#hope ya enjoyed the snippet

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Just read your post about the 100 subscriber, and wanted to congratulate you, so :

Congratulations!! 🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉

You totally deserve it and even more. Honestly I'm surprised not more people are subscribed smh

Anyway, seeing as this is a great opportunity to take a sneak peak, I will gladly take it lol

So, my question is, what happens next in your Steven x gotham crossover? And what where you thinking when you decide to merge something as dark and twisted with something also as dark and twisted but better well hidden than the other franchise?

Seriously I wanna open and dissect your brain and see what up with it (not complaining tho, your crossovers are always fun to read)

THANK YOU! ( ´ ▽ ` ) And oh, I haven't thought about that fic in a hot minute, haha. I kinda wanna re-write bits since I absolutely relied on fanon, unfortunately, bleh. But to answer ya, Steven ends up meeting Damian while looking for a new job! I'll put a excerpt down below :D

As for what I was thinking, the idea came to be suddenly, and I was so enraptured by it, I had to write myself. As for why it's so compelling to me: Steven, unlike, characters like Danny from DP, or Spider-Man for crossovers, does not fit in Gotham's world. The others make sense. They fit the mold of vigilante, secret identities, a specific flavor of hero angst, perils from villains, etc, which is why it's so easy to imagine them there. They can adapt easily. They make sense. They fit Gotham's ecosystem, they're vigilantes.

But Steven? He's like a bright pink canon ball of chaos to me. He's a hero, but not seen in the same way the others are, he doesn't hide his identity because everyone knows who he is, and he has to escape his own own narrow expectations of who he's supposed to be. His villains aren't just familiar strangers, but directly impacted by Diamonds, if not Diamonds themselves at one point. His hero-like angst comes from responsibility, a desire to help, but he gets to retire, he has to, for his own sanity.

There's still horror, angst, gut punches, peril, etc, but it's shaped so differently, that putting someone like Steven in to the Gotham ecosystem has to disrupt it, and how that can happen fascinates me deeply. It's still a character adapting to Gotham, but also Gotham adapting to him, or at least, if I got that far. He doesn't quite fit the mold of teenage vigilante, like the others do, and thus what to do with him and think of him (via heroes, villains, civilians), and what he'll do is a delightful to think about. But he's still strange enough that it isn't outrageous to consider, because Gotham is strange, it has to be by nature. It can't go like how crossovers tend to go, which is exactly what I wanted, or tried to attempt.

Sliding over closer, carefully still, Damian lets his hand waver around the lion's nose, letting the creature sniff it if need be, to which it simply blinks, expectantly.

Damian swallows, and gently, lets his fingers brush the lion’s mane. It’s so soft. He can’t help but coo, quietly, brushing as much as it allows. He curses, he wishes he hadn’t broken his arm, otherwise he could be petting it with both of his hands, as he should’ve been destined to do.

Foolishly, too overcome by the beauty of the lion he forgets his troubles, Damian clenching his fist tight, an ache spikes right back in retaliation, making him hiss and wince. He freezes, instinctively, over displaying such an open weakness before a stranger. Then again, there is nothing particularly frightening about him. Other than Damian’s usual, reasonable sense of wary paranoia, and ignoring his basis for the big cat, this teen reeks of tourist obliviousness fitting for Metropolis and potentially damning for one existing in Gotham. The teenager, the stranger with the Lion, doesn’t seem dangerous, either. Or capable of it, really. He’s disgustingly friendly. Unless-

The teenager’s eyes linger over to Damian’s cast, interrupting Damian’s paranoid spiral. “Oh, your arm! Is it broken? Do you, um, do you want me to fix that? Your arm? I can?”

The older teenager points at Damian’s cast, his head tilted ever so slightly, and when the light catches, the wind brushing back the leaves to spotlight his eyes, his black pupils seem almost cat-like for a second, a shaded pink hue embedded within them, distinctly in the shape of diamonds. 

Alien, Damian almost breathes. He’s gotta be an alien. Either that or a meta. Or, a heavy magic user to be shaped so subtly by his own magic, or to be so thoroughly warped by some sort of artifact. Damian stares at him, and decides sporadically, if just for the sake of seeing where this goes, and silently remarking if this is a kidnapping scheme, he’s knocking this guy unconscious and stealing his lion, nods. Better yet, if he’s a criminal, he has stumbled upon a tidy excuse to show how greatly he can perform in spite of such an injury. 

“You may assist.” 

The teenager does not whisper some ancient, ritual spell, nor does he transfer his hands upon Damian’s cast, murmuring words beyond human comprehension. Seamlessly, the teeenager licks his finger, and pokes Damian in the arm, pressing gently, before looking at him expectantly. 

The man’s a lunatic, Damian swiftly decides.

And like any normal, rational being with any functioning brain matter, he quickly calculates how many steps to take in order to dropkick this fiend into the dirt, without dirtying his clothes, and thus capturing Father’s suspicion. Cannot get caught doing any labor, less his family notices, and decides to stick with him something as stupid as a babysitter of some sort. Though, this weirdness probably would be justifiable for perhaps body slamming him into the ground and snapping his fingers.Just as Damian shifts back, something happens.

His arm glitters.

Light wraps around it, glowing softly beneath the cast, a fluttery, spiral of pink drifting into the air, warmth tingling his bones until he flexes his arm, bracing for the harsh spike of pain, but none comes. There’s no soreness, no exhaustion, no nothing. The light fades, and jut like that: his arm is fixed. It feels fine. It feels normal. It doesn’t even ache.

He pauses. His mind whirs. 

Damian stares at the (possibly insane, or socially oblivious, yet strangely, perhaps, genuinely friendly) alien, (or meta, or magic, to be determined) boy and his majestic pink lion. He flexes his arm again. Wiggles it. Tense it. Hits it. No pain, no numbing sensation, or strange marks that he can see. The tingling ache lingering along his bones have faded away. Forgotten. Gone. 

“You healed me,” Damian murmured in awe.  

He’s-he’s back on patrol now, he could storm right back into the Manor and prove just how capable he truly is, march right up to Father and show everyone, even that miserable, disrespectful heathen Drake and- 

But, Father would be suspicious. This was no doubt something mystical, or magical, or meta adjacent, and then what intentions, what side effects, what tests and pokes and prods would Damian have to endure to prove this is to be trusted to be back on the field?That Damian could be back in his spot, where he belonged, immediately?

[mahg-stuff]

Hi. Can I request a big daddy elvis (late 70s) in which he and female reader are having an argument and he says something really mean so she heads into the bedroom and cries. He goes into the bedroom to apologize and then make out. Smut, detailed if you can and also some aftercare. Thanks

Tysm for the request! Enjoy it lovee! ♡

Kiss'n make it better

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Word count: 6.4k (quick) Summary: Bde grows stuffy as he witnesses you playing a card game with the guys, but not only that, you are in your delicate bed attire while you do it. Pairing: (1976)bd!elvis x afab!reader Warnings: 18+!, smut, p in v, elvis finally fully takes the reader, cherry cream pie (if you know what I mean...), kissing whilst bodily fluids are present on the mouth, tasting of bodily fluids, playing around with spit?oral fixation?, mention of elvis’ medications/pill use & dr. nick (im sorry), elvis’ standards for his women, toxicity, once again elvis being volatile, use of the word daddy, & of course fluff + baby talk!!

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AN: Hello there! I was off and on while writing this since I was eager to let it out soon bc I felt I’d left the anon hanging for too long so, certain areas may seem rushed/lack context but I did my best with the details! I hope it’s not a bother, but overall I enjoyed writing this little piece. Anywho, my dear anon I hope you are pleased with this! And to the rest of you loves, enjoy! ♡ (keep the requests coming!!😚)

- pls excuse any errors, your girl got tired half way through cleaning it up 🥹💋

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Elvis was, as of now, getting his day-by-day measurements of meds from Dr. Nick within the master bathroom in his room. In the meantime, you held up in his bed, twiddling your thumbs as you waited, you both had just woken up. He would always make sure to do it in a different room, given that you had eventually told him that you didn't enjoy seeing everything they put in him. When you witnessed firsthand how much his body had to ingest, you expressed your concern, but he waved you off, saying everything was always under control.

At some point, you stopped showing concern upfront to him because it had resulted in the first argument between the two of you, however, you'd unconsciously always be pinching away at your arm's flesh as you worried about him. You were still relatively new to his lifestyle, but you were gradually adapting.

Things were taking quite a while, so you began wandering around his room. You'd only been together for a few months now, so you were still trying to settle in. Elvis asked you to move in right away, and you soon found out he didn't like being left alone. As you moved around the room, you were still in your night slip. It was a look that he found especially appealing. You tip-toed barefoot to the door, peeking outside, and then back over to the closed bathroom door in the bedroom. 

You heard them mumbling inside and decided, Why not go downstairs? 

Making your entrance to the living room and taking in more glances of the house you hadn't paid much attention to before, your eyes shot up towards the voices in the kitchen. As you peered into the kitchen, you saw two of his guys sitting there chatting with some cards in their hands. They took notice of your presence and glanced over at you, their eyes lingering on your attire. Going quite unnoticed by you. 

One clears his throat.

"Hey there, y/n, ya need anythin'?" 

You shrug, not really knowing what you need or want, but feeling a bit restless. 

"No, just bored waiting on El," you reply absentmindedly. 

One of the guys chuckles and nudges the other, whispering something to him. You catch a snippet of their conversation and wonder if they're talking about you.

"What's so funny?" you ask, tilting your head in confusion. 

The guys exchange glances before one of them speaks up, struggling to find the right words. 

"Oh, nothin', just...you know...we were just talkin' 'bout how...um...how fashionable you look today." 

You give them a skeptical look, not fully convinced by their compliment. 

"Really? They're just my pajamas, the first thing I found in the closet last night," you admit with a sheepish shrug as you look down at your delicate garments. 

They both burst into laughter, causing you to giggle along. The guys exchange knowing glances, struggling to contain their amusement at your naivety. Being new in Elvis' life and feeling a bit clueless around the guys sometimes—I mean, you'd never been surrounded by so many men before, so it was uncommon for you to catch their brash ways.

 

One of the guys begins talking, "Since you're bored, why don't ya join us? We're playin’ a card game." 

You happily agree and take a seat at the table. They explain the rules to you as one of them shuffles the deck of cards. The game soon progresses, and the guys bring out their competitive sides, teasing each other and making playful taunts. Even though they might’ve been acting a little abruptly, it was clear that they were enjoying themselves. Amidst the banter, one of the guys turns to you with a mischievous grin. 

"Hey, watch out, I wouldn't want ya to get too confused with all these cards. It might be a bit too much for a girl to handle," he says snarkily. 

You titter and shake your head, clearly letting the comment go over and past your head. 

"I can handle." 

You say it humbly.

***

Elvis, grumbling his way downstairs to look where you'd wandered off, stops at the bottom of the stairway as he hears his precious girl's laughter from the kitchen. He stalks quietly towards the doorframe of the kitchen, there he sees you sitting pretty with his men. He scans your body until he gets to your bare, wriggling sooties that are dangled just above the ground in the chair. Elvis clenches his fists, feeling his irritation rise at the sight of you playing with the guys.

As he watches, he can't help but notice the unkempt yet alluring exterior you possess. Your tousled hair and streaked makeup from the night before only seem to enhance your beauty, giving you a tempting appeal that could captivate those around you. He had set certain expectations for you, and seeing you in this compromising situation with the guys confirms that you were not fulfilling them. He storms in, his footsteps echoing through the room as he confronts the scene before him. 

"Darlin', you know bedder than to be gallivantin' 'round in your night attire with these fellas." He narrows his eyes, his southern accent thickening as he speaks.

Your head quickly turned to that familiar gruff voice, his appearance matching the roughness in his tone. There he stood, portly and only in a silk robe, a region of dark hair trailing down his navel from the open slit and his luscious sideburns framing his face. His noir hair, slightly disheveled from a restless night, completed the picture of a man who demanded attentiveness. As you caught his gaze, you could see a mix of disappointment and fret in his eyes. You instinctively straightened up, feeling a twinge of shame creeping into your conscience for some reason as you looked down at your attire and then back at him. 

"Well, I thought it'd be okay. I mean, I do live here now. Shouldn't I be comfortable, El?" You voiced cunningly, not purposefully trying to provoke him but unable to resist the urge to justify yourself. 

But there was an inimitable standard he held you to, one that required impeccability and grace. 

"Goddammit!" He started. 

"No man's woman should be 'round men in such whorey showin' garments. 'Specially not mah women!" 

You blinked in surprise, taken aback by his strong reaction. The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew tense, and you could feel the weight of his disapproval pressing down on you. 

