#Chubby!Russia

[dylanshetaplanesandhcs]

Bear In The Snow

You were in a forest on the outskirts of Moscow, it was snowing and freezing. You were with friends and decided to beat them to the campsite, but you got lost, you were cold and weak. Then, you collapsed into the snow, your last vision being a tall blurry figure walking towards you before everything went black.

You then felt warmth, was this what heaven feels like? Then you open your eyes to find yourself beside a fireplace in a large mansion, you were under a blanket and on a couch.

You sat up to find your hero, and large man was in the kitchen cooking something. He was very tall, around 7'4" and had a thick chubby build, he has platinum blond hair that was almost white, he was wearing an old WWII uniform and jacket, with a pink scarf around his neck, when the giant turned to you, he had deep violet eyes that seemed unnatural, but beautiful, he then smiled.

"Ah! Finally awake I see." The man spoke with a sweet tone, unlike a deep bassy one you'd expect from a man of his size, he then walked over to you, carrying a steaming bowl, placing it in front of you. "Here, have some borscht. It will help you warm up." You decided to follow his advice and ate it, it was so warm and good that you practically ate the whole thing in one bite. The man was impressed. "Woah! Easy now, I never seen someone eat faster than me." He laughed and took the empty bowl away. But not before he turned to you. "By the way, I'm Ivan, Ivan Braginsky." He spoke, smiling.

You smiled. "Thanks for saving me." You said. Ivan put a large hand on your head. "Don't mention it, Маленький." Night had fallen, and you were already sleeping on Ivan's soft and plump belly, he was stroking your head as it rose and fell underneath you, with some gurgles coming out from his stomach. You let out a yawn, moving your head to one of his large pecs, he smiled as he saw the action. "Tired?" He asked. You nodded, and he sighed. "I guess it's time for bed, I guess you want to sleep with me?" You smiled, nodding again, Ivan chuckled. "Okay, little one, let's get you a bath, shall we?"

He picked up up and carried you to the bathroom, where he bathed you lovingly, before putting you on his bed, and heading back to the bathroom for a bath of his own, he returned later with his pajamas and tucked you in, joining you after.

"Sweet dreams, мой подсолнух. I promise I'll watch over you." He said gently, kissing your forehead and lulling you to sleep. As sleep finally took over you, he still kept watch, making a silent promise to protect you and care for you. He doesn't know how long you'll stay until your friends try to find you, but until them, you are safe in the burly arms of a gentle giant, as if as bear had decided to raise you as one of his own.

[chubbinsky]

👉👈

Is this blog still active because I'd like to show my hetalia weight gain discord server if youd like it

https://discord.gg/EXgJxUV4

Oh you have one, too? You can find mine somewhere under FrozenLakeBeast's blog (the server, like this blog, is quite slow but very chill!)

[wickedwanchii]

crawls out of my cave to showcase my favoritest bear ever

[goddammitjosef]

controversial take: Ivan is not super tall, just because Peter the great was a genuine giant doesnt mean he is huge

Paul I was very short, Yuri Gargain was 160 cm, Khrushchev was 162 cm, Stalin was 166 cm, Lenin was 166 cm, Putin is 170 cm, Medvedev is 164 cm, if anything Russian women are taller than men on average, I promise you that both Tolys and Natalya are taller than this man

[geisterland]

I think it’s funny when people make Russia muscular. Because I just cannot see that man going to the gym, ever. To me he’s just big, but not really strong (in fact, I did make Belarus be stronger than him lol). Especially if you’re making him have an alcohol problem, I can’t really see him being buff lol, in my mind he’s this video

[the-heaminator]

20 for canrus from the writing prompts? 👀

[ 20 ] "this is absolutely your fault!"

hnnnng I could make this very serious or like very domestic and I'm not sure what to do here, so I'll try mixing both of them. Also hooray for tubby matt! I dont think this is what you wanted but this is what you're going to get I'm sorry riva.

Ivan was a lot of things, and a good summation of those things was an overall bad fucking influence, but not in the way you would expect, that was the job of Arthur and the rest of the family, nah Ivan was a bad influence in the way that he lrt Matthew's own bad habits slide, bad habits that in the grand scheme if things, hell even within his own family were pretty tame.

Innocent things like sleeping in, eating well, plainly begging for cuddles.

These were put down as bad habits for as long as Matt could remember, unless enough alcohol to kill a horse was involved of course, and Ivan just indulged in them, no fuss about it, and it was incredibly odd for Matthew, but why look a gift horse in the mouth eh?

Another thing that Ivan was was cuddly, he liked hugs, being hugged and giving hugs both, he was taller than Matt, not as much as he was over most people, but still a good 4 or 5 inches taller, but Matthew more often then not latched himself onto his back when he was particularly done with life, which was often.

