try to eat something, he sees you accidentally biting into your lip instead of the food. His heart sinks instantly — you’re hurting yourself without even realizing it.

Quietly but firmly, he takes the food from your hands. “Stop. You’ll tear your mouth apart if you keep doing that.” His tone is serious, but his eyes are full of worry.

At first you protest, saying you can manage, but Giyuu shakes his head and sits down next to you with the food in his hands. He takes careful portions and offers them to you, watching closely to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.

It feels embarrassing at first to be hand-fed, but his care makes it impossible to feel truly uncomfortable. He’s steady, calm, and focused on you, as though nothing else matters in that moment.

Every so often he gently reminds you to chew slowly, to pay attention, his hand hovering near your chin as though ready to stop you if you start biting the inside of your cheek again.

When he sees you finally managing to swallow without incident, there’s the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Better,” he says quietly, his usual soft-spoken approval that somehow feels like the highest praise.

Once you’ve eaten enough, he makes sure you drink water and then ushers you to rest. He stays close, sitting nearby with his arms folded, but his gaze never leaves you for long.

Even though he doesn’t say much, you can feel his quiet protectiveness in every action — from the way he takes the food from your hands without hesitation, to the careful patience he shows in helping you eat without hurting yourself.

When He Realizes His Feelings

For the first time in forever, the self-proclaimed god of flamboyance finds himself tongue-tied.

He notices how his heart races when you’re nearby and how his usual over-the-top lines die on his lips.

He tries to act normal at first, but the wives notice immediately: “Tengen-sama, you’re… unusually quiet.”

He blurts out during dinner with them: “I think… I want a husband.” Dead silence.

His wives burst into laughter and joy, instantly supportive and curious about you.

Suma starts squealing, Makio teases him for finally being flustered, and Hinatsuru smiles knowingly.

They encourage him: “Go for it! You deserve someone who makes you feel this way.”

⸻

How He Confesses / Asks You Out

For once in his life, he doesn’t plan some flashy performance — he’s too nervous.

He spends forever rehearsing what to say, then scrambles last-minute and blurts it out.

“I… uh… listen, you’re… more flamboyant than anyone else I’ve ever met. And I—dammit. I want you to be my husband.”

His ears turn bright red as soon as the words leave his mouth.

If you tease him for being nervous, he groans, covers his face, and mutters, “Unflamboyant. So unflamboyant.”

If you accept, he immediately regains some of his flair, sweeping you into a dramatic hug — but you can still tell he’s trembling with relief.

⸻

The Relationship

Tengen brags that he now has “the flashiest husband,” and his wives are just as proud to show you off.

His wives adore you. You’re folded into their family seamlessly — they treat you as much their partner as his.

He’s affectionate to a ridiculous degree, but there’s a sincerity in it that wasn’t there with his usual theatrics.

He absolutely melts when you call him out for being soft. “Don’t… don’t say that in front of them!” (while blushing furiously).

He trains with you constantly — partly to stay sharp, partly because he likes watching you move.

At first, he tries to outshine you, but eventually, he realizes he loves when you outshine him.

Protective, but also deeply respectful. He brags about your strength endlessly: “Did you see him out there? That’s my husband!”

His wives sometimes tease that you’re the only one who can truly quiet him down — and it’s true. Around you, the world slows.

⸻

Overall

He goes from being the loudest, most confident man alive to the most nervous lovestruck fool — and it’s adorable.

His wives love seeing this new side of him, and they welcome you wholeheartedly.

The relationship becomes a blend of warmth, affection, banter, and yes — plenty of flashiness (once he stops being shy).

But at the core, he finally found someone who makes even the god of flamboyance blush.

The evening air in the small village was crisp, carrying the faint smell of grilled fish and fresh rice from the little restaurant you’d spotted earlier that day. Your mission had ended without incident, and for once, you and Rengoku actually had time to breathe.

“Y/N!” His voice boomed like always, warm and certain, the kind of greeting that could chase away even the longest week. “I have found us the perfect place to dine!”

You turned and spotted him at the corner of the street, waving you over as if you were half a field away instead of just across the road. His haori swayed with the evening breeze, flame patterns flickering in the lantern light.

“You’re acting like we haven’t eaten in days,” you teased, joining him at the doorway.