His pride was unexpected for you. 

As you searched for words to respond, his intense gaze never wavered, making you feel insecure and exposed. 

"W-Well, the guys think otherwise!" You spoke aloud as your throat tightened. Well, at least you thought they didn't find your attire whorey—a word Elvis had introduced to you when he saw an outfit you picked out while shopping with him. 

Elvis glared over at them, and they both quickly stood up from their positions, some cards falling off the table as they did so. 

"That right?" 

"N-No Ep, 'course not." They stood there longer than they should have. 

"The hell y'all still doin' standin' here, for?! Go on an' do sumn then." Elvis spoke sternly as he pointed, his robe falling more open with his motion. 

The guys hastily scampered away, not wanting to further incur Elvis' anger. You look at Elvis, noticing his neglected appearance and glazed eyes. Nervous, you place your cards down, your eyebrows puckering in disarray. 

"What was that, Elvis?" you ask softly, but your voice is filled with slight perplexity. 

"They didn't do anything." You squeaked. 

"Didn't do anyhtin'." He scoffed under his breath. He shook his head and met your gaze again. 

"Matter uh fact, the hell were you thinkin' wonderin' off?" His words were a bit slurred. 

"Know all yur attention should be on me, 'n only me." Elvis' words hung in the air, heavy with a mix of fury and vulnerability. 

You could sense an ache behind his harsh tone, and it struck a chord within you. 

"Elvis." You delicately said his name, the concern evident in your voice.

But before you could continue, he raised his voice again, his drooping eyes glaring. 

"Kept mah eyes off ya for just uh moment, den I find you playin' bimbo wit' 'em fellas." 

Your heart sank as Elvis' words echoed in the room. 

This wasn't your Elvis. 

Your bottom lip quivered as you stood up from your seat, covering your face with one hand as you moved to leave the room. 

"The hell are ya goin'." He says this as he tries to stop you, but you pull away forcefully and hastily walk upstairs. 

Elvis hears your faint sniffle from the hallway, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. He paced around, mumbling words to himself as he held his forehead, trying to make sense of what just happened. 

It was clear that his head wasn't in the right place. 

***

As Elvis continued to pace, he barely grasps the impact of his words and considers the hurt he may have caused. 

"Baby," he muffles to himself as he looks around. 

He rubs his eyes and begins to walk towards the staircase. 

"Baby." He muffled again, as if he were whispering a plea into the empty space. 

He reaches the top step and hesitates, unsure of whether to knock on the closed bedroom door or barge right in. 

"B-Baby, a-a-ah wannas come in," he says gently in his gruff voice. 

"W-Wanna come in." Elvis stands in front of the door, his voice quivering with desperation. 

His babyish tone reveals the depth of his regret. Your ears perk up on the other side of the door, straining to catch every word. You can sense the turmoil in his voice, the vulnerability, and the longing.

It's a side of him you were weak for, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Slowly, you rise from the bed, your footsteps barely audible as you make your way to the door. With a shaken hand, you turn the knob and open the door, revealing Elvis standing there, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and fear. He takes in your appearance—your tear stained cheeks, red, fuzzy nose, and the slight puffiness of your eyes. His face softens with concern, and without a word, he pulls you into a tight embrace. Your face buried into his exposed, hairy, warm torso through the opening of his robe. 

Feverishly, he brings his large palms up to either side of your face and pulls your face upwards. Taking in your babyfaced features. Your damp lashes flutter as you meet his gaze. 

"A-Ah made my little 'un cry." he mumbles as he grazes the pad of his thumb under your eye. 

"Y-Ya know ah ain't meant what I said back dere," he continues, his voice filled with veracity. 

"M-My temper… mah words came out wrong. A-Ah, wudnit wha I meant—", he trails off just before he wavers off, trying to focus his eyesight all of a sudden. 

As his eyelids droop, a gentle sigh escapes his lips. You can see the drowsiness etched across his weathered face, the lines deepening in the dim light of the room. 

It always tortured you when you saw him like this. 

You noticed it was one of the many effects the pills had on him, before starting him up, they'd slow him down first. 

Even with his abrupt weariness, you recognize that sincerity in his voice and the sorryness in his slumped eyes. You reached out and took his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it, offering a silent reassurance that you understood what he was trying to get out. 

You cared deeply for him, so forgiving him always came in a hurry for you.

***

As you both stood there, the grogginess began to fade, and his eyes soon became more and more focused. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. He gave your cheek a gentle squeeze. His gaze lingered on your face as he continued to graze his thumb gently on your cheek. 

"Let me m-make it up t-ta mah sweet girl, hmm." He says it so softly with that drawl of his.

As you listen to his soft voice, filled with tenderness and warmth, it becomes evident that he was speaking to you with the same affection one would reserve for a baby. One of his traits you had gotten used to and valued thoroughly. Your cheeks fill with warmth. He holds you by the waist, turning you over, and fully enters the bedroom with you. Shutting the door, he then leads you to the bed, helping you sit down on the edge. Elvis sits down beside you, and you feel the bed sink from his weight. 

He turns your face over to him, and he places a hand on your cheek. He begins caressing your face ever so lightly, as if you were made of spun glass. 

"Kiss'n make it better." He mumbles pouty-lippedly as his thumb runs over your lips. 

You stare into his hollow eyes, nodding, as he begins to push his thumb into your small mouth. Politely opening your mouth for him, the taste of his skin lingers on your tongue as his thumb explores the contours of your mouth. You both hold each other's gaze, and you lightly suckle on it, watching his eyes light up at your action. He gently brings his thumb out, a string of saliva dribbling down your lip. Elvis smudges your saliva all around your soft pout, making your lips appear glossy, then brings his thumb up to his lips to suck off your slobber. As you both continue your intimate encounter, the air around you seems to grow heavier. His fingers then work their way down your torso, tracing your dainty body. With a famished mutter, he slides his hand beneath your slip, teasingly grazing over your soft, small chest, giving one of your nipples a tug. You can't help but whimper at his action.

And want grows between you, feeling a surge of heat run from your face down to your toes. 

"C'mere, let ol’ daddy kiss ya," he leans in, capturing your lips in a fervent, persistent kiss. 

The taste of him fills your palate as he slips his tongue inside your pretty mouth. You find yourself feeling fuzzy in the rush of the moment, willingly giving into his actions. His large hands begin gripping your small waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. His supple kisses had always been tender and gentle, but this one was different. It left you almost breathless. His touch was heavy, and you found yourself slipping in the heat of the moment. Your slip rises upwards at his action, revealing the pair of tiny matching ruffled shorts. 

He breaks the kiss for a moment, his pillowy lips glistening. His eyes lock onto yours—a look of want. Elvis' hefty hand goes down to your upper thigh, and he grazes the fabric of your shorts. 

"Take 'em off, 'ittle." He rasps quietly, the bass of his voice sending shivers down your spine. 

Your breath hitches with a half-laugh. "Kay." You gently get off the bed and look over at him as he keenly stares at you with his still-glazed-over eyes. 

A look you may never get used to. 

You began pulling down at the hem of your waistband until the fabric hit the ground, being completely bare underneath. 

While the length of your slip fell just enough to cover your most delicate parts, he whispered, "Lemme see her." 

His voice is playful as he motions for you to come closer.

You take a step toward him. He reaches out and gently tugs at your hip, his thumb rubbing your hipbone, sending a muzzy feeling to your belly. With his other hand, he reaches over to the hem of the fabric, pulling it up—he throbs between his legs.

From his view, he could see all of you. Your narrow hips and thighs and the smallest patch of curls that covered your pussy. The little crease in the middle—so sweet, you were puffy, and sticky just from his kisses. You looked over at his garb—his robe now fully undone from all his movement, also nothing underneath. You took in as the section of his body hair went from his pudgy chest to his soft belly, which hung just barely over his waistline, and then turned into thick curls at his mound. His corpulent and hard, leaky cock presently standing tall just for you against his paunch. You gazed at the ridge of his pretty, purplish, rosy tip weep as it peeked from his foreskin.

Suddenly, you jolted as you felt his thumb at your swollen clit, a splotchy pink filling your cheeks. His touch was gentle yet firm, his fingers perfectly caressing your sensitive nub. You couldn't help but whimper, the lovely sound escaping your pursed lips as your hips instinctively bucked against his digit. 

"Ain't nothin' more purdy than seein' you all pink 'n warmed up. Could spend all day thumbin' away at that ‘dorable clit uh yours." He babbled as he applied more pressure and quickened the pace of his movements. 

Making you even more rosy. 

You could feel the heat building between your legs, the ache for release becoming almost unbearable. Every swipe of his thumb seemed to bring you closer to the edge, pushing you towards the brink of ecstasy. Your back began to arch as you leaned into his touch, but just as you were almost there, he pulled his thumb away. You let out a frustrated whimper, desperately wanting him to continue, then you went to cup yourself until he swiftly stopped you. 

"Dun cha get greedy on me now," he whispered, his voice coated with directness and a hint of humor. 

You couldn't help but pout, your need for satisfaction overwhelmed your senses. You ached. He had never stopped on the brink of your release like this before. His hand left your trembling body, resulting in you feeling empty and yearning for more. You watched as he brought his thumb to his lips, tasting the remnants of your sweet desire, a sly smile playing on his lips. The rosiness in your cheeks seems to grow darker with his action.

"Ah can't have ya fallin' apart jus yet," he murmured, his voice low. 

You looked at him doe-eyed as you clamped your legs, standing there. 

"Little 'un." Elvis whispered as he reached out for a hand. 

"Idenit time for ya to blossom," he continued as he pulled you closer, his warm breath hitting your cheek. "'ittle flower of yours needs ta bloom." Elvis gave you a nod as he spoke and guided you. 

"Bloom," you repeated as you held his strong gaze, and he began helping you lay on the bed. 

"Mhm, correct baby." He cooed as he helped you lie down. 

When you finally understood what he had said, your heart seemed to race. Staring up at the mirror above you on the ceiling, you took in as you laid delicately on his silk bedding. You began recalling the past nights and days of glancing up at yourself while Elvis rutted against your tummy when he cuddled you until he came, or when he'd only do little more than barely let the tip of his cock pierce your tiny hole—but never more than that. 

Now, he indicated that he wanted to take things further. You were both a little afraid and excited by it. Even so, you were genuinely more willing than ever. It made you rub your legs together thinking about it. You would constantly pester him for more, but he would tell you that it wasn't the right moment and that he knew when it would be. Thinking of his words from earlier, you thought maybe this would be his way of making it better after he'd lashed out. Maybe, he wanted to make it up to you by fully fulfilling your needs. You beamed at the thought.

Lost in your little mind, you were interrupted as you felt the bed sink next to you.

There he lay, still in his loose, silky garb, fully open, his hairy manliness laying solid against his belly while his balls were perfectly nestled below his shaft. You looked over at him as he began lying on his side to face you. His jawline was soft and his cheeks full, adding to the suppleness of his overall appearance. His overgrown sideburns adding to his rugged allure. The word ‘mesmerizing’ repeating in your head.

"Rest on yur side f'me, baby." You began turning over for him, but before you could, he stopped you—he saw the mild unease in your eyes. 

His hand cradled the side of your cheek as your eyes stared into his. However, he couldn't help but smile, thinking your muddled face looked adorable. 

"Hers dudden needs to be afraid." He whispered softly and patted your head now. 

With each light pat on your head, his warmth enveloped you, making you feel comforted in his presence. You smiled back at him softly, it sort of surprised you when he caught it. 

"H-Her knows." You whispered back in the same way he spoke to you. 

It was really rubbing off on you, for sure.

He leaned in, placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, and then motioned for you to rest on your side. Such a baby, you thought as you gave his chubby face one last glance. As you shifted onto your side, he scooted in closer, so he was spooning you, his round stomach pressing into you. You felt the hardness of his length up against your lower back, feeling the warmth radiating off as it throbbed against the thin fabric of your slip. You couldn't deny the growing ache between your legs, yearning for his touch and for him to take control. 

Elvis began lifting the hem of your garment, exposing your bare, pretty, round backside to him. His hand rested on the curve of your hip, his touch both firm and gentle. A shiver ran down your spine as his palm traced delicate patterns on your skin, sending those funny feelings through your body. You felt him move your leg a bit, so your pussy lips were peeking out between your thighs from his view. You felt him pulsing along your rear now, slick already forming at your petals. You couldn't help but arch your back, offering yourself to him completely. You heard him snicker behind you, bringing a blush to your cheeks. Elvis grabbed his thick shaft in one hand and brought it between your thighs, your slick and his precum mixing into one as he rubbed the ridge of his cock along your lips. 