The other way happened too, Ivan hugged Matt from the back, resting his head on the shorters shoulder, Alfred was usually the cause of such moods.

Anyhow, I need to stop rambling, as I said Ivan just enabled Matthew's "bad" habits, in perhaps the cutest way possible, he was a good cook, and partial to food, his frame was a testament to that of course, one of the reasons Matthew absolutely adored cuddling him, he was actually nice to cuddle, unlike some people, and was more than willing to partake too.

Of course Ivan had his bad habits too, everyone did, though history had not been kind to him at all (fairly he hadn't been kind to history either but we will not go into that) he was quite partial to alcohol, somehow worse than Arthur, a terrifying concept for Matthew, but he seemed to make a conscious effort to try and not drink as much when Matthew was around, not something Matthew would ever think was possible, someone making a conscious effort to reign in themselves for him? completely unheard of, unless they both were drinking, then everything was free game.

Again I need to stop rambling by god, anyhow because of this he started cooking more, Matthew was always partial to baking, and for once he had the time, the energy, and a nice lack of guilt to do it.

The Kirklands™️ really had drilled it into him that no, it was not allowed to relax until you were more than half dead, and the fact that that managed to stay in Matthew for literally nearly a century without them enforcing it was frightening, but somehow it managed to stay on in Alfred for nearly 250, without an end in sight, like father like eldest son eh?

This weirdness also ended up going towards food, hell the amount of times he was forgotten to be fed when he was younger was far too often, Ivan would not let that happen, there were two types of old-timey European nations in the modern age, the type that doesn't eat, and the type that try to make up for lost time, Russia was very much the latter, and it showed, both on him and Matt, quite by accident really.

I need to stop rambling I cannot remember what I was saying for the love of god, Ah!

Once when laying on the sofa, Ivan tried to lay his head in Matthew's lap, having to bend his legs anyways because there was no way he was fitting on the sofa without doing that, and for once he didn't complain about Matthew being too bony (odd because he loved doing that) Ivan fell asleep there, and Matt was in the stupor that comes with watching shitty reality tv shows that finished 4 years ago at 11 in the night, you know the one.

He lightly prodded Ivan to get off, his leg had fallen asleep, and the rest of him was not far behind.

"Oi, shove off." Oh, that was definitely a whine, he didn't even try to hide it.

"ублюдок"

"But you love me anyways, now get off you're going to kill my leg."

Ivan got up, creaking annoyingly, his back had not been the same since the 1800s fuckin' hell, Matthew got up too, far less creakily but he did limp around for a moment because pins and needles sucked a lot of ass, he nearly fell down while doing that, bumping into the side table in a series of accidents truly looney toones worthy.

Ivan ended up catching Matt, he was not expecting Matthew to be that heavy, apparently he was still under the impression that even after all the cooking, baking, and the eating and sleeping that came after that, Matt was still light as a feather and bony as all hell.

My man is not the best at noticing change is he, "Shit, Matvey when did you get so heavy?"

Matthew flushed, he hoped Ivan wouldn't notice, but i mean even someone as absentminded as Ivan could be at times would notice, he pouted and said "This is your fault."

He looked confused "Mine? how I did nothing!"

Matthew wasn't sure whether he liked the current events, but it was leaning towards good and he hoped it stayed that way, he did really like Ivan's cooking...

"You let me eat so much though, this is absolutely your fault!"

Ivan let out that little giggle of his, a bit weird from someone as large as him but by god was it endearing "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Matthew looked at him oddly "It isn't?"

He waved a large hand "No, of course not!" he clucked his tongue, "Arthur is still in your head even now, you were too thin, not nice to cuddle." He bent down a little and hugged Matthew around the waist, tightly, he ended up lifting him a bit even now and looked straight into Matthew's eyes "Now it is much nicer, besides, who cares, certainly not me, and I don't think you do either."

He pinched Matthes side a bit, a bit surprised to find flesh there, but wasn't complaining, "Now shut up and go to sleep, it's midnight and my back hurts."

He got herded upstairs and Matthew's normal inability to sleep just did not turn up tonight and they slept in each others arms, Matthew suffocated as usual, but again he really could not care less.

[k1t-y]

star fruit ivan

i love ivan--adore him. he is by far my favorite. i'm picky with who he's with and how he looks (i've tried over and over, but i never get him to turn out how he was in my head b4 now), and so i believe that has let to me feeling as if there's something missing. despite that, however, im actually very proud of how this turned out. :3

[yasmeensh]

Homotherium cub!!!!

On November 14th, a paper was released describing a mummified 3 week-old homotherium cub discovered in Yakutia, Russia.

WE CAN FINALLY SEE A SABRE-TOOTH CAT IN THE FLESH!!! It's an incredibly remarkable find!