He beamed. “Good food deserves excitement! Come!” He ushered you inside, his enthusiasm contagious.

The place was humble: low wooden tables, paper lanterns glowing a soft orange, the smell of simmering broth drifting from the kitchen. You both sat by the window, where you could watch villagers winding down for the night.

When the food arrived—perfectly grilled mackerel, steaming miso soup, fresh onigiri—Rengoku’s eyes lit up as if it were a feast fit for royalty.

“This is excellent!” he declared after the first bite, his voice carrying enough that the old man at the next table chuckled. “Y/N, you must try this—no, here!” Without hesitation, he slid half his fish onto your plate.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he shook his head firmly.

“Food is best shared! And besides…” His grin softened just slightly. “It tastes better knowing the person you care about enjoys it too.”

You felt your ears warm, though you masked it by taking a bite. The fish was as good as he’d said—crispy on the outside, tender within.

Between mouthfuls, you talked about everything and nothing: small victories on your last mission, how he somehow never burns his haori despite getting close to his sword’s flame, and the most ridiculous rumors you’d overheard from other slayers.

By the time the plates were empty, the street outside had grown quiet. Rengoku leaned back, satisfied. “We should make this a tradition,” he said, looking at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“A tradition?” you echoed.

“Yes! Every time we return from a mission together, we find a new place to eat. Good food, good company—a perfect balance!” His tone was bold, but the warmth in his gaze was steady, almost shy in its own way.

You smiled. “I think I’d like that.”

Outside, under the gentle glow of the paper lanterns, the air was colder, but you didn’t notice. Rengoku walked beside you, hands tucked into his haori, and though neither of you said much on the way back, the warmth lingered—something far brighter than fire.

——

I can make a part two if requested, maybe things progress on their next dinner ‘date’?

SFW Headcanons

•He’s not touchy-feely, but you’ll catch him saying things like, “Sit there. That spot is safer.” It sounds bossy, but you know it’s his way of looking out for you.

•Sometimes, while you’re reading to him, he’ll mutter, “Slower… let me hear the words properly.” His voice is deep, almost like another instrument alongside the drums.

•If anyone steps into his domain uninvited, his tone changes — “Stay where you are.” Then the room tilts and the drums hit like thunder. You never question what happens next.

•When he’s rearranging his things, he might pause and actually ask you, “Does this… look right to you?” You can tell it’s not something he’d say to anyone else.

•Occasionally, after you compliment one of his rhythms, you’ll hear a soft, almost embarrassed, “Hmph… you understand, then.” That’s basically his version of beaming.

NSFW AHEAD, LEAVE IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE! ⸻

NSFW Headcanons

•He likes to keep eye contact when things get heated, murmuring, “Breathe… keep time with me.” It’s half instruction, half tease.

•The vibrations he makes in his domain? Yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He might lean in close and say, “Feel it? Good.”

•He’s quiet in public, but in private, he can get… commanding. Pulling you onto his lap, holding your chin, saying, “Stay here.” There’s no mistaking the tone — you’re not moving until he’s ready.

•He doesn’t talk much during, but when he does, it’s usually your name in that low, resonant voice. It’s the kind of sound you feel in your bones.

•After doing it, he doesn’t sleep right away. Instead, he’ll trace slow, deliberate patterns over your skin with his claws, sometimes whispering, “I could make a song from this…” like he’s mapping you into music.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of clinking vials and the faint scent of lavender and antiseptic.

Your head was clear now — unfortunately for your pride.

Memories trickled back like a leaky faucet: Shinobu’s eyes… her laugh… you, comparing your feelings to pirate treasure. Oh no.

You groaned and dragged the blanket over your head. “Please tell me I didn’t say anything stupid.”

“Hmm,” came her voice, lilting and far too close. “That depends on your definition of stupid.”

You peeked out from under the blanket, heart skipping. Shinobu stood at your bedside, measuring medicine into a small cup, her expression unreadable — except for the tiny curl of amusement tugging at her lips.

“I was… a little out of it,” you mumbled.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “You were very expressive. Told me quite a bit.”

Your face heated. “I… might’ve exaggerated?”

“Oh, I don’t think you did,” she said, setting the medicine down. “You seemed very sincere.”

You swallowed. “So… you’re not weirded out?”

