fuckyeahbagpipes

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

he’s so pretty when he smiles i can’t handle it :((((((

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

He's so big i bet I could take a pulse while hes inside- WHO SAID THAT???

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

waitttt… jschlatt who models the waifu gamersupps cups based off his gf? aka jschlatt x big tiddy reader please and thank you 🙏 i love your writing so much ♡

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * full cup, no shame ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: you find out jschlatt modeled the new waifu cup after you. he forgot to tell you. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: thank you to the darling anon who requested this ♡ because of them, i have this special ficlet here for you.

warning: light uwu cringe and heavy tits ahead. enjoy ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

✧✧✧

you weren’t trying to catch him in anything.

you were just being thoughtful—arms full of takeout, something fizzy, hoodie zipped low enough to hint at what was underneath. casual. soft. the kind of domestic surprise that said i missed you without saying a word.

you’d used your key. you’d even taken your shoes off.

you weren’t sneaking around.

but halfway down the hall, you heard his voice—projecting, performative, full ad read mode.

“this is the cup for real men. for men who game. for men who appreciate the finer things in life—like a good pump, a good flavor, and a girl with a heaving bosom who looks like she could crush your head between her—”

you blinked.

“—i mean look at the stretch marks, the shading, the outfit? bro. this is art. it’s immersive. it’s... personal.”

you opened the door. slowly.

he was mid-recording. ring light on. waifu shaker in hand. gesturing at it like a weatherman warning the nation of incoming tits.

he turned when the door clicked. stiffened. blinked once.

“…oh. hey, babe.”

you walked in, set the food down. wordless. calm.

then grabbed the cup straight from his hand.

you held it up.

the character was—undeniably—you. the bra was yours. the hoodie was yours. and the breasts, good god, were definitely yours. exaggerated, glossy, bouncy.

“so this,” you said, “is what we’re doing now?”

he cleared his throat. “limited edition.”

“modeled after me.”

“it’s an homage.”

“with heaving bosom.”

“tasteful,” he offered. “tastefully heaving.”

you stared him down. “you used my boobs to sell powdered caffeine and didn’t even offer me royalties.”

he leaned back, completely unfazed. “i gave you something better. i gave you a legacy. you're immortalized, babe.”

“…i’m gonna immortalize my foot in your ass.”

he grinned. “i can brand that, too.”

you narrowed your eyes.

“you said you wanted to be spoiled this month,” he added.

“not commodified.”

“you’re not commodified, princess...you’re collectible.”

your eyebrow twitched. “i’m going to break your kneecaps.”

he just patted his lap, grinning up at you. “come negotiate.”

✧

you climbed onto him without hesitation, straddling his thighs, hands on his shoulders, cup still in yours.

and then—you smiled wide, tilted your head, and hit him with the death sentence.

“uwu~ senpai noticed my oppai cup?? ara ara~ i didn’t know you liked my milkies that much~!”

he physically recoiled. “please god stop.”

you leaned closer, pitching your voice higher. “hai~ i’m your widdle limited edition mommy gf with realistic bouncy physics~”

“babe—babe.”

“do you wanna slurp from my milky jug, gamer-kun~?”

“JESUS CHRIST.”

you cracked first. snorted. laughed so hard you nearly tipped the both of you over.

he groaned, covering his face with both hands. “you are sick in the head.”

“and you made a hentai cup of me without saying a word.”

he peeked through his fingers. “i was gonna tell you.”

“uh-huh.”

“after i sold out.”

✧

you rolled your eyes, leaned in, and let your weight settle on him—slow, deliberate, plush. close enough to shut him up. close enough that his hands slid to your waist like instinct, and his mouth parted just slightly, eyes already tracking the neckline of your bra.

you let the silence hang for just a second. long enough for him to think he might get away with it.

then you said it—quiet. dangerous.

“you really wanna keep selling these?”

his eyes snapped to yours.

“because if you do,” you murmured, “you better be ready to negotiate. otherwise...”

you trailed off, dragging the shaker cup along his jaw. he swallowed hard.

“i’ll take ’em off the market.”

“don’t do that,” he said immediately, hands tightening on your hips like he could physically keep the rights.

“then pay me,” you said, tipping your head. “properly.”

he nodded. fast. “i’ll wire it.”

you raised a brow.