I wanted to try drawing it. Based it off what 3 week-old lion and tiger cubs look. Chubby and round. Homotherium has a sloping back. The mummy showed it has a thick, furry neck, shorter face, and a little tuft of long hair at the chin.

The paper is available here:

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Don't cry. || Nikto

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: E Words: 3K~ (this one got away from me) Pairing: rogue asset!Nikto x civilian!Reader cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT., bad/incorrect medical care, injuries (described), being held at gunpoint, verbal and physical threats, blood and gore. other tags: you/your pronouns. fat/chubby!reader, no russian. Summary: A stranger takes you hostage in your own home and demands medical care... But you might have gotten more than you can chew. a/n: YES, Nikto’s voice actor is only 5ft10 but he’s 6ft5 in my mind, and I’m in charge sooo.

It's cold as all fucking hell in your small town. No. Not as all hell. Because you're pretty sure hell is supposed to be boiling hot.

Why did your family have to come from this small town in bum-fuck-nowhere Russia? And more importantly why did you decide to move back here after college?

Oh, yeah. The house. The little home that your grandma lived in since she was a child, that was fully paid and required no rent, and had very low property taxes due to it being ancient… And was left to you in her will. 

Well, in days like these, you can't help but despise the stupid fucking house. 

The pipes are frozen, which means you've resorted to getting water from the local firehouse every morning, as do the rest of your neighbors. Plus, it's freezing even with multiple layers of clothes and socks and scarves on. You sleep in front of the fireplace all winter and still fear you'll be dead in the morning.

Every year it's the damn same.

Maybe going to study in Moscow and then doing your master's and doctorate abroad softened you up. But you didn't remember it being so fucking cold.

Having as much meat on your bones as you do, it really shouldn't be as difficult as it is to withstand the cold. Sometimes you wonder if all those damn studies about how fat helps preserve body heat didn't apply only when people had heat to preserve.

Those are the thoughts in your head as you throw your last log in the fireplace and realize you need to get more from the woodpile outside. "Mother fucker goddamn piece of shit..." You complained.

Throwing on a winter coat over your robe, you stuff your double-socked feet into your winter boots, cover your head with a beanie and wrap yourself in a scarf.

Then you venture outside with the flashlight from your junk drawer, to illuminate the way. The wind outside is biting and the snow is tall, causing you to almost trip over your own feet.

"Fuck... fuck... fuck... cold." You grumble under your breath.

Sticking the flashlight between your teeth, you grab a few logs of firewood and slip them vertically into a black milk crate at your feet, trying to hurry so you can go back inside.

As soon as the box is stacked as full as you can carry, you bend at the knees and hurl it up by the handles, gritting your teeth against the flashlight between your teeth.

That's when you feel something hard press against the back of your head... and you hear a muffled voice. "Don't scream. Don't look back. Just move." The command chills your spine more than the -17ºC weather outside.

Your eyes shoot wide open in a panic and you have to force yourself to resist trying to look back. Instead, you nod and wobble your way along to the backdoor while carrying the heavy crate of firewood.

Once you slip inside, you set the crate down in the kitchen floor and take the opportunity to look out of the corner of your eye at the the stranger that held you hostage. 

He slams the door shut behind you and deadbolts it shut, then he rushes to the window, ripping the curtains shut.

He's wearing a flight suit and military gear but it's all in a navy color that you don't recognize… Maybe the Navy? But what would a Navy soldier being doing here alone, in the middle of the woods in your land locked town? Plus, he's clearly armed, carrying a pistol in one hand. The other wraps around his midsection and he's leaving a trail of small blood droplets on your floor.

His face is covered by a mask that looks more like a bunch of denim patched together than anything, leaving only his eyes showing. It’s even bolted to itself to not be easily removable.

“Where?” He asks you, eyes and gun trained on you as you straighten up and show your hands in innocence.

“Where… Where what?” You ask in confusion. Your body trembles all over and you’re pretty sure that you’re going to piss your pants if he keeps staring at you like that and barking vague orders at you.

“WHERE?!” He insists, raising his voice in a growl that sounds more animal than human. “WHERE. ARE. WE?” He adds, his voice boiling with anger and condescension.

“P-Provrsk!” You shout the name of your town as you flinch away from his own raised voice. Your gaze is locked onto him, taking in his mask and the blue eyes that stare at you from behind them.

You’ve never had to worry about a masked intruder in your home, ever. This is a small town, this sort of thing doesn’t happen here. Especially not one that looks like he’s deserted from the FSB.

“DATE?” He shouts at you again, making you flinch once more as your whole body tenses and curls into itself in fear. 