Shinobu’s smile softened, and for a moment, her usual teasing edge melted away. She leaned down, her face close enough that you could see the flecks of violet in her irises.

“Not at all,” she whispered. “In fact… I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”

Your breath caught. “You… have?”

“Mmhmm. But I wanted to hear it when you were clear-headed.” She tilted her head, the faintest blush coloring her cheeks. “So… here we are.”

You sat up a little, still stunned, and before your courage could falter, you reached out and took her hand.

“I meant every word,” you said, voice steady now. “Even the pirate treasure part.”

That earned a soft laugh — and then, before you could think too hard about it, Shinobu leaned in and kissed you. Gentle. Warm. The kind of kiss that felt like home.

When she pulled back, she lingered close, her forehead resting against yours.

“Good,” she murmured. “Because now, you can’t take it back.”

You grinned, cheeks aching. “Not a chance.”

Outside, the butterflies stirred in the garden, but inside, your heart was already taking flight.

—

The moonlight spilled pale silver across the room, highlighting the crumpled sheets Y/N had kicked off yet again. No matter how they turned, the heaviness in their limbs was paired with a mind that refused to settle.

Another sigh. Another shift. Still nothing.

The soft shuffle of footsteps caught their attention, and when they glanced over, Giyuu was standing in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, eyes calm but watchful.

“You’re still awake,” he said quietly, as though speaking too loudly might shatter something fragile.

“I can’t sleep,” Y/N admitted, voice small. “Feels like my body’s tired but my brain won’t stop.”

For a moment, he seemed to think. Then, instead of offering advice, he sat down beside them. His hand rested briefly on the blanket, close but not quite touching.

“…You could try lying here,” he murmured, patting his side.

It felt ridiculous — childish, even — but Y/N was too exhausted to protest. They shifted closer, resting their head against his chest.

The world instantly changed.

His warmth seeped through the fabric of his haori, the steady, unhurried rhythm of his breathing grounding every frantic thought. His heartbeat was slow, almost hypnotic, a soft drum in the quiet night.

Before they could even realize it, the ache in their head faded, their muscles loosened, and their eyes grew heavy.

The last thing they felt before slipping into true sleep was his arm circling them carefully, a rare but unshakably gentle touch.

When they woke hours later, Giyuu was still there — and for the first time in days, they felt rested.

———

The pain was finally gone.

That was the first thing you realized as you blinked up at the ceiling of the Butterfly Estate’s infirmary. You weren’t sure what was in your system, but everything felt light — your head, your limbs, even your heart. The world had gone a little floaty, and so had your thoughts.

“Ahh,” you sighed dreamily, flopping an arm over your eyes. “I think I might be in heaven. Or… Shinobu’s garden.”

A soft laugh sounded near the door.

“That’s quite the compliment. I’ll have to tell Aoi to put more effort into the landscaping,” said a voice — light and amused, like wind chimes on a spring afternoon.

Your arm dropped, and your eyes widened.

Standing there in her elegant purple-and-white uniform, her haori fluttering gently as she approached, was Shinobu Kocho herself.

“Oooooh,” you breathed, utterly transfixed. “You’re so pretty.”

Shinobu paused at the side of your bed, raising an eyebrow. “Are you… feeling alright?”

“Better than alright,” you grinned lopsidedly, trying to sit up before flopping back down. “Did anyone ever tell you your eyes are like… like twilight butterflies? And your voice… mmm. It’s like honey on rice.”

Shinobu blinked. “That’s… very poetic of you.”

You pouted. “I always wanted to tell you. But I was scared.”

“Scared?” she repeated gently, tilting her head.

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I didn’t know if you were into girls or not. So I kept it inside. Deep inside. Buried. Like… treasure. Pirate treasure of gay feelings.”

Shinobu’s lips twitched. “Pirate treasure, hmm?”

“I mean it,” you insisted, eyes wide and glassy. “You’re amazing. Strong. Smart. Beautiful. And I get all nervous around you, like a dumb love-sick sparrow. I’d write you haikus if I knew how.”

At that, Shinobu let out a soft giggle — genuine and bright.

“Maybe you should rest,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face with careful fingers. “We can talk more when you’re not high as a kite.”

You caught her hand — or tried to, your fingers kind of flopping around hers.