Eagerly, you try to slide down, so his tip pushes up towards your entrance. 

"Careful, too big for yuh to take so fast," he warns as you bare down on his leaky tip. 

You move back unconsciously, and the head of cock grazes at your swollen clit causing you to shudder. 

Trying again, you huff, "Won't fit." 

Elvis is quite amused by this, and he tittered as he leaned into your neck for a quick peck. 

You feel his warm breath against your skin as he whispers, "Baby, needa take time t'stretch ya out properly." 

He trails his fingers along your inner thighs, teasingly rubbing circles on your sensitive heat. Your body reacts, flushing with chills and impatience. You can feel yourself clenching at nothing. Elvis raises the leg you weren’t resting on with his other arm, and you blush at how vulnerable you seem in the pose. He moves the hand he was massaging you with toward your mouth. You understood what he meant, of course. Carefully, you used your hand to hold the back of his large one as you carefully spit into it. You watch as Elvis gruffly giggles at your compliance as you gaze up at the mirror, his eyes peeking over you as he watches his hand lower back down.

Bringing his hand back down to your throbbing core, now slick with both your juices and saliva. His fingers glide along your folds, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. As his thumb brushes against your clit, a shudder runs through your body, aching for more. You arch your back, silently begging for his touch to become more demanding, more intense. His finger begins to pry at your snug cunt, slipping inside with ease from all your wetness. You feel him begin to inch a second finger inside of you, stretching you further and filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, his fingers deeper than you were used to. He would only nag at your hole in the past. You whimper as he starts to move his fingers in and out—a slow and deliberate rhythm. Your hips instinctively press down on his hand, seeking more friction and more of his lengthy fingers. You can't help but squeal, the sound escaping your lips as he curls his fingers inside you, hitting a sweet spot that makes your whole body shiver. You try closing your legs, but he still holds one up. He feels your leg shift and hears your cute squeal. Elvis lets go, letting your leg rest down, with a snicker as he looks over at you with a mischievous grin. Soothing his palm up and down against your thigh, he leaned to kiss your upper arm. 

"Ya kay, 'ittle?" he whispered in his southern drawl. 

You nod, unable to form words, as the sensations overwhelm you. 

Slowly, he removes his fingers from inside you, leaving you aching for more. But before you have a chance to say anything, Elvis is already positioning himself between your legs from behind. He catches a glimpse of your sweet little gaping hole that was dripping with want. He begins rubbing the ridge of his cock along your pussy, you feel his chest vibrate behind you from a low groan. His tip begins to ease in as he coos in your ear slowly. Without delay, he plunges inside you halfway, his lip curling at your tightness. You wail as he bucks his hips further, and you try to get away due to the harsh feeling of the big stretch. He carefully moves the arm he was resting on to go under your waist to hold you from your firm stomach as he hitches up the rest of your babydoll. Pulling you towards him, his gut pressing into you more. 

Taking a glance at your clenched fists and shut eyes, he grumbles, "S'okay baby, breathe." 

You gulp down and gasp, "'S't-too much." 

"Needa bit more little 'un." He croons and brings his empty hand to swipe at your clit from the front in order to break you in with more ease. 

With a final buck of his hips, he fills your sweet cunt completely, taking him all in. You cry out at the forceful pinch, your hand gripping at his hand that held you from your tummy. Elvis grunts loudly when you clench at his cock. 

"M-Mah god, baby, let loose f'me. You'll break me off wit' all tha squeezin'." He blurts out, his voice strained with pleasure and urgency.

Your body trembles against his, and he continues to swipe at your tender nub, wanting to bring any type of pleasure to you right now. Elvis glanced up at your face, a tear dribbling down from the corner of yours. He leaned in, kissing it away. Gently opening your glossy eyes, you look up towards the mirror, taking in the way you were both at last bound. His robe was still hanging loosely on his body, and his hair was tousled as he pressed his face into your nape. As you gripped him with your hand, you felt him grab hold of it and start pulling it down to your heat. Placing it between your thighs, where you and him connected, you traced his weighty balls over with your small hand. Indicating he was practically balls deep inside your dear little hole. 

"Yuh feel him inside ya." He whispered airily into your nape, the bass of his voice rumbling against your back. 

You blushed at his words, feeling a mixture of shyness and alertness. You nodded, unable to find the words to respond, as you focused on the sensation of him filling you completely. His hand remained on yours, guiding your movements as you continued to explore the intimate connection between your bodies. Your digits now covered by both yours and his fluids. Elvis let his hand loose and moved it over to your waist, both of his arms now holding you in a spoon position. As the initial sting began to fade and pleasure took its place, you began moving, slowly your movements against him became more confident. Each motion became braver as desire continued to build between you both. Your whimpers got louder, and you felt the hairs on your nape stand as you heard a little huff come from Elvis behind you. His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. Pulling himself out slightly and then bucking into you again, causing you to let out a high-pitched moan as you experienced the overwhelming sensation for the first time. A dance of pain and pleasure intertwined within you. You were sure a trickle of blood had stained the satin sheets beneath you both as you felt the warm wetness building between you two. You were too busy taking in the feeling of his hardness inside you, he noticed as he peeked up at the mirror and saw you lying there with your small mouth gaping and your hand buried between your thighs where he had left it. 

"Touch yuh'self sweetheart." He grunted into your ear as he strained himself from moving his hips too harshly, his grip on your waist still firmly in his arms.

You complied, your fingers danced over your sensitive folds, slick with arousal, and maybe more, until they found your swollen clit. As you began to rub circles around it, your moans grew louder and more dire, echoing through the room. The mirror gave you a clear view of your own flushed face, your eyes filled with desire and vulnerability. The way he watched you, his dark eyes smoldering with lust, only fueled the fire burning within you. Every movement caused the robe to sway gently, revealing hints of his luscious curves beneath. As your fingers continued their rhythmic dance upon your clit, you couldn't help but imagine his hands—those strong and skilled hands—taking over. The thought of his touch, his fingers tracing the same patterns you were now creating, made your toes wriggle. Your breath hitched as you quivered as the warm, fuzzy feeling in your lower abdomen became more and more unbearable. His thrusts became more vigorous, matching the intensity building within you. The room was filled with the symphony of your moans mingling with his low grunts. As he maintained his relentless pace, you surrendered yourself completely to what your body was feeling. The tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter until, finally, with one strong thrust, you unraveled into a state of euphoria on his cock. Your body trembled with sheer bliss as he continued to move inside you, he watched as your pretty face contorted and your blush deepened. 

"O-Oh god." You whined loudly, tightening around him, and the throbbing of his girthy cock became even more pronounced. 

His grip on your hips tightened as he thrust into you with renewed vigor, looking for his own release. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you moan prettily but uncontrollably. He glared over at you, bringing one hand up to grasp your jaw, his thumb once again finding its way into your mouth.

"N-Not so loud baby. Ain't want no 'un else hearin' ya gone like this, only me." He spoke between each heavy breath, sounding imposing. 

You nodded, unable to say any words. 

His thumb pressed against your tongue, silencing your moans as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. The room was filled with the sound of skin pushing against skin, blending with your muffled cries of pleasure. You felt your ears grow hotter as his grunts turned into gruff whines, it made you wonder how such a man could make such pretty sounds. He pressed into you harder, the suppleness of his hair-filled belly now squished into your lower back. Elvis' grip on you toughens under you, his fingers digging into the skin of your tummy as he pulls you closer, seeking an even deeper connection. His other hand now filled with your drool. Watching as his lip was now curled, you couldn't tear your gaze away from his beautiful expression slipping into that o-face of his through the mirror. With one final thrust, he let out a garish whine, emptying himself inside of your now-tamed pussy, filling you completely with his essence. You couldn't help but muffle a sob and bite down on his thumb as you felt his scorching seed paint your walls. 

He was still so far buried inside you as he let out heavy sighs. Elvis slowly began to withdraw his upper body from you, looking down at the slight space between his belly and your back, shifting his hips slowly to pull out, the base of his cock streaked with your pure blood. He paused as he felt your tongue pushing at his thumb and looked over, your eyes were watery. 

He withdrew his large hand, you turned your head over to him, the position putting a little discomfort on your neck as he was still spooning you. You were in awe of his blushed face and matted, lush hair sticking to his forehead from all his sweat. Bringing the hand you still held between your thighs over to hold the side of his face, your eyes widened as you focused on the redness of your blood on your digits, which had now smudged a bit on his cheek. Elvis took in your expression and glanced over at your small hand against his cheek, he snickered. Grabbing ahold of it, he brought it over to his mouth, giving it a soft kiss and even a subtle lick. Your purity now smudged along his soft lips. 

"A fine 'ittle flower 'as bloomed," he mumbled as he leaned his face into you. 

Your heart raced as his lips pushed against yours gently. The taste of his kiss, a mixture of your blood and his own essence, sent warmth down your spine. He steadily pulled away, enjoying the fact that your lips were stained right along with his. 

It left you brain-scattered and your hind eyes in a fuzzy state.

You were brought back when you felt him pulling his practically flaccid cock out of you. You winced as a dull ache shot through your body. Quickly sensing soreness, but a satisfied, weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, knowing he'd finally gone completely with you. You stiffened as the warmth of his spew slowly oozed out of your snug, bruised hole. 

Elvis' view was a delight, he thought, watching as the scarlet milky mess glazed your puffed-up pussy lips, running down your inner thigh. Slumbering on your back now, your babydoll still pushed up but remained covering your small chest. 

But before you could turn to fully face him, you panicked as he stood up from the bed abruptly. 

"E-Elvis," you sputtered out, even reaching your hand out for him. 

He ignored your plea as he hurriedly walked towards the bathroom. His footsteps echoed in the silence, and you suddenly felt anxious. Moments later, he emerged with a damp towel in his hand. As he approached you, he saw the look on your face as you laid on your back. 

"Hey, what's wit' da worried eyes baby," he asked gently while gently leaning over at you. 

You still felt the pang of fret in your chest as Elvis leaned over you, his concern evident in his eyes. 

"I-I just got scared. Thought you w-were leaving," you admitted, your voice shaky. 

Elvis' expression softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair off your face. 

"Aww, don' worry, sweetheart. Am here now, ain't goin' anywhere," he reassured you, his voice smooth and reassuring in his drawl. 

His touch was comforting, and you felt yourself relax under his calm presence. 

As his hand lingered on your cheek, he spoke again. "Ah's needs ta clean my little girl now, kay." 

You nodded as Elvis stood in front of you while you lay splayed on the bed. He softly lifted your legs and began to gently wipe away the sticky residue, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His sunken eyes met yours briefly, a glimmer of tenderness, before he focused back on cleaning you up. You flinched as he swiped at your tender bud, and he couldn't help but grin. Finishing up, he tossed the used rag aside. Elvis had always been thorough in his caretaking when it came to you. As he gently began tugging your delicate top down to cover you, he paused and scrunched it up, revealing your small, supple chest and your soft pink meek nipples. 

Leaning down to give both of your petite mounds delicate kisses, "Almost forgot 'bout 'em sweet lil' things," he muffled as he kissed your warm skin. 

You found yourself giggling as you ran a hand through his tousled-up hair. One of the things he had made you become—a giggler. 

He stood back up and fixed your babydoll fully now as he smiled at you.

"All done, my little 'un," he whispered softly, his voice filled with pride and adoration. 

Collapsing beside you, his hand tenderly stroked your hair, whispering, "We'll get tha rest uh us cleaned up later." 

He then continued as you moved over to fully face him, his robe now imperfectly tied. "Needa hold ya darlin’, ah know how emotional you puny things can be after experiencin' this kinda thing." 

You snuggled closer to him with a giggle, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort in his embrace. The tubbiness of him being all the more cozy. As you both basked in each other, you felt the palm of his hand smooth down at your lower abdomen. 

"Yuh sore?" His voice held that babyish tone. 

"Bits," you mumbled as your cheek rested against him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. 

His hand continued to caress your belly, his touch gentle. “Love her lots,” he suddenly blurted and leaned in to give your forehead a kiss. 

You gazed up at him, leaning in to kiss the fullness between his neck and chin. “Loves daddy lots too,” you whispered as you followed up with another kiss before you snuggled into him again. 

• Master List

₊ ⊹ Taglist: @fallinlovewithurlove @presleyenterprise @doll-elvis @j-v-9-2 @codalysssssworld @caitskywalker14 @claire-elvisgirl @jaqueline19997 @ash-omalley @spooky-hazex @presleysweetheart @littlehoneyposts @dkayfixates @that-hotdog

₊ ⊹ Get added to Taglist for future stories here.