“8th of February… Thursday.” You reply, your eyes beginning to well up in tears. “Please… don’t hurt me…”

You’ve never been the crybaby type, in fact, you’d say you’re pretty good at staying contained in your day-to-day life, even when life is beating you down… But something about a 2 meter tall man in your kitchen shouting at you while waving a pistol around terrifies you to your very core…

With a deep breath, he leans himself back against the kitchen counter and another animalistic growling escapes him as his left leg straightens and twitches under him, his knee likely weakened. He’s still clutching his side with his hand and more blood puddles at his feet, dripping between gloved fingers.

He looks like he’s immeasurable amounts of pain and considering he seems to have walked here with an injury that’s still bleeding, you can’t help but wonder if the adrenaline isn’t starting to wear off.

The sight of him is pitiful… And for a moment he’s not some terrifyingly “You need… a doctor?” You ask him, more in a tone of affirmation than of question. He needs a doctor and you know it.

“No doctor.” He replies sharply, showing he still has all his mental faculties in place… Somewhat.

“You’re hurt.” You remark softly. “Bleeding all over my floor.” You add. You’re trying your best not to shake and cry and you’re not quite sure you’re succeeding.

“No doctor.” He insists as he shifts his weight around on his legs and hisses. "Needle, thread and alcohol." He demands of you and you’re not stupid enough to disagree with the armed man.

“In the upper cabinet behind you… The metal tin.” You instruct while barely pointing your finger at the cabinet door on his left side for fear that any more sudden movements will cause him to take you as a threat.

He sets the gun very carefully on the edge of the counter so that his free hand can reach up and over, patting at the cabinet, throwing the door open and feeling around inside for the aforementioned metal tin.

He’s been smart enough to put your small kitchen table between you either way, preventing any sudden lunging activity from you.

He never once turns his back on you, not even his face. His eyes are still locked on you, sending shivers down your body, making sure you don’t try anything… Not that you’d be stupid enough to dare.

He finally grabs the repurposed butter cookie tin and sets it next to him on the counter before grabbing the pistol once more and aiming it at you. “Metal spoon.” He demands.

“Over there… second drawer from the left…” You point discreetly at the drawer by the stove. 

“Get one.” He demands again and so you do, hands raised, taking very tentative steps across the kitchen, your heavy snow boots thudding against the floor.

Carefully, you lower your hand and pull open the drawer. Before you can even try to grab a spoon, you hear him bark at you again. “Only a spoon. Don’t try to grab a knife.” He warns you. 

Nodding very slowly, you reach inside the drawer and retrieve a metal table spoon and show it to him. “Stove.” He orders you again.

“Heat it up?” You ask softly and he grunts in what you assume is confirmation as he nods curtly at you. “I need matches.” You point at the drawer again and very slowly fetch the box of matches before closing the drawer.

Turning very carefully toward the old stove, you turn one of the knobs and strike a match, lighting the burner before extinguishing the match. “Heat the handle.” He demands and you nod in understanding as you peek at him sheepishly.

Slowly, you grip the spoon by the bowl and hold the metal handle over the flame, moving it ever so slightly to ensure an even heating up of the tip, your eyes locked on the flame and the slowly reddening type of the metal spoon.

While your back is turned, you can hear some rustling and a heavy thud on the floor. You assume he’s getting rid of his heavy gear in order to patch himself up… “Hurry up.” He barks.

“I can’t speed up the fire.” You reply softly, too afraid to speak too loud. 

“Watch your tongue, or else I’ll cut it off.” He adds, his voice grunted through as you hear some more rustling. His threat was enough to send chills down your spine and sent you back into muteness. 

Another minute or so later, you can feel the heat spreading across the whole spoon and even the bowl is too hot to hold. “It’s ready.”

“Move, quick.” He demands and you turn to face him, finding him still in the same spot, across the kitchen, leaning against the wall. He’s shed his plate vest, and undone the zipper of his flight suit, removing the sleeves and leaving it to hang around his hip. That exposes his torso completely, per lack of any undershirts or other layers. You wonder how he hasn’t frozen out there in just a flight suit…

The sight of him is so shocking and… disgusting. You feel your stomach turning, the warm meal you had an hour ago threatening to come out the way it came. He’s covered in scars, his chest speckled in patches of red skin or pale, melaninless skin, something you can only assume are burn scars.

The right half of his torso is covered in dried blood, sporting a hapharzard, thick suture that you can only assume he did a few days ago considering how swollen and red the skin around it is… Infected.

And, of course, the pouring, wet, red blood that escapes from his left side… It looks like he took a gash on it… maybe a gunshot, maybe an explosion, who’s to say… But he’s definitely got a hole and he’s leaking like a faucet.

“MOVE!” He barks at you, causing you to jump, startled out of from your shock-induced trance and you quickly rush over. He grabs the spoon from you with more aggression than you expected and shoves you away with a swift elbow to your side, to force you away from him. You fall on your ass, grunting softly upon landing. 