“Wait… are you into girls?” you asked, suddenly serious. “Because if you are… and you want to kiss me later when I’m not drooling and drugged, I’d be okay with that.”

A blush crept up Shinobu’s cheeks — rare and lovely.

She leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe… when you’re not drooling. And when you remember this conversation.”

Your eyes lit up like firecrackers.

“So you do like me?”

“Rest now,” She said, turning away with a mysterious smile.

“But Shinobuuuu…” You whined, already half-asleep again. “I love youuuu…”

Shinobu shook her head, soft laughter trailing behind her as she walked out the door — but her hand hovered at her chest, right above where her heart still fluttered from the words you’d finally said.

Genya—

•At first, he totally panics. He’s not used to emotional situations, and he’s terrible at knowing what to say.

•His voice is shaky as he stammers, “Wait—are you hurt? What’s going on?” He genuinely thinks you’re dying at first.

•Once he realizes it’s a panic attack, he looks so helpless, just hovering there with clenched fists, not sure what’s okay to do.

•He might grab your hand hesitantly, his touch rough but careful, like he’s afraid he’ll make it worse.

•His breathing is all over the place at first, but he tries to match yours once he realizes you need grounding.

•He’d keep whispering things like, “You’re alright,” or “I’m right here,” even if his voice shakes.

•Afterwards, he beats himself up over not knowing what to do better. “Next time, I’ll handle it… I promise.”

Inosuke—

•Full-on feral reaction. The moment he sees you panicking, he thinks someone attacked you.

•He jumps to his feet, fists clenched, yelling “WHO DID THIS TO YOU?! WHERE ARE THEY?!”

•When he realizes no one’s around and it’s internal, he looks genuinely lost.

•He gets real close to your face and says, “What’s wrong with you? Are you broken?” (in the most concerned way he knows).

•Tries to “fix” you by yelling “JUST BREATHE! IT’S EASY! WATCH!” and starts doing exaggerated inhales.

•Eventually, he just plops down next to you and says, “Okay. I’ll sit here until you stop doing that thing.”

•Weirdly comforting just by being near. Protective, even if he doesn’t understand it.

•Once you’ve calmed down, he gives you a grin and goes, “See? Told you I could fix it.”

Shinobu—

•She knows exactly what’s happening and goes into gentle medic mode immediately.

•Doesn’t speak right away—just sits near you, her presence soft and grounding.

•After a moment, she says in a calm, reassuring tone: “You’re having a panic attack. It’s going to pass. I promise.”

•Guides your breathing with her own, inhaling deeply and slowly so you can follow her pace.

•Might place a gentle hand on your shoulder if you’re okay with touch.

•Keeps talking quietly: “You’re safe. There’s no rush. Just breathe with me.”

•Once you’ve calmed down, she offers a soft smile and maybe a light joke: “See? I’m not just good at poison.”

•Checks in with you afterward and encourages you to rest—she’s surprisingly nurturing when it counts.

Obanai—

•Stiffens the moment he sees you in distress—he’s not used to this kind of vulnerability from anyone, especially you.

•Immediately crouches beside you, but doesn’t speak right away. His eyes dart around, searching for danger.

•When he realizes it’s internal, not external, he gently pulls Kaburamaru back and focuses on you.

•Quietly asks, “What’s happening? Are you—are you okay?” in a tone that’s more concerned than he usually shows.

•Keeps his distance unless you reach for him; then he carefully offers his hand, not making a big deal out of it.

•Doesn’t speak much—just stays close, grounding you with his calm (if awkward) presence.

•If someone tries to intervene, he gives them a glare like stay back—they’re mine to protect.

•Afterwards, he sits with you in silence until you’re fully okay. Later, he might leave you a neatly folded piece of paper with “Don’t hide it next time. Let me help.”

Giyuu—

•Freezes the moment he sees you in distress—his face blank, but his mind racing.

•Doesn’t say anything at first, just slowly sits beside you like he’s trying not to make it worse.

•His voice is low and even when he finally speaks: “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

•Giyuu isn’t the best with words, but he makes up for it by staying grounded and calm.

•Tries to help you breathe, counting out softly: “In… two… three. Out… two… three.”

•If you’re shaking, he’ll offer his haori wordlessly, placing it around your shoulders.

•Doesn’t leave your side. Won’t even blink until you’re fully okay again.