[ametrictonofaudacity]

Hi! I love your blog so much. I was hoping you could write what yandere!batfam would do if the reader just barricaded themselves in a room and does everything to make sure batfam can't get in. I hope you have a great day and drink plenty of water.

Thank you! I’m glad you enjoy my blog, and I am absolutely going to do a snippet for this!

Warnings: (implied) hunger striking, captivity, themes of obsession, violence, and threats of restraints as well as physically restraining someone.

“You know that’s only going to hold us out for so long, right?”

It’s Jason. You don’t respond, keeping silent. It was just another trick, you knew, to get you to open the door.

Not that they only needed a door. You’d shoved the massive bookcase in front of the window, shoving your bed in front of it. Your desk, and the final bookshelf, had gone to block the door.

You had no doubt it wouldn’t hold them long. It just had to hold them long enough.

“Come on, kid, think about this. Open the door, and I’ll try and talk the old man down from taking the damn door off it’s hinges.”

You hiss softly in alarm, because you had thought Bruce was gone. You thought he was away, in Nepal, in a business trip. Otherwise there was no possible way you would have been able to pull this off, you knew.

“You didn’t know the old man was back? He got a call from Dickiebird, he’s on his way to the Manor as we speak, kid. You really want him to start breaking down the door? He will, you know it.”

You keep quiet, fingers buried in the soft carpet, and try to focus. Try to breath. Bruce being here changed things. Dick being here changed things.

“Who’s all in the Manor?”

You manage to croak out, and Jason pauses.

“Not sure I should be telling you that, kid. I’ll cut you a deal, though. Tell me why you’re pulling out the anti-siege tactics and I’ll tell you some names.”

You shake your head, before you remember that Jason couldn’t see you. That was fine.

“No deal.”

You weren’t going to be explaining to them that you felt suffocated, more often than not. That they were always there, constantly hovering, a hand on your shoulder or an arm linked around yours. That you had so little agency that you felt you were going insane, on a good day.

“Then guess you’re gonna be in the dark. Head up, though. Golden Boy’s pissed.”

That manages to rip the air from your lungs. Dick was scary as hell when he got angry, scary enough that out of all your siblings captors, his anger would immediately send you into a near frenzy. He got fucking mean when he was mad, and he knew how to use his words to cut to the bone.

“What and you aren’t?” You taunt, frantically trying to stop the way your heart thunders in your ears and the way your blood pulses in your veins.

“Oh no, I’m pissed. Pissed enough I’m keeping this door between the two of us, because I don’t want to traumatize ya.” It’s- it’s almost cheerful, the way he says it, so matter of fact, but the words are phrased in a way that you know they’re true. Every syllable is tense and clipped, not quite grit out and hidden behind the easygoing bluster.

“Yeah, well, I’m also pretty into keeping the door between us.” You snap, because you are impulsive and dumb and holy shit you did not think this through.

You hear the faintest sound from Jason, and when he speaks again, his voice is sharp, sharp enough you cringe back and try not to panic.

“I fucking bet, you brat. What exactly are you planning to get out of this, huh? Planning on going on a hunger strike or something?”

The door rattles in the frame, and you yelp, alarmed.

A sigh, and when Jason speaks again, it’s softer. Cajoling.

“Listen. Bruce and Golden Boy are gonna be here soon. We can do this two ways. You either open the door, apologize to me for being an absolute menace and driving me insane, or it gets busted down, and you leave the room anyways, except with a lot more yelling and a lot higher chance of Bruce not letting you out of his sight for months. Literally.”

You bite your lip, hands fisted in the rug.

“I’m not opening the door, Jason.”

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You hear his footsteps leave. For a second, you take a moment to breathe, air whistling between your teeth, the AC loud in the quiet room.

“Open the door.”

You jump, nearly leaping a foot in the air, and the startled sound dies in your chest, eyes wide.

Bruce. Bruce was on the other side of the door, right now, and he was pissed. Pissed enough that his voice had that gravelly, rough quality it got when he was being stern and already mad as hell but trying not to show it.

“No.”

Your voice sounds small, even to you. You try to ignore it.

The door rattles on it’s hinges. It seemed, with a locked door and several heavy oak dressers between you and him, he was determined to move both. It rattles again, this time louder, and you shriek in alarm when the desk creaks. How fucking hard was Bruce hitting it?

“(Y/N), unless you want me to break this door down, open the door.” Bruce sighs after he speaks, and then breathes in, like he was trying to calm himself down.

“I know you’re scared right now. But just open the door and come out, and we can talk about why you did this, okay? I’m sorry I frightened you.”

You feel tears prick at the side of your face, feel the anxiety and the nervousness and the fear. You want to shake your head.

You don’t say anything, and he sighs again.

This time, it’s not just the door that rattles. The desk shudders, straining against the weight thrown against it, and the shelf creaks, then sways.

You’re smart enough to back up and away before it comes crashing down. Not that you don’t doubt Bruce knew you were away from the shelf, or he never would have risked toppling the heavy thing.

When he ducks through the doorway, picking his way over the shattered desk and shelf, you back away, hands trembling. He pauses.

“(Y/N). Why don’t you come over here so we can clean the mess up, and we can talk about this in a bit? Just take a breath, okay? Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. It makes some of the anger drain from his features, that you weren’t hurt, but you don’t get any closer and his lips press into a thin line.

“(Y/N). Come here.”

It’s stern. It reminds you of the same voice he uses every time you try and escape or fight with your siblings. It makes your stomach twist.

Your eyes flick to the door, and Dick, who was standing not far from the door way, sharp blue eyes watching you for any movement.

You make your decision, swallow, and ease forward.

Warm arms wrap around you the second you’re in reach, pressing you against Bruce’s chest, and you feel a bit of the tension in his shoulders unwind, just barely.

“This isn’t happening again, (Y/N). Do you understand me? What if you had gotten hurt, when the shelf came down? What if you had gotten hurt when you were in here and couldn’t say anything?”

Bruce was pissed, and he grips you tightly, tightly enough that you squirm in his hold, which only makes him grip you tighter.

“I wouldn’t have gotten myself hurt! It’s practically an empty room half the time, what could I have hurt myself with?”

God, you hated it when your mouth ran faster than your thoughts.

“That’s not what matters.” Dick cuts in. “The issue is that you could’ve, and we couldn’t have done anything about it!”

He pissed, practically spitting out the words, and you can hear Bruce’s frown.

“Dick, you need to calm down.”

“No! This is the fifth time this month they’ve tried something, you have to do something, Bruce! It’s stressing everyone out!”

You open your mouth to argue, ready to defend yourself because you hadn’t asked for any of this, but Bruce speaks before you can.

“I will.”

And suddenly you are far more preoccupied with trying to prevent Bruce from picking you up, twisting and squirming to get away, but he catches you easily. He presses you against him, this time the action restraining, and lifts, taking your feet off the ground.

The entire trip through the Manor, you are twisting and pushing against him, trying to escape. You nearly get close, once, when he was adjusting his hold and you had snapped your teeth at him, but Dick had lurched froward for a moment and it had startled you so badly that you had frozen, giving him time to readjust.

You’re dumped on a medical cot, and when you see the straps on either side, it nearly takes the both of them to hold you down long enough to get them on. Bruce looks pained the entire time, as you kick and flail, and when they’re both done, your arms are strapped securely enough that yanking on them does nothing.

“Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Bruce frowns, and then sighs, moving the cot. You’re moved with it, and you glare. “This is only temporary until we find a more permanent solution, (Y/N). Until we can trust you not to be a danger to yourself, alright? It won’t last long.”

Dick doesn’t look like he agrees.

You don’t either.

[moss-covered-thoughts]

Valentine's Core Exchange Fic

Hi @agent-sushi-fbi !! I have your gift ready for the DP Valentine’s Core Exchange!!! Thanks SO so much for being patient with me while I wrapped this up! I had an absolute blast working on this and I really hope you enjoy reading it! I have also gifted it to you on AO3, where my user is Abitnervous

Dead on Main is my fav ship and I had a lot of fun making something new for ya~

Also, thank you to my helpers! I did some brainstorming with @stealingyourbones and @bonebrokebuddy was my beta reader! Yall were fantastic help!!

This was a super fun event, so thank you to the mods at @valentines-core-exchange for organizing this! Aaaaaaaa!!

Without further ado: Hella Good Brew

Link:

Fic snippet:

Finally, the figure came into view, and when he saw Jason he grinned, fangs visible. Jason’s heart nearly stopped.

“Hey, Red!”

“Phantom,” he greeted, keeping his voice low since he didn’t have the benefit of having the modulator to cover for him. Keeping the ‘mask’ on without the helmet was much harder.

The ghost floated over to the counter casually, resting his head on his hands thoughtfully. “What brings you all the way over here?” He batted his eyelashes at Jason, smirking. Goddamn him.

Phantom always bantered with him like this. Jason told himself it was not the reason he kept coming back.

“The usual. Making sure you’re not up to trouble.”

“But Red!” Phantom put a hand to his chest in mock offense, “I’m always up to trouble!”

[starryschoolgirl]

Elusive Engagement

a Baby Love snippet - Circa: March, 1968

Summary -> When the news leaks to the press about your upcoming wedding, Elvis holds his own interrogation which wreaks havoc within his entourage. But you're told not to worry your pretty little head about it, however you can't help when you have a hunch that the leak came from your family.

Warnings -> It's only a little angsty, crying, throwing bottles, angry Elvis, misunderstandings, possible manipulation, disapproving mother-in-law, Roy Orbison makes a very short cameo

WC -> 2.5k

Thank you to that lovely anon who suggested making this newspaper thing, you have sparked a snippet you inspiring poet. And many thanks to Jeanie and Willow for helping me with the newspaper, lovely those ones.

The shrill ring of the bedstand's telephone had been an abrupt and unpleasant wake up call to Elvis after a long night of playing piano keys and renting out a bowling alley. To be quite fair it wasn't that this caller was being rude, it was after all digging into the day, 1 or 2PM by Elvis' guess.

He drawled out a deeper than usual, "Mm hello?", rubbing his eyes with his free hand as he did so. The hand extended from his eyes to drag down the skin on his face tiredly, the pull of the skin would only serve to tug an eyelid open. 

A joyous voice had filled Elvis' ear, an old friend's voice,

"Now I knew you had a wedding coming but why didn't you tell me I was invited to your wedding? And why didn't you tell me I was gonna sang too apparently?"

Elvis' eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head in a tired confusion, his lips smacked before he mumbled, "Roy? Man what are you talkin' about..."

He shifted in the bed slightly and turned to your side, warmth was emanating off you, his personal little heater. Elvis pulled the cord of the telephone from the bedside table so that he wouldn't knock over anything on the table as he scooted closer to your sleeping figure.

Roy's laugh filled the line, it was loud and had a bit of a pitch to it in the way Roy's singing voice could have. Elvis pulled the telephone away from his ear as he settled next to you, placing a hand on your stomach for contact as he leaned his back against the bed's headboard.

As he ran his hand down your stomach to your thighs, his fingers absentmindedly tugging at the laced hem of your short nightie as he complained into the phone,

"It's too early in the mornin' for ya jokes boy, what's goin' on Orbison?"

The laughing on the other line had subsided as he realized Elvis really didn't know what was going on.

"Elvis, it's all over the papers here, ain't it on the papers in California? Your wedding, it’s been leaked..."

-----

As you awoke from your much needed slumber you reached for your favorite pillow on the bed, Elvis. Only, it seems Elvis wasn't in bed? Maybe if you reached further you’d feel him, he tended to roll around in his sleep.

After the first swipe around the bed your hand turned frantic as it searched for him, you quickly sat up just to see he was gone. You pulled a stray hair out of the corner of your mouth and tried to smooth your mussed up hair back to at least look presentable as you scooted to his side of the bed, the warmth of his body long gone and now just a cold bunch of sheets and blankets.

The pads of your bare feet against the wood floor filled the room as you walked to grab your robe, it was a very chilly March morning, then again every morning was as Elvis had an obsession with keeping the house cold.

You felt very carefree as you wandered through the upstairs hall of the Hollywood home you and Elvis had been residing in, you didn't hear the loud guffaws and crude jokes of Elvis' entourage, dubbed as the Memphis Mafia, so you hoped that meant you could enjoy a sweet domestic morning with Elvis.

Just the thought excited you as you let your robe flutter open while you pranced down the stairs girlishly looking for your fiancé. Just as you rounded the bottom of the stairs and steered yourself into the sunken living room you had seen Elvis in his usual dressy attire, his back was turned to you as he was facing another part of the room that you couldn't quite see yet.

