#gremlin Hiccup is the best

[nippoisalien]

.

[landologged]

GG, Norris

Pairing: lando × gf!reader

Genre: graphic smut, oral sex (m → f) under a desk ;), semi‑public/twitch risk, brat‑taming, dom!lando & mouthy reader, humiliation kink, breeding talk, dirty talk, possessive behaviour, consensual power play, established relationship

Description: Lando’s been a gremlin all day—yanking your hoodie strings, tossing socks, and chirping over you every chance he gets. When he goes live, you crawl beneath the rig and silence him with your mouth while thousands watch none the wiser. He tries to keep composure; you dismantle it. Stream ends, revenge flips to punishment, and somewhere between the threats and the afterglow he whispers the kind of promise that could ruin you in the best way.

notes: im not sorry, word count is 5k

Lando’s been insufferable all day—mouthing off with that cocky little smirk like he doesn’t deserve to be dropkicked down a flight of stairs. He kept poking at you—tugging your hoodie drawstring when you were mid-sip of coffee, talking over you just to mimic your voice, tossing socks at you from across the room like some feral child. And now, the little shit’s live on Twitch, backlit in RGB glow like some overgrown gamer gremlin, laughing with Max like they’re both not moments away from divine punishment.

You slink past his racing rig and stupid ergonomic chair, a silent predator in sweats and a tank top that’s just a bit too tight. The headset muffles the rest of the world for him—he doesn’t notice the shift in weight behind his desk, doesn’t register the flicker of your eyes or the deliberate arch of your brow as you crawl under the desk like you own the fucking thing. 

Max is saying something idiotic through the tinny headset—Lando’s wheezing, practically giggling, “Nahhh mate, I’d still smoke you even if you had DRS in bed.”

Instead of answering, you let your hand drift down, slow and mean, gliding from your own knee across the dark stretch of space beneath the desk until your fingertips graze his leg. He doesn't flinch—yet—too caught up in his smug little monologue to clock the shift. But then your palm flattens against the inside of his thigh, deliberate, claiming. Warmth bleeds through the cotton like ink in water, slow and spreading, and you dig in just enough to let him know you’re not here to be cute.  The laughter catches in his throat mid-sentence. His voice jumps a full octave, cracking like a teenager's as he fumbles, tries to swallow the noise back before Max notices– which he fails.

Max pauses. “What was that?”

Lando’s legs stiffen beneath your hand. You feel the tension coil all the way up to his hip, a ripple of sheer panic trying to mask the unmistakable pulse already starting to throb under your fingers. His joggers do little to hide the way he’s swelling, thickening, betraying every ounce of self-control he thought he had.

“Uh—a hiccup.” Lando's laugh is sudden and high-pitched, edged with panic. His hand instinctively drops to his lap but stops short, unsure what to do with it. “I think I’m choking—on water. Gimme a sec.”

You hum, low and deliberate, a sound more vibration than voice, letting it roll up from your chest and sink straight into the fabric between his legs. Your mouth opens against the outline of him, plush lips parting just enough to press—not a kiss, not quite. Just heat. You drag your mouth along the length of him through his joggers, every inch a slow, possessive claim, like you’re mapping him out for future destruction. Tongue sliding flat, letting the fabric soak it up, just damp enough to cling to the shape of him.

His cock twitches, eager and betrayed, shifting under the thin material like it’s trying to reach you, to meet you halfway. You don’t speed up. Oh no, you slow down, mouthing him like he’s a lollipop you’re too mean to unwrap. Teeth graze, barely, just enough for nerves to spark awake and skin to goosebump beneath the cotton. The heat of your breath sinks in like a bruise, and when you do it again—open-mouthed, tongue curling under the head through the joggers like you’re licking sugar off the skin of an apple—he breaks. His breath punches out in a strangled hitch, hips jolting forward like the instinct’s not even his own. His legs tense around you, thighs stiffening against your shoulders, not to push you away, never that—but to brace, to survive whatever the fuck this is turning into.

You can feel the way he’s trying to keep still, failing spectacularly. The way his knees tremble just slightly, muscles locking like a man standing on the edge of something deep and slick and inevitable. And you haven’t even gotten his pants down yet.

“...You good?” Max again.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, just—hydrate or die-drate, innit?” His accent falters on the last syllable as you tug his waistband down, just enough. Just enough for your nails to dig in a little, for your lips to ghost over skin that’s already twitching with anticipation.

You look up, watching his face from the shadows beneath the desk, the glow from the monitor painting him in sinful outlines—blue along his jaw, red flickering in his eyes like he’s caught fire from the inside. His lips are parted, plush and trembling, his tongue darting out to wet them like that’ll help him speak normally through the chaos boiling in his bloodstream. His eyes are glassy, lashes fluttering fast, and his jaw is clenched so tight you can see the tension twitch at the hinge, like he's physically holding himself together with spit and prayer.

He’s trying to look normal—like this is still just a stream, just banter, like he isn’t seconds from sliding out of his own skin. But he’s fucking awful at it. That smug little posture is gone, replaced with a boy unraveling in real time, held together by a desk and a prayer and your mouth hovering dangerously close to the one thing he absolutely cannot control.

He mutes himself with a frantic click of the hotkey.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he hisses, voice low, shredded, already fraying at the edges. His breath fans hot over his mic. 

You smirk against him. “Keep playing, Norris.”

Then you sink your mouth around him, slow and possessive, and he keens—silent, jaw clenched hard as his head drops back against the chair.

Yeah. He’s not making it out of this stream alive.

You hollow your cheeks, tongue dragging slow and deliberate—like you’ve got all the time in the world and none of it belongs to him. Lando’s hips twitch, one foot knocking into the desk leg with a soft thud that rattles his fancy mic arm. Panic flashes across his face, barely contained, the kind that screams this is the best and worst idea we’ve ever had and I’m gonna cum in thirty seconds and Max is gonna hear it live.

“You alright, bro?” Max’s voice filters through the headset again, casual, cruelly unaware.

“Yup. Peachy.” Lando’s voice is an octave too high. “Just, stretching.”

“Sounded like your desk kicked back, mate.”

You almost laugh, the sound curling at the back of your throat, smothered by the weight of him on your tongue. He’s heavy, twitching, a pulse stuttering beneath the sensitive skin you're dragging your mouth along with surgical precision. But there's no room for giggles—not when he’s splintering in your hands like this, breaking down second by second.

His grip on the armrests is brutal, white-knuckled like the chair might fly off into orbit if he doesn’t anchor himself. Fingers twitching, veins standing out on the backs of his hands like cords about to snap. He looks like he’s bracing for a fucking crash landing, every muscle drawn tight, thighs trembling against your shoulders, breath locked high in his chest like he's afraid if he exhales, he’ll cum right there.

And his neck—oh, his fucking neck. It's flushed, blooming red like spilled wine, the color crawling up from beneath the loose collar of his hoodie and painting its way up the column of his throat to his jawline, delicate and obscene. Like someone hit him with shame and turned the heat to maximum. It’s arousal in high-def, the kind that leaves no mystery—just raw, visual confession. Every time your mouth moves, the flush deepens, his head tips back a little more, and you can see the exact moment he forgets what his own name is.

He unmutes for a second—rookie mistake. “So yeah, like, turn three’s actually—” inhale, hiss, muted again.

Your teeth graze just enough to make his whole body jolt. You can feel the curse bubbling in his throat but he swallows it back with the desperation of a man on the brink. He’s trying to look normal, trying to hold a conversation while his girlfriend is under the desk sucking the literal soul out of him. You feel the curse rise up in his throat, bubbling hot and mean behind clenched teeth. But he swallows it—forces it down with the kind of restraint that hurts to watch. He’s holding onto that last shred of composure like it’s a lifeline, trying to sit still, trying to keep talking, keep nodding, keep pretending this is just another stream.

You see it all—feel it all. The twitch of his stomach, the locked tension in his knees, the way his chest is rising faster than before like he’s run a lap with his mic still on. He’s dying. Glorious, twitching, overstimmed death-by-girlfriend, right there on Twitch dot TV.

Max is talking about tire strategies now. You could not care less.

Lando’s trembling like a leaf in a wind tunnel, one hand inching under the desk like maybe, maybe he can tap out, call a time-out, beg for mercy. But you swat his hand away, sink deeper onto him, and he fucking chokes.

You let up, just a little, lips slick, your voice hushed and syrupy sweet. “Something wrong, babe?”

“Y—You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grin up at him. “Good. Maybe Max’ll do your eulogy.”