•Quietly asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” and respects your answer, no matter what it is.

Kokushibo—

•Cold and unreadable at first glance—he watches you quietly for several seconds, analyzing.

•Despite his detached demeanor, he approaches slowly and speaks in a voice that’s deep, but not threatening.

•“You are panicking. I see. This… happens to humans.”

•Doesn’t understand the emotional side, but he understands the physical symptoms, and guides you through grounding techniques.

•Sits beside you, his presence oddly stabilizing. He speaks sparingly: “Focus. Breathe. You are not in danger.”

•If you allow him, he places a hand on your back or shoulder with surprising gentleness.

•Stays completely silent otherwise, watching over you until your breathing evens out.

•Once it’s over, he simply says: “You are strong to endure it. But do not hide it from me next time.”

Akaza—

•Immediately concerned—but also visibly confused. Panic is foreign to him in his current form.

•His tone is almost too intense: “What’s wrong? Who did this to you?”—clearly wanting to fight the source.

•When he realizes no one else is involved, his expression softens in a rare moment of humanity.

•“Breathe. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you,” he says firmly but not unkindly.

•Sits close to you, keeping his energy grounded so you don’t feel overwhelmed.

• If you’re cold or shaking, he’ll offer warmth without hesitation—physically or emotionally.

•Won’t let anyone approach you during your vulnerable moment: “They don’t need to see this. Only me.”

•Afterward, he seems more distant again, but mutters: “You’re strong… but next time, let me carry some of it.”

It was supposed to be a simple outing—just a quiet day in the village to pick up supplies. Giyuu hadn’t expected to be accompanied, but somehow, Muichiro had wandered over and insisted on coming, and then Kotetsu tagged along after hearing “village” and “candy” in the same sentence. You had just smiled, said “the more the merrier,” and walked beside Giyuu like this was all perfectly normal.

So now here you were, the four of you walking through the lively village street.

Muichiro was munching on a dango stick, his expression blank as ever but his eyes a little brighter. Kotetsu clung to your arm, cheerfully rattling off things he wanted to see in the market. You were smiling gently, the kind of smile that Giyuu always caught himself staring at longer than he should. He walked a step behind, quiet as usual, watching the way you looked out for both boys like it came naturally.

It was peaceful. Almost suspiciously peaceful.

That is, until an old lady at the stall you stopped at looked up and cooed, “What a lovely family you have! Two boys and such a sweet couple!”

Giyuu blinked. You choked on your drink. Kotetsu went bright red. Muichiro didn’t even pause chewing.

“W-We’re not—” you stammered, waving your hands.

The old lady just smiled kindly. “Oh, don’t be shy. You all look so much alike. Especially you and your husband,” she nodded toward Giyuu, who had now frozen in place, staring like the concept of ‘husband’ had never existed until this moment.

“I’m not— We’re not married,” Giyuu said flatly, though his ears were turning pink.

Muichiro tilted his head. “But if you were, it would make sense. You do spend a lot of time together.” He licked the last of the syrup off his dango stick. “And you both get quiet when people mention feelings.”

You gave him a look, half amused, half horrified. “Muichiro!”

Kotetsu tugged on your sleeve. “But if you were our parents, I wouldn’t mind. You’re nicer than the other swordsmiths.”

“I—thank you?” you said, flustered beyond help.

The old lady simply beamed and handed you a small bag of mochi. “Here, for the kids. Don’t let them get too sugared up though!”

Before anyone could correct her again, she waved and turned to the next customer.

You turned to Giyuu, still red in the ears, and bit your lip to hold back a laugh. “Well… that was unexpected.”

“…It wasn’t unpleasant,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Muichiro was already walking off, calling, “Let’s go, Mom and Dad,” without a hint of irony.

Kotetsu trotted after him, and you and Giyuu were left standing there, both flustered, both avoiding eye contact… and maybe smiling just a little too much.

This was really fun to write! And sorry for the late reply(if it is late idk), work has been kinda boring recently,,,

Italy— You were like sunshine tucked behind clouds. Feliciano couldn’t look away, even when you weren’t trying to be seen. The curls, the smile hidden at the edges, the way your voice lilted without trying—he swears you don’t even know the spell you’ve got him under. Every time you speak, his heart trips over itself.