Just as you were about to call his name, your feet finally landing onto the plush white carpet of the sunken room, Elvis’ voice boomed through the room as he yelled, “Speak Goddammit!!” His yell closely followed by a bottle that had flown across the room and shattered against the wall, your guess of it being a bottle had been confirmed as fizzy brown liquid began to drizzle down the wall that had intercepted the bottle. The sound that had filled the air as it shattered had made you jump and squeal from the shock.

Elvis' broad shoulders had turned at the noise of your distress and your eyes shot around the room in a bit of panic, Elvis' friends were here, but instead of being their usual joyous, loud selves they were quietly standing straight with blank faces, like soldiers in trouble with their drill sergeant. 

They were in trouble with Elvis, and if that couldn't be told from the way they all stood with sunken expressions, then the way a few of them remained in a flinched stance from the bottle being hurled just inches from their heads was the giveaway.

You made eye contact with Jerry for a split second before he looked away, when you tried to make eye contact with the others they only looked away as well, then you turned to a fast-approaching Elvis.

He hadn’t yet shaved and his hair looked to still be tussled from sleep. Your wide eyes softened slightly at his facial expression, he looked upset, you could tell by the way his jaw clenched and his nose was just slightly scrunched in a way that only someone who was often close to his resting face could tell.

Your voice was soft and questioning as you reached a shaky hand up to smooth back his hair, “Elvis..?”

You then realized why the others wouldn’t look at you, especially with Elvis in this mood.

Before you could say anything else you watched as his hands found the sides of your robe, pulling the sides together to hide your figure. You’d felt an embarrassed heat spread up your neck as you realized Elvis’ friends had just seen you in your short nightie, and with the cold air of the room, they no doubt saw the two little hardened details of your chest that Elvis liked to admire most.

You let out a breath as he tied the string of your robe especially tight.

“Elvis, what’s the matter?”

Elvis sighed, his hardened expression softening just for your eyes as his back was now turned to the other guys, he shook his head for a moment while staring down at the floor. Now you felt worried, you brought a hesitant hand up to cup his cheek as you murmured softly,

“Can I help in any way?”

He cracked a little smile at the question and placed his hand over yours as he turned his cheek to kiss it. With his unshaved cheek rubbing against your hand you felt the slightest tickle, and any hesitance or fear you might’ve housed for a moment was out the window as you couldn’t help your giggle at the sensation.

The sweet noise only served as a reminder to Elvis that he had a duty as a man to handle it on his own, and not have you worry your pretty little head about anything.

Elvis’ hands rested at your waist and he leaned down to kiss your cheek and murmured against the skin close to your ear, “No little one, why don’tchu you head right on upstairs, be up there in a minute with ya alright? Just talkin’ with the boys”

He pulled back for you to see his little encouraging smile, to which you returned tenfold with your own sweet grin.

As you headed back down the hall that led to the stairs the house was silent and as you had left sight of the room you could hear Elvis saying something quietly but couldn’t quite make it out. You wanted to but at the same time you didn’t see the point, Elvis was handling his business, therefore it was none of yours. As you reached the staircase you noticed paper placed on the first stair.

Of course your eyes glazed over it as you were taking a step up the stairs and just as you had passed it, the headline finally hit you smack dab in the face.

“ELVIS PRESLEY TO BE MARRIED IN JUNE”

Your eyes widened, and you quickly bent down to grab it, taking slow steps up the stairs as you read the contents. 

A close source had revealed the upcoming wedding? Who could that be? Is that why Elvis was so angry downstairs? No one was supposed to know until after.

As you had reached the top of the stairs you had to lean against the wall and think, a million thoughts going through your brain as to why one of the people close to Elvis would reveal it. They’d risk losing more than they’d gain. Elvis didn’t like people who couldn’t keep their trap shut about his personal business.

There were even a few times where Elvis had stepped up to his manager, Mr. Parker, because the man wanted to release some information to the press about you and Elvis to keep his name before the public due to his movie career going down the toilet.

That argument didn’t end well as Elvis had almost gotten the two of them sued by refusing to participate in a project unless Mr. Parker promised not to go to the press for publicity, as Elvis didn’t want your name being dragged in the mud. Those journalists often found a way to make anyone, even someone Elvis deemed as saintly and perfect as you, seem like last month’s garbage.

But a thought that seemed to reoccur in your brain at the moment was the worry that the leak came from your side. After all, your family didn’t approve of this union. Especially your mother.

No, she wouldn’t do that, would she?

Your body remained stiff even though you felt as if you were buzzing all over, this vibration in your stomach, mixing and stirring your stomach acids all around.

This could all be your fault. Those guys could all be paying for your own mother’s actions. It was enough to make you feel a little sick.

You kept a hand on the wall as you wandered down the hall to your and Elvis' shared bedroom, your steps grew faster as you heard a bang and Elvis yelling at one of the guys, as if your growing guilt would tackle you to the floor if you slowed down.

Once you made it to the room you closed the door behind you, and with the newspaper still in hand you sat on Elvis’ side of the bed, turning the rotary dial to your mother’s number.

After a few rings and a shaky breath you heard a familiar voice say “Hello”, it was Rienne, one of the maids.

You tried to remain composed, heeding your mother’s lesson that if you weren’t composed around the help, they wouldn’t respect you.

“R-Rienne, is mother home?”

Your palm felt sweaty as you nervously clenched your free hand into a fist, biting your lip to keep it from enacting its nervous quiver.

“Cosette, is that you? Oh how are you Dearie?”

“Rienne, please is my mother home?”

There was a short pause before Rienne answered with a yes, you spoke as softly as you could without stuttering, asking her to call for your mother. And when your mother finally did come to the phone she answered with a soft, quiet, “Cosette?”

Your lower lip wobbled as you spoke in a soft, quiet voice that almost completely mirrored your mother had it not been for the little crack at the end,

“It wasn’t you was it?”

As you were greeted with silence you brought your other hand up to clench the telephone nervously. Then your mother spoke once more,

“Setty, what ever do you mean?”

You breathed out wetly, allowing for vulnerability as you clenched the telephone as if you would your mother’s hand had she been here, “Th-The wedding, it’s in the papers Mommy”

More silence followed before your mother’s sympathetic voice, “Oh my love, I-”, she paused trying to find the right words, “Well, I-”

With her sudden loss of vocabulary your worry spiked and you questioned quickly, voice not raising in volume, only in distress, “It wasn’t you was it? Tell me it wasn’t please-”

“I told you not to get involved with that man, with men like him these things are bound to happen.”

You felt your eyes begin to burn slightly. You had almost worked yourself into tears from that last sentence. “You mean you didn’t leak-”

“Of course not my dear, why would Mommy do that to you?”

You wished you could see her, not only for the comfort she could offer, but also for the giveaway she could offer as well. You shared many traits with her, one of which being a giveaway for when you lie, and over the phone you really couldn’t tell. You wanted to believe her, you really did.

Suddenly her voice was much colder, as she instigated,

“Is that what that man has you thinking? Is he making you think that your mother and father are these big bad wolves? Figures, a man like him doesn’t have much to offer so he has to make it look like everyone else has even less to make someone stay. You know I warned you-”

The change of tone was abrupt, and the burning of your eyes violently increased from each syllable she spoke. Your eyes would be pools in no time.

“N-No Mommy, no he didn’t say anything, he-”

Your voice had caught in your throat. God you couldn’t do anything right, and now your mother is misunderstanding what a good man Elvis is. When you could finally speak, your nervous panic had left your voice so pathetically quiet that it came out like a choked whisper,

“He’s- No, I, it’s not that, I promise, I,”

Your mother cut in again with a scoff through the line, “It’s an isolation tactic my darling, he’s turning you against us. Goodness, why can’t you see that? I know I didn’t raise a stupid girl”

And just as it always had since you were a little girl, your voice gave out completely as you tried to explain yourself to your mother. The same way your mother’s voice would give out anytime she tried to explain something to your father. 

And as no noise would leave your throat, you would only be able to silently listen to your mother’s quiet voice that somehow even in a crowded room seemed louder and more present than any other person’s voice.

Despite its quiet softness, it could somehow often surpass Elvis’ loud harsh one.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as you sat on the bed and listened to her go on about what Elvis was doing to you, what it would be like when you finally married him. She topped it all off with how much someone can change when he goes from man to husband. And that you’ll regret it all in the end.

You bit your lower lip harshly to stop it’s quivering, and as her voice rang through your skull you didn’t even recognize the click of the door, or the sound of Elvis’ shoes striding closer and closer on the wood floor.

It was only when you felt a pull on the telephone did you look up to find someone else, Elvis. He looked at you with worry before mumbling into the line as if your mother were an afterthought, 

“Goodbye Mrs. Chevalier”

That was so fun to write! I had a whole other part written but I figured if it's a snippet, it's best I keep it short eh? Goodness I just love writing for this universe, I'm having so much fun messing around with these two!

Thanks plenty for reading!! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this au feel free to just comment or message me!

Taglist Lovelies: @fadedsummerlove, @lialocklear, @astral-eyed-cat, @suraemoon, @geanecore, @pinkpuffycloud, @s0phlabrunette, @that-hotdog

[elmoees]

ミ★ 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 ★彡 (jjk l)

summary. snippets of a summer with the jjk men <3

- word count. 1218

- contents. implied fem!reader, no use of (y/n), nicknames (pretty, baby, my love, ect), established relationships (boyfriend/husband), canon world but little is mentioned, non-kenjaku older!geto, mentions of megumi, mentions of tojis shady past life, minimal cursing, fluff drabbles so no warnings required!

- notes. first post of many! hopefully some y'all enjoy this

jjk ll part - haikyuu version - one piece version

ミ★ 𝘎𝘰𝘫𝘰 ★彡

You lie on the couch of your shared apartment as Satoru fetches drinks from the kitchen. The show playing in the background does little to distract you from the blazing heat of Tokyo summers. Even in his larger t-shirt, the cotton stick to you like a second skin. “Here ya go, Baby,” he says rolling the chilled glass across the back of your neck, hoping to relieve some of the discomfort brought on by the heat. 

“Mhm, thanks.” An appreciative hum is voiced as he plops back into his spot. 

His slender fingers trace up your side, as you both bask in a comfortable silence. The thrum against your body lulls you into sitting up beside the white haired male. Hoping the sugary iced drink would be the pick me up needed, you take it from your boyfriends grasp and sip it. “S’good… god, it’s so hot.” A whine escapes your lips as you lay your down on his shoulder with a pout. 

“I know, m’sorry. Damn aircon is breaking down again, I’ll get it fixed promise.” He raises his fingers to show them locked, with a big smile on his face. Damp hair stick to his forehead, and a flush had settled over his pale cheeks. He was hot too, in more ways than one. 

You roll your eyes at his statement, “You said that last year Toru, didn’t happen then either.” he lets out a gasp at the statement. “I was extra busy last year! The Jujutsu world needs me ya know,” it was your turn to scoff. 

“And I needed my air-conditioning fixed! It’s whatever though, ‘m gonna change.” You remove yourself from his hold, but Satoru keeps a hand on your wrist as you stand. 

“I love you!” 

ミ★ 𝘎𝘦𝘵𝘰 ★彡

“Sugu! C’mon, hurry up! We’re gonna miss it!” You run off ahead of Suguru, hoping to get to the beach before the sun sets. The man only smiles and shakes his head as he follows after, he had gotten you both there early for a reason. 

Lacing his hands with yours, he slows the pace to something more manageable. “We’re not going to miss anything, there’s still twenty minutes left.” The dark haired male can only laugh at the bursts of energy coursing through your body. “Enjoy this, you won’t miss a second.” Suguru begins to rub soothing circles into the back of your hand as you continue to walk to your destination. 

“But-“

“Nuh-uh, no buts, we’ll make it in time. Have a little trust, yeah?” The squeezes to your hand reinforces what your boyfriend is says. 

With a groan you comply, and the two of you continue on the path to the secluded beach. 

Suguru listens to your babble with an open ear. Well aware of how fast you want to feel the waves and see the ever setting sun. The conversation is fluid and he’s thankful for the moment of peace. Being a special grade sorcerer meant long hours and even longer days without seeing you, so this trip was a needed treat. 

Truthfully he could do this forever, be with you. “I love you, I hope you know that.” He kisses your hand gently, just barely grazing his soft lips over the bow of your knuckles. With a giggle, you reply “Of course I do, you wouldn’t have put up with me this long if you didn’t.” 

Walking out of the tree-line and onto the shore, he allows you to lead him out towards the water. You’ve never looked better, here in the golden light holding onto him - and never has he felt so at peace. 

So as the two of you finally face the setting sun, he feels that love too. 

ミ★ 𝘕𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪 ★彡

The weekend market was bustling as you and Kento continued to walk around it. Basket in hand, you stroll around to each stall with excitement. Fresh fruits and veggies for the week were always nice, and the added bonus of spending time with your husband was even better. 