When you were younger, kids used to joke that all your fat would serve as an airbag in the case of a car crash, but the truth is, as you landed on the floor, you ass and legs hurt… As did you side from the elbow you took to it.

Your eyes well up in tears at the soreness on your body, as well as the sound that escapes him and reverberates through your kitchen as he sticks the red-hot spoon handle onto his open wound, gritting his teeth behind his mask as he cauterizes the wound shut. The sound is terrifying, like a gurgle mixed with a shout and an animalistic growl. (find the scream inspo here) 

You don’t want to look. But he’s doing this inches away from your face. You can’t help but watch in horror.

HIs legs shake underneath him and he struggles to keep himself upright but succeeds by landing his elbow and forearm on the edge of the counter. The hand that’s holding the pistol, the left one, flexes around the handle, fingers trembling with the pain. He struggles to stay on his feet as his right hand keeps softly twisting the spoon handle in his wound before pulling it out.

He grunts as he lets the bloody spoon fall on the floor at his feet and his head falls back with a couple more grunts and huffs, resting on the upper cabinets, his right hand clutching the wound again for a moment. You’re sobbing on the floor. Something about the sight you just got broke your resolve for a moment. You’re afraid… Very much so.

Just as you’re trying to calm yourself down, crawling backward over to the table to use a table as support to stand up from the floor, the sewing supplies tin crashes onto the floor at your feet with a ruckus so loud you can’t help but squeal.

Looking up at him, you notice him glaring at you. “Suture.” He demands angrily.

“I-” You attempt to speak but you can’t. Too afraid and too choked up to succeed in more than a light stammer.

“SUTURE!” He repeats his demand, his voice loud and sending chills to the innermost part of you as he leans forward a bit to look at you.

“STOP YELLING AT ME!” You shout in return through whimpers and whines.

“Stop crying. You have no reason to cry yet.” He warns you, his voice bitter and mean.

Your whole body quakes as you sob and scramble up on all fours, to grab the tin of sewing supplies from the floor.  You pop it open with shaky hands and rummage inside, searching for your pink pin cushion and, upon finding it, you plucked out a needle.

“You’re scaring me…” You were able to get out through trembling lips as you grab a spool of black thread.

“We will do much worse than scare you if you don’t start moving faster.” He tells you. “Do not test my capacity for violence.” He adds. “Now move.”

Slowly, you crawl over to him and kneel between his parted legs. You’re so close, you can smell him… And he smells gross… He reeks of sweat and piss, which mixes with the metallic scent of his blood, and gunpowder that lingers on his flightsuit which he now wears as pants only.

Your trembling form makes you struggle to thread the needle but after a few attempts, you succeed and unfurl much more thread than you’d realistically need. While you do so, his pistol changes grips and his right hand holds it aimed right at your head.

Slowly, you push the needle through his skin, grimacing at the wet noise it makes as you drag it through and you hold back a gag and a sob as you try your best to suture him shut. 

You don’t know much about medicine… But you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to do a ladder stitch so you can pull the thread taut at the end and ensure the injury closes… So that’s what you start doing, trying your best to not tremble all the way through it.

He’s holding himself surprisingly calmly through it as you stab his skin/wound multiple times… You risk looking up at him, your eyes still teary, your lips trembling, your face red from holding back tears and a gag. 

All you find is a pair of soulless blue eyes staring down at you through the two holes of that mask. They seem as cold and unforgiving as the snow outside… They’re bloodshot and the pupils are dilated. And he seems to be looking at you with a predatory gaze that makes you feel small and insignificant.

"Who are you...?" You ask tentatively, surprising yourself at how small your voice sounded, how meek.

"Nobody." He reply  as he leaned the pistol against your temple. “Finish.” He demands. 

Gulping and nodding, you finish the stitching and pull it taut, which earns you a hiss from him. You tie off the thread and snip it off with a pair of little scissors from the sewing supply box.

Just as you’re about to pull away from him, the needle between your pointer and middle fingers and your hands raised in an act of peace, he pistol whips you across the temple.

You squeal in pain, and throw your hands on the floor to support yourself from fully falling on your side, losing the needle somewhere in the tile floor of the kitchen. Your eyes are cloudy with tears again as you whimper in pain, unaware of what caused that violence. 

Is he going to kill you? Steal from you? Make you prisoner in your own home?

“Don’t move.” He demands. “It’s not finished.” He warns you as you struggle to get back on your sore knees.

You watch in horror as he shifts position, to no longer be kneeling on his elbow on the counter, and instead straightens up. His right hand continues pointing the gun at you and, very slowly, the left inches his flight suit down some more.