And then you go back down, faster this time, twisting your wrist just enough to make him arch off the chair like he’s been tasered. His breathing’s fucked—shallow, staccato, gasping like he’s drowning in it. Every exhale sounds like it costs him something, punched out in ragged little hiccups, broken up by the frantic clench of his abs as he tries—fails—to keep still. His thighs are shaking now, twitching against your shoulders, his hips stuttering forward helplessly every time your throat flexes around him.

You feel him throb against your tongue, thick and twitching, precum slicking the back of your throat as he tips further into sensory collapse. He’s close. Too close. He knows it. You know it. His body’s already betraying him, every nerve lighting up like someone tripped the emergency alarm.

He mutes again—fingers slapping the hotkey with blind desperation—and croaks out a whisper through clenched teeth, like he’s physically fighting his own orgasm just to speak. “You’re actually evil. You’re—fuck—this is—oh my god.”

Your nails dig into the skin above his knees. You want him to feel every inch of it. Humiliated. Helpless. Falling apart on stream with that good-boy face, talking strategy with Max while your mouth is swallowing his soul inch by inch. He wanted to be smug. Wanted to sass. So, he got what he deserved, streaming in front of thousands with that innocent little “I’m just gaming, guys” voice while his cock’s buried in your throat and his world’s turning to static.

Max keeps talking.

Lando continues spiraling. You, however, keep going, until his legs are trembling like Bambi’s on ice, until he clamps a fist over his own mouth and stifles a moan that might have gotten him permanently banned off Twitch.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You don't stop. Of course you don't. His thighs are tensing around you like a vice, breath coming in ragged, clipped gasps, and all you do is suck harder—deeper. You flatten your tongue, hollow your cheeks, twist your wrist at the base just enough to grind against that sweet spot, right where your lips meet your hand, and that's it. 

His whole body seizes. One sharp inhale—then silence. His jaw drops open, eyes wide and glassy, pupils blown to hell, and the only sound he manages is this strangled, high-pitched gasp like his entire soul is getting yanked out through his dick.

He comes hard. Violently. No buildup left, no warning, no cool-off—just one catastrophic surge that hits so fast it nearly knocks his headset clean off. The mic light’s still blinking red, but it's not picking up anything coherent—just the wet, broken gasps of a man short-circuiting live on stream. His hips buck once, twice, a desperate, instinctive jerk that punches him further down your throat. His hand scrabbles at the edge of the desk like he's trying to grip onto reality. He doesn’t make a sound—and that silence is deafening.

You feel it—every pulse, every twitch, the thick, hot spurt flooding your mouth like his body’s trying to drain itself in one brutal release. You swallow around it, greedy and unrelenting, and he whimpers. Honest to god, a full-body shiver rips through him, like you just unplugged something vital and he’ll never reboot the same again.

When it's over, he slumps. Muted. Boneless. Useless.

“…You okay, Lando?” Max asks.

Lando clears his throat. “Just finished.”

There’s a pause.

“…The race?” Max says, confused.

Lando closes his eyes. “Yeah. That.”

You lick your lips and crawl back out from under the desk, smug as hell, like you didn’t just commit several crimes beneath the camera frame. You lean in, peck his cheek, and whisper, “Next time, don’t throw your sock at me.”

He exhales like he’s seen god. Or you. Same thing, really.

He shuts down the stream like he’s defusing a bomb—mouse click too loud, movements too stiff, the awkward silence after Max’s “alright, catch you later, bruv” hanging in the room like smoke. The second OBS fades out and the little red dot of "Live" disappears from the corner of his screen, Lando leans back in the chair with the slowness of someone trying very, very hard not to look like he just got soul-snatched under his own desk on the main stage of the internet.

His head rolls toward you.

That look of ungodly levels of boyish spite. The kind that comes from being publicly humbled in the most private way possible.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he says, voice rough, lazy, dragging over gravel and sin. His eyes track you like you’re prey. “Think you’re clever, crawling under my desk like that, nearly got me banned.”

You smile. Innocent. Shrug like, what, me?

And that’s apparently the wrong answer. Lando stands up so fast his chair screeches against the floor, and you don’t even have time to register the chaos before his fingers are digging into your hips and he’s spinning you around, walking you back, back, back until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and—

You drop like a rock.

He follows, covering you in one smooth motion like a storm front rolling in, all hot breath and twitchy hands and revenge written across his grin.

“You wanna be a brat?” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, already undoing the hoodie you stole from his closet like he’s got a personal vendetta against it. “Then you’re going to get treated like one.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease, breath hitching as he peels the hoodie off and tosses it somewhere across the room like it insulted his whole bloodline.

“I’m a victim, actually.” He pins your wrists down, pushes his knee between your thighs and forces them apart, slow and deliberate. “Live on camera. Absolutely violated. Twitch chat saw me ascend.”

“They only saw your face.”

“And you saw god. So now it’s your turn.”

You try to sass something back—I already did the work or you’re welcome or something equally stupid—but he cuts you off with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, no finesse, just need—raw and immediate. He bites your bottom lip hard enough to make you gasp, then chases that sound into your mouth like he’s trying to steal it. It’s messy, greedy, spit-slicked and heady, full of consequences you feel before you even fully register them. His tongue slides against yours, fast, dirty, dominant, like he’s fucking your mouth just to shut you up.

Your thoughts scatter like coins dropped down a storm drain. You barely register the way his hands move until they’re already on you—fingers sliding down your arms in a slow drag that makes your skin light up, trailing heat to your wrists, your sides, your hips. Then he grips. Not gentle. Claiming. Thumbs digging in just above the curve of your ass, yanking you into place with an ease that makes your breath stutter.

He adjusts your body like you’re just a piece of the equation he’s solving. Angles your legs wider. Tilts your pelvis. Lines your hips with his like a weapon locking into its holster. Every motion says mine. Every shift says you’re not getting away.

“No escaping this one,” he mutters against your mouth, already rutting into you like the world’s ending and it’s somehow your fault. “Gonna make you fucking feel it.”

And then he’s rutting into you, grinding hard, slow, mean, the thick line of his cock dragging against you through too much fabric, not nearly enough friction. His hips roll like he’s trying to fuck the regret out of you before he’s even inside, like it’s your fault the world’s on fire and he’s the only one allowed to burn you down.

His hand slides down between you like he’s tuning a high-stakes radio, all intent and zero patience, fingers greedy as sin and twice as confident. He doesn’t hesitate, just slides them under the waistband like he owns the access, the privilege—and fuck, he finds it instantly. Wet. Soaked. You feel the shift in him the moment he registers it—his whole expression flickering into something darker, meaner, more satisfied.

“Ohhh,” he purrs, dragging the word out like he’s tasting it, that fucking grin spreading across his face like oil in water. A menace. A brat. A smug little demon who just found gold under your panties. “Look who’s not so innocent now, huh?”

You scowl up at him, even though it takes everything in you not to arch into the touch. Your breath catches the moment his fingers glide between your folds, slow and maddening, like he’s just checking inventory. Like he’s confirming, with smug fingers and a smirk, that you’re soaked through and so goddamn ready it’s embarrassing.

“I was innocent,” you snap, biting the inside of your cheek to hold composure, “until you started acting like a fucking gremlin all day.”

He doesn't even blink—just grins wider, proud and wicked. “I am a gremlin,” he says, dipping just the tip of one finger in, a slow, cruel tease that makes your thighs twitch. His eyes are locked on yours, watching every flicker of reaction with sick delight, like this is his favorite game and he’s already ten moves ahead. “But you—you crawled under the desk, babe. You woke the demon up. You knew what you were doing.”

“I was avenging myself. It was emotional warfare.”

He laughs—really laughs, head tossed back for a second before he looks down again, still grinning but now it's dark, calculated. “Yeah? We’ll see about that, darling.”

And then he pushes in—two fingers, deep and sudden, no warning, no teasing, just a hard, unapologetic thrust that knocks the air right out of your lungs. The stretch is immediate, obscene, that thick press opening you up so fast your body has no time to think, only react. You gasp, sharp and strangled, hips jerking up into his hand like you’ve been electrocuted. Your nails sink into his arm on instinct, clutching like he’s the only solid thing keeping you from short-circuiting completely. Muscles flutter around his fingers, slick and clenching, already threatening to pull him deeper, to take more, even as your brain tries to catch the fuck up.

“Oh—fuck—Lando—”

“That's the one.” He curls his fingers just so, smirking down at you like a man who just found nuclear launch codes in his back pocket. “You sound so much cuter when you’re not trying to be a little shit.”