Germany— You were steady. You didn’t fill silence with noise, didn’t demand attention. Ludwig noticed your curls first—wild, soft, untamed. It unsettled him, how badly he wanted to brush your hair back just to see you clearer. But it wasn’t the curls, really. It was your calm. The quiet strength under every word. You made him nervous.

Japan— You were… curious. Not loud, not forceful. Your presence felt like ripples on still water. Kiku found himself watching you when you weren’t looking—the way your curls moved when you turned your head, how your eyes softened when you listened. You existed gently, and it made his chest ache in ways he couldn’t explain.

America— You didn’t fall for the noise. That’s what got him. Alfred could be fireworks and spotlights, but you? You were grounded. Easy. The curls, the sharp eyes, the way you made him work for your attention? Yeah, you’ve been stuck in his head rent-free ever since.

England— There was something quietly sharp about you. Arthur noticed it under the softness—the way your curls framed your face, but your gaze never wavered. You didn’t need theatrics to turn heads. He found himself stumbling over words, trying to impress you, cursing himself every time you laughed like you already knew.

France— It wasn’t just the curls, though they caught the light like temptation. It was the fire under the calm. The soft edges hiding something sharper. Francis loved beauty, but you made him restless. The way you existed—effortlessly confident, quietly sure—he couldn’t help but fall a little harder every time you spoke.

Russia— You didn’t fear him. That alone hooked him. Ivan was used to people shrinking, but you? You tilted your head, curls framing your face, eyes steady like you saw right through him. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it left him wondering if maybe—just maybe—he could be soft too.

China— You didn’t chase attention. You simply had it. Yao noticed your curls first, but it was your patience that stayed with him. The way you listened, the quiet curiosity in your eyes, the quiet confidence that felt older than you looked. He admired that. He found himself standing closer, watching, learning.

Spain— You reminded him of home—but not in a cliché, predictable way. Antonio noticed your curls, the warmth in your eyes, the softness under sharp edges. You didn’t flirt, but you didn’t have to. The way you smiled, the quiet confidence? It pulled him in like gravity. He’s been grinning dumbly ever since.

Romano(Italy,,)— You didn’t flatter him. You didn’t fall over his words. That? That ruined him. Lovino watched the way your curls bounced when you moved, the way you looked at him like you weren’t impressed. But your laugh—when you did laugh? Yeah, he’s been trying to earn that sound on loop ever since.

That was a lot of writing so I’m sorry it took long :(

Prussia— You were the only thing softer than war. The only person who touched him without fear. Gilbert was sharp edges and iron walls, but you—somehow you slipped between the cracks. He still remembers the way you laughed like you belonged in his chest. But your death? That was a bloodstain on his soul. The first time, he raged for decades. The second time, he tried being good, kissing every stranger’s cheek like it would erase the wait. But fate keeps the clock running, and every mistake he makes stretches the space between you. And he always makes mistakes.

Canada— You saw him. That was all it took. In a world where he blended into the fog, you looked at him like he mattered. Matthew held onto you like breath, quiet and careful, afraid you’d vanish if he blinked. But illness took you anyway—slow, cruel, inevitable. He begged the universe for mercy, offered every good deed like a bribe. But fate only smiles, and every time he falters, every time he’s forgotten, it pushes you further away. Still, when you come back, he falls like he never learned. You always die. He always waits.

Uruguay(Latin Hetalia)— You made life feel like a rebellion. The world tried to crush him under bigger empires, but you made existing feel worth it. He grinned, he fought, he kissed you like it would keep time still. But it never does. Your death was an accident, but the scars felt intentional. He covers the ache with jokes, with music, with a smirk—but when he’s alone, he counts the years. He does good, sometimes, because it brings you closer. Other times? He burns bridges just to feel something. But no matter how many cycles, it’s always you, always dying, always slipping through his fingers.

Norway— You were quiet, otherworldly. Like fate stitched you together from sea-foam and myths just to haunt him. Lukas doesn’t fall easily, but you? You were inevitable. He remembers the weight of your presence, the softness tucked behind your eyes. But your face? It’s always fog. And when you drown, when the sea takes you again, it feels like the gods are laughing. So he waits. Fixes things. Whispers spells. Shaves years off the clock with every good deed, desperate to see you sooner. But the price never changes—you die. You forget him. And he’s left with a hollow space only you ever fill.