“okay, okay—monthly payments, backpay included—”

“plus residuals.”

“done.”

you tapped the cup against his cheek, smug and slow.

“do i get royalties,” you whispered, “and free product too?”

he was flushed. folding. already half-lost in it.

“you get everything,” he muttered, voice rough. “but i’m keeping the rights to the real thing.”

you just smiled, setting the cup down on the desk—slow. tugged the zipper of your hoodie down the last few inches. leaned in, lips barely brushing his jaw.

“then you better show me how bad you want to keep them.”

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

How does schlatt flirt? Simple answer: he doesn't. Man's has no skill, no game, no rizz. He somehow convinces people to come over to his place and then they fall in love with his cats. And ofc if they want to keep seeing the cats then eventually his awkward flirting will work, right?

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

did I already post about his arms? If not...⁄⁠(⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠-⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠)⁠⁄

im just saying I want him 2 choke me with his arms ლ⁠(⁠・⁠﹏⁠・⁠ლ⁠) you'd probably have to hold onto his arms while he fucks you .⁠﹏.

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

i feel like i’ve been cranking out imagines left and right but now i’m spiraling over what kind of long fic to actually sit down and write.

maybe something simple.

jealous schlatt. friends to lovers. a little desperate. a little touch-starved. something that gets messy way too fast— like:

“you don’t even fuckin’ get it, do you?”

he’s close. too close. voice low, hands gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him back.

“watchin’ you all night—laughin’ with him like that? you’re killin’ me, sweetheart.”

you blink at him. breathless. “j—”

“don’t. don’t look at me like that unless you want this to go somewhere.”

a beat.

“fuck.” his hand finds your jaw. “please...just let me taste you.”

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

I’m back

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * just his type ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: twitch sends him a clip. you're in it. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✧✧✧

he’s midstream. half-distracted, half-bored.

chat’s spamming variations of

“WATCH IT” “CHECK THE CLIP” “you’re gonna scream bro fr”

he ignores them for a while. lets the donos roll in, finally finds a diamond, sips his g-fuel.

then someone links it again. thirty bucks attached this time. caption: “trust. you’ll thank us.”

he clicks. thirty bucks is thirty bucks.

the video opens to y/n—hair pinned back, sleeves pushed up, playing some dumb little game with your chat. it’s casual. easy. you’re halfway through a Smash or Pass stream.

you drag a photo offscreen.

“pass,” you say, almost bored.

chat explodes.

girl be so serious your taste is actually insane not even a little??

you sip your drink from a hilariously long curly straw that leads somewhere off-screen, unfazed. “next.”

the next image slides up. it's him.

a scuffed old frame from a fan edit. blurry as hell. he’s in a hoodie, laughing at something off-camera. not exactly his most flattering moment.

you pause.

“…smash,” you say simply.

deadpan. no hesitation.

your chat implodes.

I KNEW IT pls not the catholic sideburns man she wants him carnally HE'S LITERALLY REPUBLICAN??

you roll your eyes.

“i mean... he probably owns at least three firearms...probably says slurs affectionately—” you grin, playing with your bottom lip as you lean into the camera. “but he’s also just homosexual enough to make it kinda hot.”

you cover your face. laugh.

“something about him just makes me wanna ruin his life...”

clip ends.

he doesn’t say anything for a second.

his chat does, tho.

BRO? oh he’s folding. he’s folding so hard you gonna tweet her or nah?? not him SMILING. not him smiling like THAT

he clears his throat. rubs a hand across his jaw. tries to act unaffected, but if he looks up at his monitor, his ears will probably be as red as his cheeks. shit...his whole body feels like it just took a dip in lava.

“…she’s out of her mind.”

his eyes are glued to the now-paused frame of your smile.

“…but i'd let her smash.”

✧✧✧

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

[x]

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

welcome to my big city!

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

this came to me in a vision

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

no no no the thing in the fridge is definitely not human meat

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

thoughts are being had

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

[x]

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

underchuckle sandwichtale

also heres them talking

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

drew schart

[fuckyeahbagpipes]

now DONT GET ME WRONG schlatt IS fine and has ALWAYS been fine. and i love me that dad bod shit w the mutton chops... but twink schlatt... w the mustache..? barking and growling.

like BITCH?? im abt to freak him. he's getting it idc 😤