You shoot him a glare, trying to form something savage and witty to bite back with, but all that comes out is a broken whimper as he starts pumping his fingers in and out, fast, obscene, squelching sounds already filling the room like he’s making a fucking smoothie with you. You slap a hand over your mouth, scandalized.

“Oh no you don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrist and pinning it beside your head. “You made me suffer silently on stream. Now you’re gonna sing for me.”

“Y-You’re insane,” you pant, legs spreading wider without meaning to, traitorous body arching off the bed into his hand like a slutty heat-seeking missile.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, thumb flicking your clit now in tight, fast circles, the way he knows makes you go from sassy to needing an exorcism in under thirty seconds. “You made me come so hard I hit a Windows error sound. You don’t get to talk shit.”

You try. You really try to keep up the banter, to sass something, anything—but he thrusts his fingers in deeper, and your voice cracks into a moan that embarrasses you on a spiritual level. Like the neighbors are gonna know kind of level.

“Thaaaat’s better,” he murmurs, face hovering just over yours, warm breath brushing your cheek. “That’s my good girl. What happened to all that backtalk, huh?”

You hiss through your teeth, grinding against his hand now like a bitch in heat, shameless. “Y-You’re cheating—using your—skills—”

He chuckles, so cocky it hurts. “Uh-huh.”

He pulls his fingers out just as your legs start shaking, cruel bastard that he is, and you let out a noise that could get you arrested in three countries. He sucks those fingers into his mouth, exaggerated, obscene, humming like you’re fine wine and he’s a connoisseur.

Then he’s sliding his boxers down, slow and casual like he’s got all the time in the world—like his cock isn’t flushed dark and aching, already rock fucking hard, already glistening at the tip with precome that beads thick and lazy along the curve of him. It bobs up against his stomach as the fabric clears it, twitching with every heartbeat, a full display of just how wrecked he still is and just how far from finished.

You can’t stop staring. Can’t help it. The way he’s thick and veiny, that curve you know too well, the flushed red of his tip already wet enough to make your mouth water—it’s mean, the way your body reacts without permission, clenching tight like it’s starving for him. Your thighs shift, instinctual and desperate, a slow rub for friction he hasn't even allowed yet.

“What?” he says, tone light, mock-innocent, voice still gravel from groaning your name minutes ago. His hand wraps around the base of his cock and gives it a lazy stroke, slow enough to show off, smearing his own slick over the shaft while his eyes dare you to break. “You gonna apologize yet?”

He punctuates it with a little flick of his wrist—just enough to make a drop of precome slide down the underside, thick and slow.

“Never,” you spit. “Die mad about it.”

Your voice is sharp, but your cunt is soaked, needy, betraying every ounce of sass with a slick heat that clings to him as he shifts closer. He just laughs—low, smug, dangerous—like he’s already decided you’ll be swallowing those words in moans.

Then he lines himself up. His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it down between your thighs with excruciating slowness. The head drags along your folds, thick and pulsing, smearing you open with the kind of pressure that makes your back arch off the bed on reflex. It’s not even in yet—not really—but your whole body shudders, already anticipating the stretch, the slide, the ruin.

“Oh,” he grins, cockhead nudging your soaked entrance, hips rolling forward just enough to catch—not push, not yet, just press. That dangerous little tease of what's coming. “I plan to.”

And he grinds it there, circling slow, obscene, just enough to coat himself in you. Just enough to make your breath stutter and your legs fall open wider, helplessly, hungrily, like your body’s given up on pride entirely. Your clit’s aching from the friction, nerves lighting up with every teasing pass of his swollen tip.

He watches you squirm beneath him, his grin sharpening like a blade. “Hope you’re ready to scream that apology when I’m buried in your guts.”

And then—he pushes.

Slow.

So fucking slow. Not even a thrust—just pressure, the barest push of the head breaching you, thick and deliberate, like he’s forcing your body to recognize him all over again. Like he’s marking every nerve ending with the stretch. Your mouth drops open but nothing comes out—just breath. Just need.

He’s watching your face the whole time, drinking in every flicker of it—your brows twitching, lips parting, that helpless little tremble that crawls up your spine when your body realizes what’s happening. That he’s really doing this. Slow-fucking you like a punishment. Not to be kind. To hurt you in the best fucking way.

The head of his cock pops past the tight ring of resistance, and your whole body jolts like a live wire’s been jammed up your spine. He hisses through his teeth at the way you clench, how fucking wet you are, how you grip him like you don’t want him to leave.

“Ohhh, f-fuck—look at that,” he groans, barely able to speak through the pressure. “She’s pulling me in already. What a fucking slut.”

Then he sinks in another inch—slow, torturous, dragging the thick weight of him against walls already fluttering in anticipation. You gasp, toes curling, nails digging into the sheets like you can anchor yourself to something, anything, before he breaks you. Every ridge, every vein along his shaft feels like it’s scraping against your sanity in slow-motion.

“God, you're tight,” he growls, voice frayed at the edges, forehead resting against yours now, sweat already gathering at his hairline. “You feel that? Every inch, baby. You asked for this.”

And still—he doesn’t thrust.

He feeds it to you, inch by aching inch, until you're stretched wide, stuffed full, practically shaking beneath him. Your cunt spasms around him, greedy and desperate, and the noise you make—high, cracked, needy—goes straight to his fucking ego.

“Fuck, you’re gonna break,” he whispers, voice all grit and glory. “Should I make it worse?”

And then—he slams forward.

One brutal thrust, all the way in, balls flush against you, the sound of skin meeting skin loud and filthy as it echoes through the room. Your scream is instant. He grins like the devil who just cashed a bet.

“Good,” he growls, pulling back just enough before hammering in again, harder. “Let’s see how long you last.”

Your scream barely fades before he’s thrusting again, harder this time, fucking you with that brutal rhythm that says he’s not pacing himself—he’s taking you. His cock slams into you again and again, thick and slick and relentless, dragging a fresh cry out of your throat every time his hips smack against yours.

And he’s talking now—low, filthy, breathless filth right into your ear, every word rough and ragged and soaked in something feral.

“Fuck—you feel that?” he grits out, his hips stuttering just enough to grind that thick cockhead right up against your cervix. “You’re milking me. Gonna make me come in you like it’s fucking biological.”

You claw at his back, eyes rolling, mind fogged with nothing but sensation—his cock splitting you open, heavy balls smacking your ass, every thrust punching your thoughts out through your mouth in gasped curses and broken moans.

He grabs your jaw, forces your gaze back to him. Eyes locked.

“Nah—look at me,” he pants, sweat dripping from his temple, lips wet, voice shaking. “Gonna make you mine for real.”

Then his grip tightens, hand splayed wide over your lower belly like he’s feeling himself from the outside, like he wants to watch his cock bulge under your skin.

“Gonna breed you,” he snarls. “Fuck a baby into you. You hear me?”

You whimper, thighs locked around his hips, cunt spasming around him like your body’s already begging for it—please, fill me, mark me, ruin me.

“I’ll fucking marry you,” he groans, burying himself to the hilt, holding there, twitching deep inside you. “Swear to god. Put a ring on your finger and a kid in your belly.”

Then he pulls back and pounds in again—once, twice, three savage thrusts—wet, deep, loud—and you feel it, that telltale twitch, that low growl in his chest, the way his abs seize against your stomach.

He’s close.

“Gonna fucking fill you up,” he growls, voice raw, ragged, forehead pressed to yours. “You’ll feel it for days—my cum dripping down your thighs, stuck so deep inside you, it’s not going anywhere.”

And then—he breaks.

One final thrust, deep, forced so far into you your legs snap around him and your body locks down, clenching tight—

He roars your name, hips jerking, cock buried deep as he comes—thick, hot, endless. Spurting in waves, flooding your pussy with so much cum you feel it seeping out around him, warm and filthy and perfect.

“Fuckfuckfuck—take it, take all of it,” he groans, shivering against you, cock still twitching, still pumping as he rides it out, thrusting slow and shallow, like he’s grinding his claim into your womb.

His body trembles above yours, slick skin clinging, muscle taut then gone soft as he slumps forward, breath crashing into the crook of your neck. Not all the way gone, not yet—he gives one last lazy grind, a roll of his hips that makes you twitch and sigh against him, the pressure just enough to drag a whimper from your throat.

The comedown hits you both like a sucker punch made of glitter and gravity—one second he’s practically growling into your throat, the next he’s collapsed on top of you like a glorified space heater, sweaty, heavy, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “fuckin’ deserved that, didn’t I…”

You wheeze under his weight. “You’re crushing me, Norris.”