Slowly, you’re exposed to the sight a large gash across his left thigh, that draws down diagonally to his left knee which is swollen red and bruised…

As well as an obvious lack of underwear and a semi-hardened cock laying against his right thigh, the hilt surrounded by bushy blonde pubes. Your eyes double in size and you have to once again contain yourself from gagging and crying in disgust.

“Get back to work.” He demands as he points at the wounds on his leg. “And don't you dare cry." He adds. "Or else I'll give you other reasons to cry about.” He warns as his hand glides over his cock.

This is fully inspired by the beautiful work written by @391780, gotta love all the nikto ficlets and all the fat!reader stuff! Also wrote this a bit as a request by @ms-rayray who asked me for fat!reader stuff, and also a shoutout to @xxshadowbabexx and her eternal love for nikto.

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

The Drunken Czar

Featuring Russian President, Boris Yeltsin

Back in 1994, I was involved in an international incident of sorts with former President of Russia, Boris Yeltsin during his visit to Washington. By that time, Yeltsin was already well known for his alcoholism problem. You can see videos of him stumbling at public events, often being helped to regain his balance by assistants. He also exhibited inappropriate behavior on camera, such as when he pinched a couple of female secretaries in front of reporters. These antics have now become a part of his legacy as a world leader.

I was a college student working part-time to pay the bills and I had just picked up my pizza order and was a few blocks away from my apartment.

"That smell mighty good my friend!" A Russian accented voice called behind and caused me to jump in surprise, as I was so focused on my trip home. I turned around and found myself eye to eye with an older gentleman.

He was in his sixties and from the vodka bottle in his hand, bloodshot eyes and his slurred speech that he had been drinking. If it had been a younger person, I would have just ignored him and went on my way. But the old man was chubby and his paunch made him very attractive to me. I thought I recognized him, but then it hit me who he was… Boris Yeltsin.

"Yes sir, and it tastes better than it smells. Would you like to come to my place and try one?" I replied without thinking. I couldn’t keep my eyes from roaming toward the old man’s crotch, but his slacks were too loose to reveal what secrets they covered.

"Yes, my friend. I believe I will, thank you." He said as he staggered toward me. But caught him and put my arm around him to give him support. Yeltsin sighed and got a whiff of vodka on his breath as put his hands behind my neck regain his balance. I squirmed to rearrange myself as my underwear got a bit crowded as my guest and I head to my apartment.

Upon entering, I handed him a slice, the old man gobbled it up like a kid. As he sat there eating, and I tried to figure out how to get him back where he's supposed to be, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was a beautiful old man, baby blue eyes that twinkled, ruff and rugged lines in his face coupled with a smile that made my heart flutter. I was in heaven! I was ready to give up my left hand to sleep with him (I wish).

We sat there at the kitchen table and finished the bottle of wisky while solving the problems of the world. In conversation, I found out that Yeltsin was quite the charmer, in his own unsubtle way. He asked me about what I do and if I was dating. I was honest, telling him I was gay and I like older men. Then I waited for him to explode in anger, but he didn't react except to take another big swallow from the bottle of vodka.

By that time, the vodka had made me a little tipsy, and I showed out a bit, but he really ate it up. He asked if I love to suck cock to which I answered yes. We were having a genuinely great time. And surprisingly, he told me about how his wife would never go down on him and that it was something he thought he would have liked.

"You want to suck my cock? I've always wanted to see how it felt to have my dick sucked by a man." He surprisingly asked before he turned up his bottle and didn’t take it from his lips until it was completely empty.

My heart stopped beating then started again only to beat a thousand times a second. He had meant what he said. Then he staggered to his feet, almost falling, but caught himself by grabbing the table.

"Yes.. are you sure? I said, reaffirming his question as I moved around and put my arm around him to give him support.

"YES!" He said in bravado, placing his hands on my shoulders.

How lucky could I be. Boris was the epitome of a horny old man and he was primed for action. I was nervous and almost hyperventilating as we headed down my hallway. When I got him to my bedroom, I unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants off and then his boxer shorts followed by unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off. Yeltsin didn't disappoint. From beneath his binding briefs he released a hefty set of low hangers and a thick cock with bulbous head that bobbed above. He took me in his arms and pulled me close to probe my mouth with his tongue and grasped my ass in one of his meaty palms.

Then gently placing his other upon the crown of my head, he commanded me, without words, to my knees and I grasped his cock in hand, eagerly taking Yeltsin’s dick in my mouth. I didn’t care if the old man was drunk; sucking his dick excited me tremendously, so much so that my own dick grew hard. And I also quickly realized that I couldn’t take the old man’s entire dick into my mouth. His cock was just too big for me to handle. But, God, did I love sucking on it.

“You love sucking my cock, don't you?" He said, slurring his words so badly that I could hardly understand him.