“Would you like anything from this stand, My Love?” with a hand on your waist, Kento continues to skim through the vendors items. Leaning into his touch, you smile up at him, “You can’t ask that every time we see a new stall! We’d go broke if you bought everything I looked at.” 

His sigh turned into a small smile, “If I did, it’d be worth all the extra hours I’m taking on.” 

You rub at his arm, leading him away to look at flower cart. “You being here is all I can ask for, your work is too dangerous for me to ask more of you!” 

The blonde turns and places a kiss to the side of your head. Just as many others were in his line of work, he was selfish. Selfish for returning to the world of Jujutsu, for putting others before himself when you needed him, for wanting more time with you knowing any moment could be his last… 

“You could ask the world of me, and I’d give it to you no matter what.” you hum in agreement resting your head against his shoulder. 

“That’s sweet, but how about we settle for these flowers huh? No need for the world, you’re my world anyway.” 

ミ★ 𝘛𝘰𝘫𝘪 ★彡

From the kitchen window you watch as Toji continued to work on the yard. The garden was really starting to come together, and it wasn’t much thanks to you (not that your husband would ever say that). “Toji! Baby, do you want anything to drink?” You called through the open screen. 

“No thanks, Doll. ‘M Good,” he pushed back his hair to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. 

“Hmm, I’m bringing you some water! Last thing we need you fainting and Megumi seeing,” you brought him out a chilled glass of water, opting to feel his reddening cheeks. Toji’s large hands came to rest over your own, “I’m fine ya know,” he mutters. 

You huff instead, “Don’t even argue with me ‘bout this, I can worry! It’s not like you’re letting me help away.” 

The dark haired male runs his thumbs over the back of your hands, “And why would I let ma Doll, do any of this work? Soft hands like yours ain’t made for hard labor.” You let out another scoff, “It’s a few flower beds Toji.” 

“And I stand by ma point, let me do this for ya.” Gosh, what a stubborn man you married. 

Clearly he wasn’t going to let you win this argument, so it was pointless to try much harder. In the years you had known him, he had never been more present in your life and in your marriage up until recently. Maybe it was sad to say that, but the truth still stood. Toji was gone once, but he’s here now and that should be enough, right? Right… 

Looking to the side you nod. It was a bit embarrassing to be nervous of the man you love, but he’s different now. 

“Hey, look. I love you, ya know?” you did know. 

You lean into his touch and savor the moment. Maybe he’d be gone again in the morning, maybe he’d stay for longer, maybe he wouldn’t leave. For now though, this was enough, it had to be. 

“Mhm, yeah. I love you too,”

 ©elmoees 2023

[chunkypossum]

@azrisweek || DAY 2: Familiars || 14k words

Elain is nice, quiet and easy to be around. Azriel and his shadows find solace in her company. When her powers as seer become evident however, Azriel is forced to reckon with a familiar part of his past that is about to take on a whole new meaning.

NGL I did too much this week and I'm being such a HATER about every word I wrote y'all. And this one is my least favorite😅 but the idea wouldn’t leave me alone sooooo here we are. This week I'm posting and running away to hide and devour everyone else's content. ANYWAY... Happy @azrisweek !!

Hope you enjoy yourselves I know I will!

READ ON AO3

Snippet under the cut.

Screaming into his hands, Azriel started laughing at himself. The more crazed his laughter became, the more agitated his shadows grew until they were swarming around him in a massive dark cloud. The sight must have been terrifying but Azriel was mindless in his confusion and anger, taking no notice. He had to trust that his shadows would not let him be discovered in that state. They veiled him and brought Azriel into the void between worlds while they tried to find him a private place to calm down. As much as he wanted to, Azriel could not stay in the void indefinitely.   His feet touched the ground in several places at once. There was nowhere in Prythian he could run from these thoughts. His best option was the icy wind of the Illyrian steppes. Azriel groaned as the wind chafed his wings and clarity hit him a moment later. Right or wrong, Azriel had to know. It took him a long time standing in the Winter night to gather up the courage to utter his demand. The significance of it hung heavy in the air and crawled along his bones. Better kept in the dark corners of his mind, Azriel was acknowledging something by saying it outloud. It was the possibility that the pull towards Autumn meant more than his hatred, his protection of Mor and the duty to his court.  “Take me to him.” Nearly lost in the howling of the wind, Azriel whispered those simple words. Nothing had ever been harder for him to say.  He didn’t have to specify who he meant, the shadows just knew. 

If anyone wants on or off the taglist please let me know!

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train : @talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77 @areyoudreaminof @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @ninthcircleofprythian @matrixsss @going-through-shit @c-starstuff-man0 @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @krowiathemythologynerd @cauldronblssd @hieragalbatorixdottir @yourlazykitkat @hellolordling 

[precious-little-scoundrel]

IM SORRY DID U SAY YOURE WORKING ON A FIC ABOUT “COP BIG DADDY ELVIS”?!?- please tell us more because this sounds like the greatest thing ever 😭

I did, Mon ami, I did indeed…welcome to the demented 2009, sweaty and non famous cop AU that @eliseinmemphis and myself cooked up in our feral yearnings one night.

Edit: it’s here

Allow me to lay a bit of the setting for us all, and maybe even throw in a few lines from the draft below.

Life is insular when you’ve been born and raised in a trailer park. A little El Paso suburb was never a thriving metropolis, what with its gas stations and dollar stores on the way to nothingness in the desert, but the recession didn’t help none. Your dreams of buying a car that might actually make it above 120 mph and not guzzle your wages in gas is a far off dream when you learn from officer Presley that your entrepreneuring father has been incarnated for racketeering across in Juarez. It’s a shame, a damn shame but it hardly throws a wrench in your life, you were already used to making it however you could. When workin’ at the trucker’s club turns into something a lil more illegal and Elvis has his morning waffle ruined by Joe Esposito yacking about the powers of your pink tongue…he feels a little responsible for leaving you without a father figure. He’s got top notch swamp coolers in his trailer, plenty of food and tiger figurines out front -and he’s got an interest in fast things, just like you.

You could do worse than shack up with such a fella; not that he’s offerin’ but you can tell by the flicker in his eye and the smirk of his lips that he’s as susceptible as the next guy watching you on the pole. Except this sweet, world weary cynic just might screw your gooey insides up worse than any threat or ogle from another man.

Snippet:

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been a year or two since you saw him last. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he keeps in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms had massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Sweet Cheeks,” he greets, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to this slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me flyby on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

[lilsmv1]

august - MV1 (1/?)

- you're on your own kid [pt1]

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Juliette Durand

This is a story for the Max (and Taylor Swift) girlies. 

masterlist

Summary: They were doomed from the start. Two completely different worlds colliding, there was no way this could work. But what happens when they keep running into each other, as if gravity was pulling them together. 

Trope: slow-burn af

(*dialogues in italic are meant to be in French, I’m just too lazy sksksks)

Word count: 1,1k

A/N: This is the first chapter guys! I'd love some feedback :) Enjoy !

Having recently graduated meant finding a job and getting your life together.

But Juliette was only 25, how was she supposed to know for sure what she wanted at this point in her life? 

Juliette was completely lost. She wanted to do everything and nothing at the same time. Everyone expected her to know everything, especially her parents.

Instead of facing their incessant questions on the matter, she ran away, in hopes of overcoming her current situation.

Hence why Juliette booked her tickets for Italy, and found herself wandering the streets of Orta San Giulio.

Juliette felt at peace here, the sound of the water banging against the boats, the cool breeze gently brushing her cheek, the smell of sea water. She didn't know anyone, and no one knew her. No one to expect her to be anything.

She was strolling through a bookshop, her fingers brushing the edges of the books as she went. Her eyes lit up as her hand touched her favorite book. She couldn't even tell how many times she'd read it, but it always had the same gut-wrenching effect on her. She took one last glance at the book before leaving, Martin Eden, by Jack London, a fan favorite, or at least hers.

As she left the store, Juliette’s phone rang. It was Pierre. 

“Ju?”

“Yes Pierre?”

“Did you arrive safely? You were supposed to text me once you get there.”

“Sorry dad!” She laughed. Pierre was her best friend and he could be a tad bit overprotective sometimes. 

“You know I worry about you. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine, I just need time to figure things out for myself” Juliette was lying. She wasn’t fine. Her anxiety was really getting the best of her lately.

“I know, and you’ll figure it out. You’re the clever one, you’ll find your path” Replied Pierre, trying to reassure her.

“Easy for you to say, “Mister I always wanted to be a Formula One Driver”” .

Juliette and Pierre met when she was in middle school. They actually met in detention. Pierre was there after talking back to a teacher and Juliette was there after throwing her eraser on a friend. He was three years older than her and immediately saw her as the sister he never had. Since then, she has been cheering for him throughout his entire career, being there for each milestone. She was very proud of him.

“What can I say, I have always dreamt big” laughed Pierre “By the way” he added “Kika is coming to spend a couple days with my family next week, will you be there?”  Pierre asked.

“Of course! I can’t wait to see her again!” Juliette was so happy to see Kika again, she was a real sweetheart. She was glad Pierre had found her. 

“Well I gotta go Pierre, I’ll call you back during the week, alright?”

“Ok, take care Ju, love ya!”

"Love you, see you soon!" replied Juliette.

Juliette cherished her friendship with Pierre more than anything. They couldn't see each other often due to his intense schedule, but he was always there for her and vice versa. To her, he wasn't Pierre Gasly, he was just Pierre, her best friend from middle school. She felt really lucky to have such a friend by her side.

Juliette kept exploring the city for a couple hours. As the evening went on, she decided to grab a bite in the nearest restaurant. Once she settled, she pulled out her film camera, snapping candid shots of the people surrounding her. 

That camera was always in her hand, having thousands of film rolls at home, each capturing snippets of her life.

She watched the people through her lens throughout the whole dinner, until her gaze fell on a pair of piercing bright blue eyes already staring back at her. She slowly lowered her camera, and looked away shyly, embarrassed that she'd been caught red-handed.

She looked back up and that’s when it hit her. She knew those dashing blue eyes. They belonged to none other than Max Verstappen, one of Pierre’s fellow drivers. Except for Charles, she had never met any of them, trying to stay away for the spotlight as much as possible. 

Juliette was completely mortified, and to make matters worse, he was headed in her direction.

“Ciao” he said when he reached her, cringing at his own attempt to speak Italian.

It was all it took to make Juliette burst out laughing, a mixture of surprise and nervousness.

After seeing Max’s defeated look, Juliette pulled herself together.

“I’m sorry”, she said “It’s just, I wasn’t expecting you to speak Italian”. 

This made Max smile. 

“You speak English… then, made a fool out of myself here, didn’t I?” he asked, chuckling.

“Kind of, but it was entertaining” she softly replied with a grin. Realising he had been standing there for five minutes, she invited him to sit with her, which he did.

"I'm Juliette by the way"

"Nice to meet you Juliette, I'm Max"

“So,” he kept going, “did you take any nice pictures, hopefully some with me in them” he said smirking. 

“So you did see... Well, I would’ve but I got a little interrupted” said Juliette.

"Don't worry, I'm flattered" he replied laughing.

"Don't go feeling too special, I take many candid shots of strangers... Although it might sound weird like that" she laughed. "I just find it beautiful to capture snippets of life".

"Well you definitely make it sound beautiful" he replied with a warm smile, making her blush.

They stayed like this for a while, chatting about this and that, although Max failed to mention that he was an F1 driver and Juliette, on her part, failed to mention that she knew who he was and that Pierre was her best friend. They both did not want to make this conversation weird, knowing that were never going to see each other again anyway.

"Well, Max, it was lovely to meet you, but I think I'm gonna head out" said Juliette after a while.

"Yeah me too, have a good night Juliette" replied Max with a smile.

"Good night Max" said Juliette softly before leaving.

They each went their own way, a smile on their face as they though about this one-off encounter.

But after all, Orta San Giulio isn't a big town. Who knows, they might run into each other again.

[thusspoketrish]

WIPPET SNIPPET!!!

I'm almost finished with this massive Drarry story + art that I've been working on, and I'm a bit nervous (and so thrilled, really! haha) to share it with you all! To ease into it, here's a little snippet + my Harry for you. I hope you enjoy it! xx

Many thanks to my lovely friends: beta reader @youknowyoudid and alpha reader @dewitty1. Ya'll are keeping me sane as we cross this finish line together! Love ya both, MWAH!

Draco tries to put Potter out of his mind until the object of his thoughts appears in the arts and crafts room. 