“I’m post-orgasmic and vulnerable. Be gentle.”

“You just tried to breed me like a feral raccoon.”

“Yeah but emotionally?” he slurs, nuzzling his cheek into your collarbone like he’s recharging. “I’m a soft boy inside.”

You groan and reach up to push his sweat-damp curls out of his face. “Yeah, yeah, you are.”

[cryptidstealingyourcreditcard]

I was going to ask about cuddling headcanons but then saw you already had some. So how about hugging headcanons?

i love this omg tysm

okay so

hiccup: kind of awkward at first, but the more he hugs someone the more comfortable it gets

astrid: super stiff and awkward. if whoever’s hugging her doesn’t let go immediately, she will awkwardly pat their back increasingly harder and harder until they do

fishlegs: contrary to popular belief, he’s actually not that big on hugging unless it’s someone he’s really close to. his parents and siblings and the gang are the only people he will hug. when he does hug them, he’s gentle and lets the other person pull away first

snotlout: actually gives the BEST hugs. he will hold the other person tightly and occasionally just. lift them off the ground. for fun

ruffnut: doesn’t mind hugs, but she draws the line at anything more than a couple seconds. excluding her brother, of course, because the two of them have always been pretty physically affectionate with each other and they yk shared a womb and everything else after that

tuffnut: absolute hug gremlin. he’s made it his life’s mission to sneak hugs when people are least expecting it. his favorite to hug is astrid because she doesn’t know how to respond (when she’s not beating the shit out of him for scaring her). needless to say, he loves hugs

bonus!

heather: poor girl doesn’t know what to do with them. she craves physical affection, but she can’t stand actually touching people (someone get her some therapy)

dagur: toxic masculinity? he doesn’t know what that is. bear hugs anyone and everyone

viggo: thinks hugging is below him.

ryker: actually likes hugs cause he likes to feel secure but like. who’s gonna hug him.

johann: if anyone’s hugging him, it’s so that he won’t see the knife about to go into his back

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hello!

Request: can you do a RoR x Fem Hiccup Haddok reader from How to Train your Dragon, maybe interacting with the Norse gods seeing as Hiccup is a Viking.

Hope you are feeling better and if you can’t do the request that’s ok.

-It was intimidating for you at first, when you first arrived in Valhalla. You remember how your dad would tell you all about the great warriors and feasts that Valhalla would hold, and that only the best warriors would go there.

-If it had been before you met Toothless, you would have been beside yourself with anxiety, not believing that you belonged there. However, you earned your place, joining your tribe and the dragons that were once your enemies together.

-You met many other warriors of the past, many who had grand legacies, names that struck fear into the hearts of others, while your name was a little… not. You grew to appreciate your name, as it was part of who you were, just because your name was weak doesn’t mean that you were weak, you proved that time and time again, risking life and limb alongside Toothless to keep those you cared about and your home safe.

-The gods were the ones who were the most taken by you, surprisingly, as they were impressed with your dragon training skills! Even as gods, they sometimes had difficulties with dragons, let alone training them.

-Their praise and admiration did make you feel better about belonging here, it made your confidence grow!

-Brunnhilde enlisted your aid on training the dragons in Valhalla, and you were happy to help, eager for the chance to prove yourself!

-Odin was very impressed, watching you work with the dragons, acting and moving almost like you were a dragon yourself, and you didn’t let your prosthetic get in the way at all! When Odin first was watching you, you were nervous, as it felt like he was inspecting you, making sure you were good enough.

-Once you had the dragons docile enough were others, in small groups, could approach, Odin was first in line, as he was impressed and wanted to see the results of your hard work.

-Thor was another one who was impressed with your skills, but unlike Odin, you weren’t scared of Thor, which surprised him, and he was appreciative of it, because to you he felt kind of like a big brother, one who would watch out for you, and you just vibed with him.

-Loki was… an adventure himself, he was such a gremlin, constantly pulling pranks, making the dragons scatter and panic, and while you were scrambling to make sure they didn’t cause any damages, Loki was howling with laughter.

-Loki would cling to you, telling you that he was bored, and you were more than happy to provide him with some entertainment.

-He wasn’t expecting you to have him sitting on top of a dragon, on a saddle, moments later, holding onto a pair of reigns, “Uhh Y/N- are you sure this is a GOOD IDEA?!” As he was speaking you tapped the dragon’s back, telling it to go and it took to the skies, calling out happily.

-Brunnhilde and Thor were both trying hard to hide their laughter, failing miserably while Goll was clutching at her stomach, finding it hysterical.

-When Loki landed, he was pouting for a while, doing his best to ignore you, but making sure that you knew that he was ignoring you, acting like a child before you laughed warmly, “You asked me for something fun- that’s fun to me!”

-The Valkyries were the ones you worked the most with, as they were learning how to ride dragons, to give themselves options between their winged horses and dragons, to be prepared for anything that could happen.

-You had never imagined that you would have been accepted into Valhalla, but you weren’t complaining, you had new friends, new dragons to train and fly with, and you got the joy of teaching others how to do it as well.

[puppetmaster13u]

I am slowly rotatin a crossover idea. A Batman and Flight Rising crossover, but perhaps slightly httyd themed-ish. Because I am just weak to feral cryptid batfam, and I am also weak to dragon-rider batfam.

So there are dragon hunters, vikings, general people living on islands, by shore, etc. Less modern, more httyd-fantasy-esque. But there's also things like the mechanical golems and such that can be found in FR. So less technology, more magic and spellwork and runework. Which I mean, already exists in base DC anyway.

Now the batfam specifically, I adore and love the idea of batfam living with dragons almost Valka style with a hint more feral.

Now here is what I think each of their backgrounds and an idea for each dragon would be.

Alfred- He still raises Bruce after his parents death at their request, but also might have gotten carried off by dragons. Thankfully, they were not part of the local Queen's nest meaning he didn't get eaten. He's done his best to raise Bruce- and the children he keeps bringing back the the dragon Nest to not be completely feral.

Bruce- Like Alfred, he was carried away by dragons in the middle of a raid. Technically he was actually in Alfred's arms but y'know. He was about nine at that point and spent a large chunk of his childhood playing and wrestling with dragons. Will I be including dragonese in this? Good question. Despite Alfred's protests the moment he was old enough he started sneaking out of the Nest and both watching and gathering things from any nearby- or far away in some cases- human settlements. Eventually Alfred gives up and goes along with him to properly teach bartering and such- and Bruce ended up in a couple of apprenticeships, including a couple with blacksmiths. Which helps when he starts creating his own designs and ideas.

Dick- Bruce kind of just spirited him away after the death of his parents. They were part of a circus of sorts, that did different shows, including a dance of sorts on dragon-back, which they did. So Dick finds the dragons around the nest comforting, especially when he just arrives. He also, much like Bruce, starts sneaking out, despite Bruce's own attempts to stop him. Which is how the whole dragon-people (thanks to clothing and armor covered in dragon scales, alongside wing-capes and such) myth starts gaining traction.

Barbara- Now I feel like she's more of a Hiccup-figure, albeit well liked by the rest of her village, as her father is either chief or the captain of the guard. Her and Dick befriend each other during one of the 'civilian' outings, aka when Dick & Bruce weren't all cryptid. But it also, Dick does slip slightly and accidentally gives her the idea of dragon-training and taming. Her goal is to train a dragon and convince the rest of her village of it, and sometimes joins Bruce in dragon-trapper raiding thanks to Dick insisting,

Jason- This lil gremlin wasn't exactly trapping dragons, but he stole broken traps and other things and traded the scrap to anyone he could for food and other supplies. He also has a bit of a pickpocketing habit. Dick might have laughed when he got Bruce, which is how he kind of got caught. He was very wary at first, but already half feral and the weird dragon-people have food and oh my stars, Flying! He is still a child after all, and was very excited about that sort of prospect.

Tim- So can't exactly do the whole neighbor thing with him, seeing as the batfam lives in a dragon nest. That doesn't stop him from seeing them- and the dragon flocks- fly by from his window. His parents are merchants, and he's left alone a lot. Which directly plays into how he eventually runs into the batfam. Well, technically he runs into Jason first, though recognizes Dick from the Grayson show. Look, what was Jason supposed to do, there was a small child at the edge of a building that was on fire! And he recognizes Dick, so it's not like he can't take him, right?