Now clutching the sides of my head, Yeltsin proceeded to moan softly as he pump my face with deep thrusts. I struggled to breathe and released his cock to bathe his balls with my tongue, admiring their weight in my hand.

Eventually, Yeltsin laid me on my back and surprisingly took me in his mouth, eventually rotating into 69 position. He lubed his finger and began to probe my ass, inserting one and then another to stretch me. It wasn't often that a man went there, but I was prepared to give it to him. He turned to position himself between my legs, raising my legs and prepared to fuck me. Yeltsin rubbed the head of his cock around my ass hole then pressed firmly in.

"Такой тугой (So tight)." He said as he put more pressure on his cock and sent it deep into my asshole.

The initial spread of my sphincter hurt at first, but he took his time and moaned as he rolled his eyes upon full entry into my ass. Pressing into me till his hips were against my ass holding it for a moment the pulling out and driving back in. The old Russian was panting and looking at me with a hungry desire, like I was a meal and he was starving, before picking up speed until he was ramming his thick dick in and out of my asshole. I loved it as I was doing what little I could to fuck back from my position. He kept fucking me hard and deep making me scream out.

"Oh God you're so fucking big! YESYESYES! Fuck me damn it FUCK ME! Damn it, fuck my hole! Own it! CUM!"

Yeltsin didn't say a word, he just pounded my ass hole with his cock. His big balls swayed and slapped with the rhythm of his bulk as his girth forced my body higher up on the mattress. I felt myself about to cum and tried to say something but it was too late. My cum shot up between us, hitting Yeltsin in the chest. He just groaned and fucked me harder and harder, I could feel his balls slapping against my ass, it felt so good. He was going faster and faster, I was only screaming louder and louder each time he went in me.

Yeltsin's cock swelled slightly and his rhythm became erratic, my dick was vibrating with excitement and my balls were tight to my body waiting to cum. Suddenly, he grabbed me by the top of my shoulder and pulled down on me as he rammed his cock violently into me. I felt him cuming. I lay unmoving, enjoying the delicate feeling of his cum flowing in my ass as he stroked in me slowly.

Then he pulled his cock out and got off me. Without saying another work he wiped himself and me off with a towel that I had by the bed and lay back down. But even as I sat up on the bed, Yeltsin was snoring. He had passed out. I followed his lead and fell asleep.

After a couple of hours, I awoke to Yeltsin gone. Later, I would find out that Secret Service agents discovered Yeltsin alone on Pennsylvania Avenue, still drunk, clad in his underwear, yelling for a taxi before they rescued him and quietly returned him to his residence. The incident happened during Yeltsin and Clinton’s first meeting in Washington in September 1994. Although there were glancing media reports about it over the years, it wasn’t widely reported on until 2009. Now you know the whole story.

[chubbinsky]

god himself inserted the url of ur blog into my brain (jk no he didnt i just saw it somewhere last year and randomly remembered) and honestly ur so right. people dont like chubby russia as much as they should and i think he deserves more love yk. like my own version of him is chubby & all. he just feels like the type of guy

He absolutely does! I'm sad it's not a more popular thing :( body diversity is a thing!

And yes! Being chubby just fits his character so well. It fits his climate, his personality

I just. Need it.

[foreverinthepagesofhistoryy]

~ ❦ Happy 129th Birthday to Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna of Russia! Born: November 16th 1895 ~

~ To celebrate her birthday here is an edit (made by me using CapCut Pro) and some of my favorite quotes said by her ♡

❦ “Sleep well and have a good dream, i.e. Nik[olai]. Dm. [Demenkov - Maria's crush] (idiot)…Well, good night, I kiss you and pat you on your chubby, appetising cheeks.” - O to M, 13th Nov. 1914

❦ "I am sitting in Mr. Gilliard's rooms near the door of his water-closet where Trina's little nasty girl Katya is sitting locked in by Anastasia and myself. We've just drawn her along the dark passage and pushed her in." O to Nicholas, 9 Oct. 1915

❦ “… Austria declared war on us. Bastards” - O’s diary, 24 July 1914

❦ “…Regards to Nikolai Pavlovich. Tell him that he is because he did not even write once…” - O to Nicholas, 21 June 1915

❦ “Olga Nikolaevna threw all her things around from delight, and threw a pillow up on a top shelf. She felt feverish and she jumped around: “‘Can someone have a stroke at 20 years old? I think I am having a stroke!’” Memoirs of Valentina Ivanovna Chebotareva

❦ “…all (was/ as usual, a lot of running around, but I love it. Makes me feel like I am accomplishing something…” O’s diary, 11 Sept. 1916

❦ “Father asks to have it passed on to all who have remained loyal to him and to those on whom they might have influence, that they not avenge him; he has forgiven and prays for everyone; and not to avenge themselves, but to remember that the evil which is now in the world will become yet more powerful, and that it is not evil that conquers evil, but only love.” - Olga basically writing NAOTMAA’s last will and testament 1918