Potter shuffles in, clad in threadbare joggers, a plain white t-shirt, and a dressing robe, his feet snug in slippers that have seen better days. Despite the late hour, he appears to have just risen from a deep slumber. The telltale signs of medication linger in the slight droop of his eyelids and the sluggishness of his movements. His eyes, however, betray a sharpness, a keenness that sweeps across the room before settling on Draco. 

Draco’s hand falters, and the paintbrush he’s holding slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor. He remains rooted to the spot, his gaze locked with Potter’s. There’s an unmistakable tension in the air as Potter slowly advances towards Draco’s Nest, each step measured, each movement deliberate. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Potter’s voice slices through the air, dripping with disdain, sending a shiver down Draco’s spine. 

His words, though slow from the effects of medication, carry an undeniable threat that causes Draco’s heart to slam against his ribcage. He lowers his gaze to the table, his hair falling like a drape to shield him from Potter’s piercing stare. The room feels suffocating; each breath he takes is a struggle against the rising panic and regret threatening to drown him. He grips the edge of the table, his knuckles white, desperate to hold onto the last shreds of his composure in the one place in hospital he thought was safest.

[seradyn]

Fruit of our labor!

You already saw some of this you silly goose!

This is my Astarion x reader one shot I’m planning, in which reader accidentally calls Astarion “pumpkin” in front of the whole camp. Just idiots being in love.

I was able to do some quick edits for ya so you could have a fun snippet to read:

“

It slipped out one night, while you were all sat around the fire.

The others were busy dividing up the spoils from the day’s adventures - equipment and coin passed around to those who needed it. A hearty stew, courtesy of Gale, sat warmly in your bellies, staving off the night’s chill while packs were passed around. The fire crackled and popped in the center of camp, but it was drowned out by the sounds of Scratch’s excited barks and the owlbear’s deep coos. They were roughhousing, no doubt.

You watched your companions fondly from your place curled up on Astarion’s lap, held snugly to his chest in a loose embrace. He held a book out in front of you both, resting his chin on your head as he read. You were sure if he was still alive, you could hear the gentle thumping of his heart beneath your ear, lulling you into a blissful sleep.

It had taken many weeks of traveling together before Astarion had been comfortable with such affection. Especially when displayed so openly. Weeks of working up from simple touches, to hand holding, to hugging. Now, he was quite open to cuddles, and even a bit demanding of them sometimes. Your warmth was something special to him, he’d said. He could never get enough of it.

“

Sorry it’s a bit short, I’m still struggling with low spoon count (which is why I haven’t messaged you I’m sorry 😭)

Anyway, hope you enjoy 💕

Update: Full version out here!

[j-eryewrites]

I’m finally writing the last chapter. I’m crying and cheering. It’s crazy I started this fic over a year ago. Anyway, here is a short snippet to tide you over until the next and final chapter. Prepare your tissues and snuggle into those blankets. You’re gonna want them for the last chapter. Without further ado, enjoy your tiny spoiler 😊

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

꧁_____________꧂

When he finally reached them, Joel couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of deja vu. There Ellie and Piper stood, gazing out across a city. The sun light reflected off the shattered windows off the skyline. Nature overcame the city. Vines and trees ensnared everything in sight.

“So… is it everything ya hoped for?” Joel repeated himself.

Ellie grinned. “It’s got its ups and downs… but you can’t deny that view.”

Joel laughed and then joined them. The view was pretty nice. His eyes scanned the scene and froze on what appeared to be a hospital.

“Look,” he turned to Ellie and Piper. “I don’t know exactly where this hospital is…”

“Yeah, we’ll find it.” Ellie didn’t remove her gaze from the view.

“Sure. It’s just…” Joel trailed off thinking of his next words. “Maybe there’s nothin’ bad out there, but so far there’s always been somethin’ bad out there.”

“We’re still here, though.” Ellie was facing him now.

“I know. I’m only saying there’s risk.” Taking a deep breath, Joel ensured he had both girls' full attention. “We don’t have to do this. I just… I want you to know that.”

Piper froze. All of a sudden she felt like she was on fire. *Did she want to do this?* She knew what awaited her and Ellie. Sick boiled in her stomach, and Piper wished she hadn’t eaten anything that day.

“What do you mean? What else are we supposed to do?” Ellie questioned.

“Nothin’. We just go back to Tommy’s.” By the way, Joel spoke, Piper could tell it was all he wanted to do. “We forget about the whole damn thing.”

Ellie shook her head. “After all we’ve been through… everything I’ve done… it can’t be for nothing.”

With Ellie’s confirmation, Piper knew her answer. She could see the hope in Ellie’s eyes. Those eyes that had been so void of anything since their entrapment with David. Piper had already failed Ellie once. She knew she couldn’t do it again. How would she live with herself if she let her sister blindly walk alone into death's hands?

“I know you mean well,” Joel began.

Standing straighter, Ellie interrupted. “I know you wanna protect me. You have. And when we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want. Tommy’s, sheep ranch, the moon.” Joel laughed.

Inside, Piper cried. Her dream flashed in her mind. She returned to it every night and almost stayed in the dream that day. God, Piper wanted more than anything to have her dream come true. She wanted it more than anything. But Piper had made a promise. It was her and Ellie until the end, and if Ellie wanted to march right into death's arms, so would she. After all, maybe then Piper could do something good. Maybe in her death, she’d finally be able to do what she always wished. Maybe then she’d be able to save someone instead of killing.

“I’ll follow you anywhere you go,” Ellie continued. “ But there’s no halfway with this. We finish what we started.”

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[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Hi hello yes for the event jahdjsjd. Jamil with the prompt 6 carnival fun?? Please?? With (🌄🍓☄️)?

Do with this request what you will,, I'll love the writing anyway <33333333333

Carnival Fun; Jamil Viper

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, mutual pining

Word Count; 650+

AN; I hope you enjoy your Jamil and the direction I took this in! Jamil deserves to have some fun, and so do you! As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

To say that you weren’t a bit surprised that Jamil had agreed to join you to the local summer carnival would be a lie. But much to your surprise, and his own, he had agreed to your invitation… well also was basically forced to take a day off work and he had “nothing better to do”, his words, not yours.

Yes, he was clutching onto the railing of every single ride, he protested a little but still went on them. And you could have sworn that besides the hissed curse words and snippets of praying, you could hear the tiniest bit of laughter over the sound of children and adults screaming. He didn’t leave the park even after he was chased around by a hornet that wanted some of his food. Jamil had even won you the 'so ugly it's cute' snake plush from that basketball game. He even reluctantly shared some of that overpriced snow cone with the strawberry syrup; it was a tad too sweet for him, you seemed to enjoy it so he decided to give it a shot.

“I’m surprised that you came,” you hummed, shovelling a spoon of the sweet treat into your mouth. 

Jamil took his spoon and got a small scoop of the shaved ice. “Why wouldn’t I? You invited me.” I like spending time with you. “Today was… enjoyable I guess.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Aw, come on, Jamil, admit that you had a little bit of fun, it won’t hurt ya.” Even when you were waiting in line for over an hour, he stuck with you. “You deserve to have some fun, to let loose. You work yourself too hard.”

Jamil raised a brow and looked at you. The setting sun cast warm light on your face, and he quickly looked away. “Fine, I had fun today,” he relented. “And thank you for thinking of me. Despite the screaming children, it was fun. And I suppose I will try to let loose.”

“Don’t forget about the hornet that chased you arou-” You stopped talking and stifled a coughed-out laugh at the face he was giving you for bringing up that incident again. He had to rip your phone out of your hands to delete the video you took, he didn’t need Kalim to see that or everyone else working at the Al-Asim estate for that matter. “I mean, I’m glad that you had fun. I like spending time with you.”

Jamil looked back to your face, and he saw the orange sun reflected in your eyes. “I like spending time with you too,” he offered you a small smile.

The way the setting sun backlit Jamil made him look ethereal, glowing even, and you paused and just looked at him in silence for a few moments before snapping out of it. “If you want we can come back another time, maybe I’ll even be able to beat you at that basketball game!”

He let out a single chuckle, he was being a lot more relaxed with you and he couldn’t place when he had started doing so. He felt like he could be himself, and not the Jamil that everyone expected him to be. “I doubt it, you missed every single shot, no wonder you didn’t join the Basketball Club. If you want to come back, there’s a festival happening in August at the estate for the meteor shower if you wanted to go again-”

“Are you asking me on a date?” You asked, looking at him with wonder and teasing.

Jamil hummed, “If I were to do so, would you accept?”

“Yeah, if you were asking, I would always say yes,” you said.

He gave you a smile, a genuine smile, a window into the true Jamil. “Well then, would you like to go on a date… with me?”

You reached your hand across the table, palm facing up, “I’d love to.”

Jamil looked down at your hand and then back up to your face, placing his hand in yours. “Then it’s a date.”

[plantcrazy]

To Make or Break a Toppat

"They say the first 5 years either make or break a Toppat. I've also heard many of the previous leaders say the first 5 years as an elite was harder than their first year of leadership, so I can't help but wonder what they'd say to you?"

Mr Macbeth glanced at his unwanted company, "What do ya want?"

Hōkū, Head of the Oceania Division, came to a stop by the railings Macbeth had been stood looking out from. With one hand, he created a small cluster of stars that illuminated the surrounding air with a dim glow. It was enough to see the other clearly, but not enough to cast light into the piercing darkness of native bush which surrounded this division's main outpost.

"Do you always assume someone wants something from you every time you're approached?" Hōkū mused.

Macbeth glared back coldly, not in the mood to talk, never mind with this guy. "No one comes ta me if they don't want nothin', so spit it out already."

"So you assume the same for that young Sweede you look after-"

"If you don't want nothin', fuck off!"

"Right here and now, you are NOT an elite with the privilege to speak to me like that! You are in my division, under my command, as a regular member of this Clan," Hoku's voice boomed across the quiet valley, the light of his stars flickering. "I have every right for that alone to inform Copperbottom there is no hope for you, and to dismiss you from the Toppat clan! Furthermore, I was under the assumption Smith taught you better than that."

Mr Macbeth shrunk into himself, face flushed, head lowered.

"That's what I thought."

Hōkū leaned on the railing, looking outwards. "As I said, you are a member of my division for the next 3 months, and I intend to treat you as one, our past differences aside. So, I would suggest you accustom yourself with being visited without having to provide something in return, because this will be a regular occurrence between you and I from here on forth."

"..."

"My point earlier was you've had significant pressure put on your shoulders since stepping foot in the clan. I know Wilford was always a believer in pressure, pushing people to step up to the mark, but I can't help but think that has caused more harm than good in your case. Suave could certainly see that, and perhaps that was his real reasons for targeted you. You were the least qualified for that position, myself and the other elites could see clearly, all it was doing was breaking you further, and based on the incident 2 weeks ago, I would say the damage has been done."

"... You done rubbing in my mistakes?"

Hōkū smiled softly, "Everyone makes mistakes, Mr Macbeth. What matters is how we choose to proceed after making them. Here."

Hōkū took one of the stars, moving it into Macbeth's hand.

"A star?"

"I've heard from other, my abilities have a calming effect. Perhaps it will help you sleep? I imagine you need it." Hōkū patted Macbeth on the shoulder, "I will see you tomorrow."

He paused mid-step, "Oh, and I have some advice for you."

Macbeth raised a brow, looking up from the small star.

"A true coward is the one who chooses to start the fight; Walk away."

- - -

Experimenting with some ideas, and developing some characters. Enjoy this little story snippet :)

[moodymisty]

mkay so I have 2 Warhammer ideas? requests? sticking in my head that I can't decide on one so I'll throw both out there and you can pick one (or neither since I already threw a request at ya lol) to chew on. also a lot of my lore knowledge comes from the wiki and lore vids so sorry if I get things wrong.

first, if I'm remembering right you've said that the blood angels get a smidge yandere over Sanguinius' partner. so I'm thinking, how the hell would they act towards them after ol Sangy gets murderized by Horus? what about the black rage? would they recognize them? maybe her being present around a raging blood angel somehow makes them even more feral, desperate to protect them from "Horus". or maybe it helps mellow them out, can't decide which I like better lol. also what if she's pregnant or has had Sanguinius' kid? idk just poor grieving widow surrounded by these also grieving giants who mean well but are kinda unhinged lol.

OR maybe some thoughts/ headcanons for your blorbo Sevatar lol. I don't know much about atm but reading the little thing you made of him made me think he's like one of those boys who picks on the girl he likes but heaven forbid someone else tries to pick on them.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: I know you said do one, but I'ma do both. Keep an eye out for the Sevatar one soon. I'm not going to pass up a chance to write about not only my crazy husband Sevatar, but also my yandere vamp boys. I really like both ideas of Sangy's lover either mellowing them out or making it worse. I chose that it's made worse in this snippet however. There's other yandere tendencies I could get into, but I decided to primarily do black rage stuff here. I hope you enjoy.