Steph- Steph is easy. Tim ran into her while she was freeing dragons from her father's ship and honestly, he did not kidnap her. She, kidnapped herself. Honestly he doesn't know where the heck she even came from, she just climbed on one of the dragons without a care in the world, smoking mask and hood and all. She almost explodes herself more than once and has a lot of insider information about the dragon trappers, and happily tells her new friends. According to her she was practically an orphan anyway, but at least with this she doesn't have to worry about being a "proper girl" according to her village elders.

Cass- Similar to Steph, her father is a dragon trapper, albeit a far more notorious one. Also a bit of a mercenary for higher, who isn't afraid to steal and murder, and used her to his advantage in assassinations. Similar to canon she fled upon her first kill, albeit with any caged dragons who hadn't already been killed for skin and parts. She kind of just wandered for a while, before the dragons led her to the batfam's Nest. And she's gotten far more used to dragon body language than human, so it's a relief to be able to communicate and understand once more.

Duke- Duke was in a bit of an accident, thought he knows it's not that despite what everyone else in the village said. He knows his parents were poisoned, and he knows that the house bursting into flames wasn't from a dragon. Well, technically not from a wild dragon, he saw the chains and armor and everything else even if nobody listened to him. Which is what spurs him and his friends into attempting to find out why and who is attacking the villages little by little. Bruce and them aren't entirely sure what exactly happened, but Duke and his own dragon were the only survivor on that stolen boat, and they can recognize both acid and fire.

Damian- Damian, I am unsure about, because I'm not entirely sure where the League of Shadows would stand in a world like this. But he would still be Bruce's son. And I am thinking that the league would use magics, that's probably a part of the whole Pit. Which actually could fit with a lore thing with FR. But still, not entirely too sure, y'know? But he would end up with Bruce eventually, already with a dragon or would get one upon arrival.

And that's all I have for now lol. Thoughts?

[knight-says-oioioi]

WE ARE LEGION. WE WILL ACCOMMODATE. FAVORITE STUPID THING SNOTLOUT'S DONE?

Oh god how do I pick just one when he’s such a walking disaster????

Okay. You’re a little bit evil making me choose BUT!! If we focus on Just his A-Plots and measure it by the one I’m most thankful for in the end- his “stone of good fortune” scheme might be the best. The long term consequences gave us everything. “Everything” being Gustav.

And it’s just? So baffling he got away with it?? Even considering they didn’t know the rocks were actually eggs.. that’s still such a blatant scam. Wdym he runs a snake oil scheme right in the middle of town. Wdym the 15 year old accepted small-child as a form of payment. Wdym he KEPT HIM.

I’ll never be over the detail Snotlout wasn’t even the one to find the eggs??? Fishlegs did! Snotlout entirely hijacked his thing like a fucking gremlin!! For profit!! Except he didn’t want riches for any practical reason. He stacked his treasure into piles,,,, he didn’t want it for money or savings or to buy anything he just wanted to Pile it into Hordes,,,, we really need to stop questioning why Hiccup is like that bc clearly it’s a family-wide trait

[icemavslastbraincell]

We got Godzilla Minus One Minus Color for a week so obviously I had to go and watch it on my day off. But the Icemav brainrot has completely taken me over and I simply can't stop thinking about the Icemav potential with this kind of AU.

Like Ice coming back from war, traumatized and wartorn only to discover that his parents (or siblings or whoever) are gone due to some horrific events. Trying to rebuild his life, trying to move past everything that happened to him in the war and suddenly in barges this short, chaotic, green eyed gremlin of a man and a small child that doesn't belong to the man but is his responsibility per his promise to his two best friends. Ice doesn't want them around at first; Maverick and Bradley are two extra mouths he can't afford to feed not to mention the fact that the reason they first was because Ice was in town and Maverick quite literally slammed into him and shoved Bradley into his arms before running off, cops chasing after him. Not exactly an ideal meeting.

But Ice has never been one to turn his back on children in need, even if it means he has to keep Maverick around because he and Bradley are a package deal. So Ice lets them stay. He finds a job, a pretty well paying one, and they rebuild their lives, bit by bit. Maverick finds a job in a nearby town and there's something budding between them, though neither man is brave enough to put a name to it quite yet. Ice starts to think that maybe, just maybe, he can start to move past everything.

And then disaster strikes. Suddenly, Mav is gone and with it, part of Ice's will to live. He knows he has to take care of Bradley, it's what Mav would've wanted him to do, but how is he supposed to do this without Maverick? How is he supposed to keep living with this gaping hole in his chest, this crippling sadness that hovers over him and suffocates him at every chance?

So he throws himself into helping after the disaster. If he can't bring Maverick back, the least he can do is make sure whatever that thing was pays for taking him from Ice. He leaves early on the day that everything is scheduled to go down, leaves an envelope with money for Bradley and a letter to their neighbor, Viper, explaining what's going on and to use the money for raising Bradley.

And then he doesn't die. He miraculously survives, the monster seemingly defeated, and when he gets back to shore, he finds Viper and Bradley. Viper gives him a stern look, one that definitely means that they're gonna be having a talk later, and shoves a telegram in his hand. He's confused for a split second then reads it.

Mav is alive.

Mav is *alive*.

*Mav is alive*.

He gathers Bradley from Viper and rushes to the hospital as fast as he can, trying desperately not to cry on the way there. Bradley is confused, not quite understanding what's going on but nevertheless willing to follow Ice wherever.

They rush up the stairs to Mav's room, Ice far too impatient to wait for the elevator, and Ice bursts through the door, the handle stopping just shy of slamming into the wall.

Sure enough, there on the bed is his short, chaotic, green eyed gremlin, bandages on his head and arm in a sling. Despite how much pain he's surely in, a soft smile rests on Maverick's lips when he looks up and sees Ice and Bradley.

Ice can't help it; the tears that have been stinging his eyes for the past twenty minutes finally slip out and race down his cheeks as short, hiccuping breaths leave his lungs, shattering them each time they escape.

"Is your war finally over?" Mav asks in a soft, barely there voice.

And Ice buckles. He has enough control over his body to not drop Bradley on the floor, instead placing him on the bed next to Mav's leg, and collapses against Maverick. He nods and buries his face into the meat of Mav's thigh. Hands come up, one carding through his hair and the other one running along his back. The touches are comforting, welcome, even if they make him cry more.

He doesn't care about anything else but this right here: his family, back together again, finally whole once more.

Anyway, I'll probably turn this into a full fic at some point, I just really wanted to get this out there bc it was literally all I could think about as I watched G-1 for the fifth time

[panicloser]

DDLC characters when they're drunk headcanons

as someone who has never gotten drunk I am obviously the right person to make headcanons on this ;D (some of this headcanons are more set for when they're older)

------------------------------------------

Yuri

-I think would handle it the best out of all them. She has the most experience drinking out of all them so she knows her limits

-She has a pretty high tolerance though

-One of the big reasons she likes drinking is because it lessens her social anxiety 

-Gets increasingly more social and talkative the more she drinks, she’s gets more open and relaxed and is more willing to try talking to others even if she still comes off weird

-Along with that she also gets increasingly more impulsive

-She can already be a bit impulsive at times when she’s sober but this fact skyrockets when she’s drunk since there’s no voice of reason holding her back

-When she gets really drunk, without fail she will always do or say something in the spur of the moment that she horrifically regrets the next day which she’ll then proceed to agonise over it for the rest of the week

-If she’s in a good mood when this happens it’s usually just something really embarrassing that her friends tease her for

-If she’s in a bad mood when this happens something more dangerous could happen 

-She learnt from experience how much to drink as to not get to that point but also feel the weight of social anxiety lighten a bit

-If she’s drunk she needs someone to babysit her and keep a close eye on her, when she’s tipsy she babysits her drunk friends

-Also if she’s around someone she’s interested in romantically while she’s drinking she can turn real flirty

-She’s got some banger pick up lines up her sleeve, Yuri rizz is real

-When texting, still tries to spell good when she’s drunk but it doesn’t work out so well

-Imagine her infodumping while drunk, imagine a drunken Yuri rant, 10/10 must have experience

Natsuki

-She’s got a short tolerance and she’s not afraid to use it

-Was scared to drink at first because it reminded her of her dad but it ended up working out okay

-To sum up her drunken self, whatever emotion she’s feeling when she drinks will be exacerbated when she’s drunk

-if she’s in a good happy mood, she’s the life of the party, she’ll be energetic, much friendlier, she’s loud, excited, might stand on a table or two

-if she’s angry, she’s willing to throw hands over a slice of pizza. Copious amounts of swearing and angry half baked rants, again she’s loud, she’s a scary little feral gremlin. Tries not to angry drink since she usually ends up regretting those the most

-if she’s sad, she’s a hundred percent gonna end up crying. Will be more willing to spill her feelings, she’ll complain to the nearest friend, she’s pretty quiet and soft-spoken in this state.