✧.* ♡ *.✧

[madammidnightsblog]

Warning: None, pure fluff. Fem! reader, pale & chubby reader (sorry for the poc and masc! readers)

It was Christmas leave for most soldiers and Nikolai was one of them that was able to return home. The beautiful snowy woods that surrounded his hidden home in Plyos, Russia was comfortable and overall soothing as he slept in his big bed. Thick blankets and many soft pillows covered the bed and cage him in as he laid on the right side of the bed facing the door and the deep snores of his filled the quiet cabin. The large windows behind him shows the beautiful woods of his backyard that was covered in snow as it fell, the thick white blanket softly glowing in the morning light and lighting the dark bedroom slightly.

The bulky Russian laid on his side with one arm under a pillow where he had a Glock hidden under and the other hand resting on the blanket. His bare torso exposed to the chilly air of the bedroom but didn’t mind as it made it more comfortable for him. But the smaller body behind him didn’t agree with that statement as she moved closer to him, her small arms wrapped around his waist and buried herself closer to him as she wore one of his long sleeves' shirts to bed. A tiny whine left her as the cold nipped her ears and cheeks while her long brown hair was sprawled out on the pillows under her head, and she tightened her hold onto him while she slept behind him.

Feeling the movement behind him, it made the Russian stir awake with a deep yawn. His eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the light that flooded the room from behind him as his right hand sluggishly moved down to hold the small woman's cold hands. A smile appeared on his lips as he felt her instinctively scooted closer to him in her sleep, knowing she wasn't built for the cold unlike him and seek for his warmth. Nikolai ran warm all year long and during the winter, he was a living and constant furnace for the woman behind him. Turning his head, he blinked slowly as the sunlight blinded him slightly before he was able to look at the beautiful wife of his behind him and seeing how her pale cheeks were pinkish from the cold which made him chuckle as he knew she would be complaining once she wakes.

"зайчонок.." He softly called out, his voice deep and raspy from sleep which made his sweet wife whine. She was obviously not ready to wake up, but he needed to start the fire to warm the house. He didn't want his little rabbit to freeze. "Wake up."

"No." She whined and nuzzled her face into his back, breathing in his scent and just clinging to him as not only was she's cold, but she missed him dearly. He was gone for nearly a year, and she missed cuddling her husband so ever since he came home last Saturday, she's been clinging to him. And he couldn't be upset about it.

Another chuckle left him, and he gently shifted to lay on his back, smiling while he pulled her to lay her head on his chest and allowing her to cuddle more. If she wanted to cuddle, then he could spare another hour of being in bed because he also missed her. She was the reason he even moved to Plyos in the first place as he is born and raised in Leningrad Oblast, he just visited Plyos about four years ago for a concert from his favorite Russian rock band. He had no intentions to move there or even fall in love, he was someone that thought he was married to his job. That was until he walked into this cute little family-owned bakery and met the beautiful woman behind him.

Nikolai was starstruck when he saw the cute and small woman the moment he saw her, seeing her chubby cheeks all red from the heat of the bread oven and her adorable plush body dressed in a beautiful forest green cottage dress. The way her soft fat was held under the fabric with the long white apron had his heart fluttering, her long brown hair pulled back in a messy bun was enough to make him crave to run his fingers through it, and that sweet smile she gave him as she greeted him had him weak to the knees. Nikolai wasn't a man that fell easily and that day, he fell harder than he ever had. And he made every excuse he could to return there for every little thing, for the four days he was there, he returned to speak to her and see her smile before he left. Her number saved in his phone as he got back on the train that took him home.

"Alright but only for a little while, родная." He whispered softly, smiling down at her as she buried her face into his chest, the soft hair there tickled her nose which made her nuzzle more. His eyes filled with love as he watched her sleep, and he gently raked his fingers through her hair, painting this moment in the back of his head so he'll remember it when he leaves.

[bipolar-sad-and-ready-to-cry]

Hey guys look! Glittery mess au character designs!!!

Earth with and without her cardigan, I really wanted to go with a chubby body type for her because I think it’s so cute when she is drawn chubby!

Also Nexus!! Don’t worry he is good in this AU, he is their cousin from Russia, why Russia?? Because imagining him with a heavy Russian accent is fun! He got man tiddies!

Also I think he would have left Russia because well yeeeeaaah…

vvv Also the Creator aka the parent of Moon, Earth and I guess Sun? (Adoptive parent) vvv

She is a kind old lady who loves to spoil her kids (including Sun) and her grandchildren, she is a nice one and she doesn’t like the other Creators

[universal-casey]

I support chubby mother russia supremacy 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

YEAAAHHH!!