Summary: Guilliman visits the lover of Sanguinius for the first time since the Heresy reached it's murderous apex.

Relationships: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader (no pronouns just the title 'legion mother')

Warnings: Major Character Death technically, Sanguinius haunts the plot because that's what he do, Increasingly yandere Blood Angels

Word Count: 1116

It will have been the first time since the Siege that Guilliman has laid eyes on the Legion Mother of the Blood Angels.

He boarded the Red Tear with a small gathering of Ultramarines, though when he reaches the entrance of the room he's due to meet you in, he turns to his lieutenant and speaks.

"Stay out here."

The Lieutenant instantly begins to put up resistance, standing up even more rigid than he already had. His helmet is off, hanging on is belt and showing slight disbelief on his face.

"But My Lord, I-" Guilliman cuts him off.

"I am not going to bring a small army of Astartes to speak to a widow in mourning." He takes a breath and calms himself. "If I have need of you, you will know."

The marine quiets, and then the Primarch enters the room. The door closes right behind him, and two Blood Angels part for him; They had clearly been guarding the interior of the entrance. In the middle of the large room is you- in front of a massive table of maps and parchments, separating you and him.

"This is a surprise, Primarch Guilliman." You look up at him from across the room as he steps closer. This room was designed with Astartes and Primarchs in mind, so his height fits quite comfortably.

"Do you have need of the Blood Angels?"

You speak proper and polite, but not cold; It's a behavior that reminds him of Sanguinius, and for a moment he wonders if the Primarch had ever prepared you had you needed to ever command his legion.

Guilliman notices a well armored captain at your immediate left, and a few other Blood Angels standing guard in the room. More than he would've put in a room this size, though he thinks that perhaps it hadn't been your idea, judging by the captain's face. He looks across at you.

You look terribly, horribly lost. A young woman with her lover dead, thrust into a leading mantel of a legion in mourning. Belarius is serving as the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels now, but even he still looks to you as if you're an extension of Sanguinius. Something more.

He doesn't envy your position. For once he might see himself almost more fortunate than you; As despite circumstances, he has the genes of his creation assisting him, you do not; You were not make for the role cast upon you.

The Blood Angels standing guard are tense- unbelievably so. Guilliman suspects if he made even a somewhat fast movement, they'd have their bolters all pointed his way.

The weight of Sanguinius' death has weighed heavy on you all. All of you live in mourning. That drive in them now channels fully to making sure their Primarch's beloved stays alive.

"I wished to give you my condolences before you return to Baal."

You smile at him, weak, before it fades a bit as you loose yourself in thought. Then, you turn to your men.

"Leave us alone for a moment, if you will." The captain at your side speaks up. You shush him before he has a chance to say much of anything on the matter, and Guilliman suspects that this isn't the first time. You've clearly been growing frustrated at their obsessiveness already; You wish to mourn in peace, but this is how the Blood Angels have decided to.

"It will only be for a moment. I am sure nothing will happen in the ten minutes I would like to have a conversation without eight other pairs of ears listening." He can hear the strain of irritation and sleep deprivation in your voice. He moves to take his final strides closer and come fully up to the table that stands between you.

One step away however, he stops.

In the corner of Guilliman's eye, he notices in the back of the room that one Blood Angel turns rigid. With how tense his neck and jaw is it's like he's gritting his teeth into dust. He makes a move closer, his hand slipping down the barrel of his bolter towards the trigger-

Guilliman can't see a thing but rage in his eyes.

His own hand twitches in preparation, but the marine's partner in guard roughly grabs his pauldron. He whispers something the Primarch can't hear. As they all move to leave, it almost looks like he's dragging him out. Guilliman notices you watching the scene with a particular look on your face. Like you've seen it before, and you're unsurprised but displeased to see it again.

When they're all out of the room, his posture relaxes ever so slightly. As much as it can in his armor, at least.

"Thank you for visiting, Guilliman, but it wasn't needed. I'm sure you have many other duties to attend to." You smile, but it's forced. He's familiar with the gesture.

"The Ultramarines are always occupied. However I still wish you a safe journey." The smile on your face becomes a bit more sincere.

"Thank you. And I'll be sure to think of the Ultramarines have I any need of assistance." Guilliman has had nothing but respect for the Blood Angels, and a request of yours would be one he would consider.

"Very well. Do take care of yourself."

Guilliman wants to say something about Sanguinius, but he can't bring himself to. instead he gives you a nod, and turns away to leave. He does so silent other than the sound of his footfall, and you're left alone in the room. But only for a moment. Your captain that was here previously enters not long after he leaves, standing in front of you. Rubbing your tired eyes, you look up at him.

"How is he?"

You say in reference to the Blood Angel who'd snarled and almost attacked Guilliman moments ago. The captain shakes his head.

"Not well. He is just barely holding onto his sanity. He'll be in Death Company post haste." You sigh.

"Did any of the Ultramarines see?" Much to your relief, the captain once again shakes his head.

"No. We barely got him out of earshot before he started yelling about saving Primarch Sanguinius and you from the Arch Traitor."

Arch Traitor. How quickly everyone has begun refusing to even utter Horus' name.

You nod to the captain in thanks for his quick reactions in the matter, your face tired. Sleep has been a rarity; You feel sick, and mourning isn't an emotion that welcomes rest.

And no one can know about the Rage, or the Thirst. You suppose that's your duty now. You just hope you can hide it as well as Sanguinius had.

[moonami]

PART 2 OF MY NEW HETALIA HORROR FAN WORK. FIRST PART HERE

THE FOLLOWING TEXT CONTAINS SHORT GORY DESCRIPTIONS WITH MENTIONS OF BLOOD hope ya guys enjoy it and remember to share this!!

…

It was still winter; the dark snow phenomenon had not been repeated since then, but the nations could not help but be nervous, unable to remember what they did during those days except for small snippets of specific moments, such as… attacking their helpers, or seconds before they left their homes and looked up at the sky.

Soon afterwards, they found all over their bodies skin ulcers and symptoms of illness.

which at first resembled those of a cold but got worse as the days went by, the cause however, it was clear to them: it was that storm.

News spread around that this was not unique to one area of the world, but around the entire globe, which, while it was most concerning for mortals, the immortals, concerned for their citizens, and for their own health, pushed their differences aside to seek a solution to the problem as they had done the last time something of this magnitude had happened.

If they had already dealt with something as absurd as a full-scale alien invasion and emerged unscathed, why shouldn't they be able to deal with this as if it were a piece of cake?

They were summoned to a meeting for the world's superpowers to discuss what they knew, they appeared in front of each other, still affected and in great pain, they were firm, arriving dressed up, well-groomed, and avoiding showing weakness to the others, at least to an extent.

But even with all of them in the same room, no useful information could be provided. Even the older ones were confused, saying that the closest they could come to this experience of self-absorption and lack of self-control was like when a nation was about to dissolve, but still, it did not quite match; they might be ill, but none of those present were on the verge of death.

America looked a little uneasy, with trembling eyes and reddish sclera contrasting with his blue eyes that moved from one side to the other, observing the faces of those present at the table, he felt frustrated because of his inability to remember what he had been doing during that week; he still didn't believe what they had told him—something had taken away his control over his own body, making him act against his will. It brought back bad memories, but he tried his best to hide his worries behind his infallible facade, putting on his best smile even if it was forced, trying to convince everyone to drop their panic and work under his command. Yes, he was taking this more seriously as it had affected him too, but he wouldn't let his ego just like that.

This unusual behaviour was quickly picked up by those present, especially England. Who, since he had been rescued after jumping into the river, had had to wear a patch over his right eye.

Iggy seemed concerned about America from the start, occasionally casting a glance almost as if to ask if he was all right, but these were ignored by the young man.

England looked like he was swallowing his own tongue, as if he knew something else.

Everyone thought it was that he wanted to tell America something, which was not unusual, what was unusual was that he proposed that they try to convince their bosses to work together to find an early cure for their ills, and due to the desperation of the others, for once In their lives they agreed, and that included even his respective live-long rival, France, who looked beaten up, not so opulently dressed, instead just wearing a formal grey suit and purple tie.

Due to problems in recent days with his vision, France had been wearing glasses to read about what he did during the first 6 days of the phenomenon and was also interested in others handing over these documents to learn other details, first dead before not gossiping about the drama and misfortunes of others.

Another suggestion came from Germany, who proposed that they should also have a contingency plan in case this happened again, such as some way to prevent them from going outside during a black snowstorm, which seemed like a good idea, another contingency plan came from Italy, who proposed raising and waving white flags to the sky and surrender, which earned him a smack on the head by the German, Japan just laughed softly, saying he would continue to do what he could to support research for a possible solution.

The atmosphere seemed less heavy now, although this did nothing to calm the American.

That person had been very quiet during the whole meeting, not even deigning to make any threats or passive aggressive remarks to get things his way, he looked droopy, pale, even paler than before, was that even possible? His purple eyes were unfocused, and he had a self-absorbed smile, and from time to time he caressed his own face and stroked his arms as if trying to get rid of a slight discomfort, any time someone mentioned any symptoms they had, the russian would smile even more, even if it was paranoid nonsense, this was leading the American to think that the Russian might have something to do with it; who was to say that this wasn't because of some other one of those crazy Russian experiments to make a new weapon?

Perhaps to others it would seem counterproductive to create a weapon that would affect yourself, since Russia seemed as sick, if not sicker than the others, but… He knew Russia…No… He knew Ivan well enough to know that, if his superiors ordered him to do something, even if it included going through inhuman pain and suffering, he would obey without question to achieve the goal, dancing in their hands like a puppet.

He wasn't his only suspect though; China, as usual, was on his list of possible people whose government could be behind this (typical), but he wasn't going to rule out any of the powers present.

He kept biting his fingertips, trying to calm himself, until he made them bleed…

Once the meeting was over, France approached to ask for copies of the reports, which were reluctantly handed to him, after which he left, and one by one the room was cleared, leaving only Russia behind, who smiled as he watched them go, and crossed eyes with England for a few seconds before leaving.

That was the last time they saw Ivan they knew. ….. The larger the territory of a country, the more rapidly its symptoms worsened.

Russia was the first to fall.

He had only a couple of humans around him watching him die in life, with his sister, Belarus coming to visit him at first, but such visits became fewer and less frequent because of his own weakness.

Russia woke up crying for breath during the nights, choking back cries, suffered from violent meltdowns, old historical wounds opened as if they had just been inflicted, staining the thin white sheets with the carmine liquid, ulcers spread, his fingers were affected by frostbite, the wound in his neck oozed unceasingly, and his heart would fall out of his chest so easily that the staff had to be extremely careful not to step on it by accident, even though sick, Russia was too careless with something so precious, they never found a way to make him feel better.

and Russia promptly began to refuse to leave his room.

Or at least not without something to cover himself with. The nation began to wander around enormous house, walking around with thin white sheets covering his head and part of his body, the corners of the thin veil stained with blood, as if girding the scene of a crime.

Russia looked ethereal during that time, he moved with a gentleness uncharacteristic of such a large body, acted like mere cocoon of what he used to be.

What an appropriate word.

On 29 February 2001, at 7 a.m., Russia's rib cage exploded, and his ribs expanded, beginning to move unnaturally as if they were joints, digging into the floor of the building and rapidly spreading apart, almost as if looking for natural soil to plant themselves in.

Amid the commotion, due to the pain and panic, the nation threw itself out of the window from a first-floor window, falling to the ground, those who went to help him quickly fell dead when they encountered his body for unknown reasons, from inside his organs now exposed to the air, his nerve endings came out and joined the soil.

And in a matter of seconds, the body of the nation was absorbed into the earth.

To give birth to something more beautiful than anyone could ever imagine.

One being and one flesh. From the biggest to the smallest. … The territory of the Slavic nation began to undergo changes… The water had turned red, If you dug into the ground, you could find material that resembled human muscles, the inside of the buildings seemed to breathe, and no matter where you went the trunks of the trees now actually had eyes, watching each one of their inhabitants.

Ivan Bragrinsky's current whereabouts are currently unknown, and one can only assume the worst.

Others said he shed his human body for something more akin to what he was from the beginning.

A piece of land.

And he would not be the only one to suffer such a fate. …

But a certain American, after hearing the news, still frightened by his own fate, could not stand still… Damn Russian… Once again, he was left behind, and that didn’t make him happy…Rusky gave up again? okay, perfect, now he would be the hero to save them all.