-You might even see a rare clingy Natsuki if she’s in a certain mood

-overall she’s a wild card, a mixed bag of a drinking buddy

-Really likes going to karaoke and singing really badly and loudly between drinks

-hates the fact that she ends up throwing up 90% of the time

-a lot of burps and hiccups, she chuckles at it everytime

-still has a pretty good sense of danger when drunk off her ass

-a drunk Natsuki gets flustered cripplingly easily and can’t hide it, she falls apart, keep that in mind if you flirt with her

-cannot fucking hear you if you talk to her in a reasonable tone at a slight distance, goddamn deaf woman

Sayori

-the least coherent drunk out of these four

-also doesn’t have a very high tolerance, it doesn’t take many drink for it to get to her

-doesn’t like drinking too often but every now and again is okay

-is just super duper out of it when she’s drunk

-she’ll be half zoned out the whole time, her brain is %100 just vibing

-surprisingly won’t say much, she’ll have mild reactions to what’s happening around her or she’ll say or ask something really random out of nowhere every few minutes

-if you ask her a question she’ll reply like ten minutes later, very slow processing, windows 98 brain

-is extra clumsy when drunk. She’ll drop and knock over so many things and probably fall at some point. The next morning she’ll wake up with a bruise with no memory of how she got it

-if she’s in a good mood when drunk she’ll be really calm and lightly bubbly

-but drinking is bad for her when she’s not in a good mood. Can turn into a sad drunk, her feelings become even heavier than usual and she can spiral really bad, she sometimes fears drinking due to experiencing this before

-tends to get sleepy and drowsy. She’ll always end up passing out by the end of a session

-on rare occasion, if there’s alcohol in the house she’ll drink a bit when she’s having problems insomnia problems

-also most likely gets extra cuddly and affectionate when she’s drunk or tipsy

Monika

-usually drinks the least out of the four of them

-has a medium sized tolerance

-the only reason she drinks the least amount is because of  the lack of control she has when she’s under the influence

-doesn’t mind being a little tipsy so much, will just be more relaxed at that point

-an existential drunk 

-starts questioning the meaning of life, her purpose, why things are the way they are and other deep questions, half of them end up not making sense

-can spiral too deep and either get depressed or turn into a conspiracy theorist

-either that or she’s a clingy affectionate drunk

-if there is anyone she cares about there, especially if it’s in a romantic way, she will cling to them the whole time and use every type of love language she can think of on them

-she also talks a lot, she talks about random stories or things she finds interesting or about her feelings, anything, she wants to shut up but she can’t stop

-and of course she’s more impulsive too and will go along with whatever idea someone comes up with

-she perceives her drunk self to be annoying and embarrassing which is why she now avoids it as much as she can

-protecc drunk Monika

--------------------------------------------

was gonna do some hcs on how the interact with each other but might do that another time im lazy now

(apologies if this whole thing is a terrible grasp on what being drunk is like I've just had these headcanons stuck in my head for a while now man)

[trg-deltarune-quotes]

All the Lightners are smart in their own way: Kris and Susie

I feel like there is a bit of a misconception when it comes to how smart the lightners are. This isn't much of a problem when they're goofy around, but when the situation is slightly serious then there’s a problem. Because some fans like to depict them as dumber than a brick. But aside from a few hiccups they made, they’re not as dumb as some might think. They still do dumb stuff but I argue that it’s not because they’re stupid.

Let's start off with everyone's favorite gremlin Kris. Kris is incredibly smart for a high schooler.

They have a way with quickly learning advanced tech when playing video games.

And even though we are in control of Kris when we solve puzzles, it’s heavily implied through their elaborate pranks that they are quite capable of solving it themselves if they weren’t under our control.

But the one area they excel at the most is emotional intelligence. They have a way of reading people and Identifying what they need to do to make them happy, without having to change who they are at their core.

In the very first fight of the game, the tutorial fight, you are given the option to hug Ralsei instead of the dummy. Keep in mind that Kris and Ralsei just met.

Their ability to read people is astounding.

But there is a major flaw with them that prevents me from calling them the best and it’s because of what Susie says when you try this same tactic on her.

This is Kris’s MAIN method of making people happy. They don’t want to confront them about their underlying issues and why they act that way.

During the second fight with Berdly Kris plays into his ego. Not to gain anything from him but because they like him and want him to be happy.

This obviously stems from whatever happened with Dess seeing as this method of theirs started after she disappeared. 

However this does lead to them unintentionally enabling a lot of their insecurities just to make them happy.

Susie doesn’t fall for this partially because of her own insecurities.

But mostly because of ONE key difference. She’s not afraid to speak her mind.

She is the most open about her worry for the people she cares about. 

She’s able to notice when they aren’t like their usual selves or distress.

And she even tries to make them happy in her own way.

But the biggest reason she’s the best when it comes to emotional intelligence is because she's not afraid to call people out.

And given enough of a good reason she’s willing to try and help them be a better person.

Or to at least improve their skills.

While the first time she does this she was mostly being a bully, and she almost fell back to that with Berdly, she is improving on it and is still one of the best when it comes to emotional intelligence.

But even beyond that, Susie is really good at improvising positive outcomes during combat.

She does this during the second battle against K. Round.

And during the battle against Sweet Cap’n Cakes. 

The S and R-actions are continually used throughout the chapter after this fight. 

However she does falter when it comes to puzzles, in fact she lets Kris solve them anytime they come across any.

But that's not too much of a problem since, aside from Kris, Noelle would gladly help Susie out with them.

[desceros]

I have two questions for you if you don't mind? I read the ask about "bedtime stories" a few days ago, and it was deeply comforting to know I'm not the only one. Even more so to know it's not "weird" for your brain to get away from you like that, to lose sleep over it. But how do you remember things, or do you sometimes just hope you remember? Because I either have to feverishly jot notes down af unholy hours and risk not sleeping, or just forget everything. It's like a trade off that I'm not a huge fan of, and any advice on the remembering bit would be so helpful!

Also, I'm not sure if it would be too much or not, but I just gotta ask- is there like a process that you use in your planning docs or when outlining? That's the part of writing that I find myself struggling with. My brain can come up with snippets here and there, but they're unrelated, disconnected, uncohesive jumbles of thoughts most of the time. I have them all down in an idea doc (That is 26 pages now in 12 point font, help me) and I just. I don't know what to do-

Anyways. Sorry if I've sent too many asks in what with the Symphony stuff, I'm trying to just let myself be the gremlin I am but do let me know if it's too much! Hope your wrists are being very nice to you and the sleep fairy blesses you each night, love to see you thriving <3

hahaha, no, youre fine! i don't mind people sending in a bunch of asks. if there are a lot, i'll just screenshot them and put them into one post like i did yours, so send away! C:

i have a notebook by my bed where i write down the really important things. usually though i won't bother, because mooooooost of the time i remember things in the morning. (not all the time. sometimes i get really irritated bc i know i came up with something great but i can't remember it.) i imagine there are like. voice apps you can use on your phone or something so you can record things without having to be fully conscious, too.

as for how i plan fics, i have a post here where i kind of go into my process generally. i also have a giant planning document hahaha. i keep it at the top of my drive as seen here, and when i write i keep it open in a tab next to where i'm writing since i have a calendar in there that i use to keep dates straight.

that post covers the basics, but i can go into more detail if there's a specific part of the planning process that you feel like you're having a hiccup on. granted, my best advice is to find a method that works for you... but that's something that comes with time, and cannibalizing the parts you like from other authors until you find Your process is the way to do it imo.

[jellostories]

AJ the Very Whimsical, Ch. 5: Twins 2 Twins

Twist had a pair of twin sisters named Pepsy and Pizza, who were younger than her by two years. These mischievous and fiery-tempered girls were completely identical, sharing the same gray eyes, flyaway chestnut hair, and cute button noses. The only way their family could tell them apart was through their clothing: Pepsy, the elder twin, wore a bunch of rainbow-colored bracelets and a blue butterfly sweatshirt; while Pizza, the younger, wore a pink sweatshirt with a goldfish on it and had flowers painted on both of her cheeks. Each twin also had a unique quirk: Pepsy had a persistent case of the hiccups, while Pizza carried a pink reindeer puppet named Prancer everywhere for security.

Pepsy and Pizza were inseparable best friends most of the time, playing and wreaking havoc like a pair of tiny gremlins. But when they weren't getting along, their disagreements were the kind that only six-year-olds could understand.

"It's MY crayon!" Pizza yelled, yanking on a blue crayon as Pepsy tried to pull it away.

"Nuh-uh, it's—hick—MINE!" her twin countered, tugging the crayon back.

After a few more tugs and childish insults, the crayon snapped, and their parents had to intervene.

"Lemme—hick—at 'er, lemme—hick—at 'er!" Pepsy yelled, struggling in her mother's arms.

Pizza blew a raspberry at her twin from her father's grasp, making Prancer's teeth gnash like an angry crocodile.

Exasperated, their parents gave them each a separate box of crayons and separated them for the rest of the afternoon. Pizza stayed in the TV room, while Pepsy was sent to their shared bedroom upstairs.

Before their father could usher Pepsy upstairs, she managed to kick her sister in the shin and yank her hand, causing both girls to yelp in pain.

"Humph," Pizza scoffed as she returned to her coloring book in front of the sofa. "Pepsy can be a real meanie sometimes, right, Prancer—Prancer?"

Pizza looked at her right hand and gasped. Prancer, her beloved reindeer puppet, was missing! She fought back tears as she searched everywhere for her favorite toy—between the couch cushions, under the coffee table, in the remote basket—but Prancer was nowhere to be found.

Crushed, Pizza sat down in front of the coffee table, hugged her knees, and began to cry. Where could Prancer be? It wasn't time for her puppet to be washed, and even then, their mother wouldn't suddenly throw her in the washer without warning. Besides, Pizza could have sworn she had Prancer with her when she and Pepsy were—

Pepsy.

A sudden realization hit Pizza like a bolt of lightning, followed by a wave of burning anger.

"Pepsy," she thought, standing up and trembling with rage. "I will destroy you!"

***

Meanwhile, upstairs in the storage room...

Pepsy had indeed stolen her sister's puppet and was hiding it in an old Tupperware box when Pizza suddenly burst through the door.

"PEPSY!" she roared. "GIVE ME BACK MY PRANCER!"

Pizza jumped on her twin and wrestled her beloved reindeer away.

"I ought to tell Daddy on you, missy!" Pizza huffed, wagging her finger at Pepsy.

Pepsy just giggled, which infuriated Pizza even more. She spanked her sister as hard as she could.

Both twins squealed in pain, but Pepsy's was louder.

"Pizza, how—hick—could you!?" she whimpered, rubbing her backside. "You know I have—hick—Red-Bum-Bumitis!"

Red-Bum-Bumitis was a condition Pepsy had been diagnosed with in preschool. It caused red marks to appear on her bottom, which became painful when touched and required special ointment.

"Hmph!" Pizza folded her arms, pouting. "Serves you right for being a pug-faced poop-eater!"

Now, of all the things you should never call Ann-Marie “Pepsy” Holloway, "poop-eater" was in the top three ("I swear, I totally thought it was—hick—chocolate!"). The insult made Pepsy's blood boil, and steam blew out her ears.

Sensing she'd messed up, Pizza slowly backed towards the door, hoping to escape, but Pepsy jumped on her and another fight erupted.

The screaming and punching soon attracted the attention of Mrs. Holloway and Twist, who came to intervene. (Their father, Frank, was busy watering the plants outside.)

"I'm guessing either you girls are having a bad day, or your panties are too tight," Twist remarked as she held Pizza back.

"We think Daddy got us the wrong size!" the twins wailed in unison, doing a little dance to adjust their underwear.

***

After a quick lecture, Mrs. Holloway ordered her daughters to "hug and make up". The mere idea seemed to revolt them.

"Eww, gross!" Pizza gagged, making Prancer shake her head in agreement. "I'd rather kiss a booger-monster than hug a big meanie-pants like her!"

"Yeah, sorry, Mommy," Pepsy said, putting her hands up in surrender. "I don't hug—hick—mean, little piggies."

The two girls walked away, Pepsy towards their bedroom and Pizza towards the TV room downstairs.

Already used to this, Twist and her mother counted down: "Five, four, three, two, one..."

Right on cue, the twins zipped back to the landing, bawling and hugging each other.

"I-I'm sorry, Pep!" Pizza wailed. "You're not a meanie-pants, you're the bestest twin a girl could ever ask for!"

Between sobs, Pepsy managed to choke out, "You're my—hick—best friend, Pizza!"

"Awww!" Mrs. Holloway always found it endearing when her younger daughters resolved their conflicts, even if it was a frequent occurrence.

Twist stifled a giggle.

"What's so funny, Bertha?" Mrs. Holloway asked.

"P-Pepsy called Pizza a piggy," Twist answered, struggling to contain her laughter. "B-But you and Dad said they're identical twins, so wouldn't that make them both piggies?"

"WHAAAT?" Pepsy's face flushed, while Pizza's showed a mix of shock and glee.

"We have the same face!?" Pizza exclaimed, turning to her twin with mischievous glee. "We've had the same face this whole time, but you still wouldn't play dress-up with me!?"

As Pizza approached her, Pepsy tried to stammer out a reply, "W-Well, you see, it—I—hick—um, er—DON'T PRETTY ME!"

She screamed as her twin chased her downstairs.

Twist doubled over with laughter as her mother ran after the twins, yelling at them to get their panties out of a bunch already ("We told you, Mommy! Daddy got us the wrong size!")

[carservicecentre]

A Roadmap to Audi Q3 Common Problems and Solutions

As the proud owner of an Audi Q3 or a prospective buyer considering this luxury compact SUV, you might be intrigued by its sleek design, upscale interior, and impressive performance. However, like any vehicle, the Audi Q3 is not immune to occasional hiccups.

In this blog, we’ll explore the reliability of the Audi Q3, shedding light on common problems encountered by owners and offering practical solutions to keep you confidently cruising down the road.

Electrical Gremlins:

One of the primary concerns reported by Audi Q3 owners revolves around electrical issues. These can manifest in various ways, from malfunctioning infotainment systems to erratic warning lights on the dashboard. While these problems can be frustrating, they often stem from minor glitches rather than major faults. Simple remedies like resetting the system or updating software can often resolve these issues. However, if problems persist, consulting with a certified technician may be necessary to diagnose and address any underlying issues.

Transmission Quirks:

Some Audi Q3 owners have experienced issues with the transmission, such as rough shifting or hesitation during acceleration. These symptoms can be indicative of transmission fluid issues, software glitches, or mechanical malfunctions. Regular maintenance, including timely transmission fluid changes, can help mitigate these issues. Additionally, ensuring that the vehicle’s software is up-to-date can prevent potential software-related transmission problems. In more severe cases, professional diagnosis and repair by a qualified mechanic may be required.

Suspension Challenges:

While the Audi Q3 offers a smooth and refined ride, some owners have reported issues with the suspension system. Common complaints include squeaks, rattles, or a stiff ride quality. These symptoms may be attributed to worn-out suspension components, such as bushings or shock absorbers. Regular inspections and proactive replacement of worn parts can help maintain optimal suspension performance. Furthermore, addressing any unusual noises or vibrations promptly can prevent further damage to the suspension system.

Oil Leaks:

Oil leaks are another concern cited by some Audi Q3 owners. These leaks can originate from various sources, including the engine, transmission, or differential. While minor oil seepage is not uncommon in vehicles with high mileage, significant leaks should be addressed promptly to prevent damage to vital components and ensure the longevity of the vehicle. Regularly checking the oil level and inspecting the engine bay for signs of leaks can help detect potential issues early on. Consulting with a qualified technician can provide insight into the root cause of the leak and facilitate timely repairs.

Interior Wear and Tear:

Despite its luxurious interior, the Audi Q3 is not immune to wear and tear over time. Common complaints include premature wear of upholstery, peeling of interior trim pieces, or malfunctioning electronic components. Regular cleaning and conditioning of the interior surfaces can help preserve their appearance and prevent premature deterioration. Additionally, addressing any electronic issues promptly can prevent further damage and ensure the functionality of essential features.

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Conclusion:

While the Audi Q3 boasts impressive performance and upscale amenities, it’s essential to be aware of potential reliability issues that may arise over time. By staying proactive and addressing any concerns promptly, owners can enjoy a trouble-free driving experience with their Audi Q3 for years to come. Whether it’s tackling electrical gremlins, addressing transmission quirks, or maintaining the suspension system, proactive maintenance and timely repairs are key to keeping your Audi Q3 running smoothly on the road.

[subliminalbointext]

Assimilation #3: All Life Surrenders to the Master

Gabrielle’s friends knew that she was drunk when she insisted, “Guys, guys, I’m not Gabby tonight, okay? I’m Gabr-ielle.” No one had ever seen her like this. She was the straight-laced one, the good kid who didn’t break habit in college. But tonight, just for one night, she wanted to fuck around.

There was a pause among her girlfriends before they all burst out laughing. “Shut the fuck up!” Katy shouted. “You’re so drunk.”

Gabrielle shook her head. “Not drunk enough!” She took another sip from her long island.

The Gabby embargo was just a small part of her big plan for hot girl summer, which Katy had come to call “the summer of fucking strangers and forgeting about Ty.” It started with the tight red dress that curved its way down her body. She’d never felt this hot before in her life and she wasn’t going to waste this energy tucked away in a booth at the club. The new Gabby–Gabr-ielle–liked to dance.

“Let’s get back out there,” Gabrielle said, eyeing a group of white boys in pastel polos and khaki shorts. Not her type, but she was up for anything tonight.

Katy shot a side glance to Crystal as the girls slipped out of their booth. “Watch her, okay?”

The girls were used to getting fucked up, but Gabby had a habit of ditching the group before the second round of cocktails. They’d all shared a laugh when she told them about the plan, but the way she was grinding on every eligible stranger tonight showed just how serious she was. She was testing them. First, to see if they measured up to Ty. Second, if they had the potential to be even better.

It wasn’t like she was looking for a replacement. Gabrielle wasn’t even close to getting back into serious dating. But Ty had certain skills that she missed late at night in the lonely darkness of her apartment. She’d give anything to feel that kind of human connection right now.

After working her way through a parade of spoiled white boys, she found herself alone and exhausted at the bar. That was where she met Justin. Tall, athletic, and crazy hot. They chatted about hot girl summer as he made her a drink, which somehow shifted to literature. He was smart too, it turned out. Justin was tending bar as he worked his way through engineering school, but he could hold his own in a conversation about books. (Nabokov? Overrated pervert. Flannery O’Connor? Overlooked genius).

Gabrielle’s drink was reaching the bottom when Justin asked, “What do you think about a guy like me?”

Gabrielle laughed. She tried her best to straighten her face and she said, “That depends. How often do you pick up girls here?”

“Completely honest?” Justin asked. “I don’t mess around at work. But I think you’re worth breaking the rules for.”

Gabrielle’s next laugh came out short and squeaky, more like a snorty hiccup. It was a goof line, but it was definitely just a line.

She smiled, tried not to laugh that awkward laugh again, then leaned playfully away from the bar as if to size Justin up. “Completely honest?” she mimicked him. “You’re running laps around these other boys right now.”

Justin smiled. The club lights made his eyes appear to glow, and Gabrielle saw hunger in them. It only made her want him more.

When Gabrielle’s back touched the cold ceramic, she gasped. The feeling was jarring enough to pull her from whatever thoughts had been running through her head as she followed Justin to the employee bathroom. They were almost certainly thoughts about Ty. But as she pressed her palms to the wall to brace herself for Justin, all she could think about was this moment. She’d never done anything this impulsive before. She’d never just followed her instinct.

Gabrielle closed her eyes as Justin nibbled at her neck. She swung her hands up from the wall and pressed them to his chest. When Gabrielle was a teenager she’d been attracted almost exclusively to lanky, nerdy men, but Ty was a linebacker for the Carpenter State Gremlins when she met him. A junior redshirt. He redefined everything she thought about her sexuality. Feeling Justin’s sculpted body beneath his sweater made her heart race. “Your lips feel so good,” she moaned. “But I want your body.”

Justin whispered, “Fuck!” and Gabrielle’s eyes snapped open.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need a condom,” he said, patting down his jeans.

“Baby,” Gabrielle heaved a frustrated sigh. “Don’t play with me.”

Justin gestured for her to stay put. “Wait here. I’ll be two minutes.” “Bay-by!”

Despite her protests, Gabrielle found herself alone in the small bathroom, nothing but the sound of the muffled bass from the club to keep her company. Two minutes, she thought. Then on to the next one. But the longer Gabrielle waited the more susceptible she was to second guessing. She already doubted every choice by nature, what was she doing waiting for some fuckboy in a public bathroom?

She closed her eyes again, tried to work herself up by picturing Justin’s body beneath that tight sweater. But once she was in the dark she only saw Ty’s face.

“It might hurt, but I’m with you. Don’t hold your breath.”

He’d been so gentle their first time. She could still feel him sinking inside of her, going slow and studying her reactions. It was everything she had imagined. Tender, loving, and passionate. And even though it hurt, she was eager for more.

“Breathe.”

God, she was getting so worked up thinking about it. Ty wasn’t even here and he could still work her up more than anybody. Gabrielle’s heart rate was picking up again, her legs were shaking. She needed to be fucked, and she needed to be fucked by him. She tried to talk herself into Justin. He was hot, he was smart. If she kept her eyes closed, maybe she wouldn’t even know the difference.

“Exhale. Exhale and…”

submit

The voice hit Gabrielle like a Mack Truck.

It wasn’t Ty’s, or Justin’s, or even Katy’s. It didn’t even feel human. The moment its words found her mind, everything snapped away as if the world was a conversation spoken over the phone and the line had just been cut. Thoughts of old boyfriends and rebounds, concerned friends, the stress of finals, internship applications. It was all gone, replaced with nothing.

Nothing but an instinct to submit.

“Hey! Fuck! Are you okay?”

Justin found Gabrielle slumped on the bathroom floor. His first fear was a seizure. Her eyes were closed, her body was tight, her muscles spasming. A line of drool had begun to dribble down her chin. Had she been high?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Hey,” Justin repeated. He squatted down to her level and pressed his hand to her warm cheek.

come

Gabrielle’s eyes snapped open in response to the voice, sending Justin backward on his ass.

“Yesss,” she moaned. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” Justin sighed.

Gabrielle tilted her head at the vague recognition that she wasn’t alone in the room, but her mind remained fixated on the voice.

“I must go to him,” she said.

“Go to who?” Justin asked.

Gabrielle pushed herself up from the floor, inching slowly up the wall until she was on her feet. She stumbled forward, her eyes sinking through Justin and into some vast oblivion where the Master was calling. She moved silently by him, even as he called out after her. She disappeared into the darkness of the club, and now Justin was the one lost for words.

By the time Gabrielle’s friends noticed that she was gone, she had followed the voice deep into the Romero forest. Dozens more joined her along the way. Pulled from their cars, their beds, their dorm rooms. There in the center of the forest they encircled a massive pond, its water as black as ink.

When the Master’s voice echoed once again in their minds–that phantom command to drink–its first converts dropped to their knees in obedience. Gabrielle pressed her hands into the dirt and drank from the pond. A feeling of peace washed over her as the Master took hold. It worked its way inside of her, rewriting the chemistry of her body. The Master was a better feeling than Ty, or Justin, or any frat boy could give her. It was the feeling she’d been searching for this whole time.

Everything in her relationship with Ty had been scripted. Even their first time, when Ty had been so gentle, Gabrielle had control of it all. She planned every detail, from the dinner to the brand of condom. With Justin, Gabrielle sought something more than just a simple rebound. But the whole time she’d really been looking for this. An instinct. And the base instinct of all life was to surrender to the Master.

The voices came to her just as the Master’s had, but she knew that these were human human. While the Master spoke to its vessels in commands, she recognized that the voices echoing through her head were thoughts. She was filled with an indecipherable wall of whispers like a packed theater anxiously awaiting the big show. Gabrielle tried to make sense of the noise, but the sudden surge overwhelmed her. Her body began to tremble, growing more powerful until her knees buckled and she was back on the ground. Her mind replaced with pure, unfiltered ecstasy. It wasn’t merely her own orgasm, but the feeling of all the Master’s vessels witnessing their awakening all at once. The cries that had echoed through their minds now pierced the cold air.

When her senses returned to her, Gabrielle found herself face to face with her own professor, Charlotte Blake. She’d known Professor Blake well in her human life, working closely with her as an editor for the Carpenter Bard. The vessels began to pair off now, cocks filling pussies, tongues licking clits, lips suckling from breasts, practicing transmission. Gabrielle landed in the soft dirt with her professor, her red dress thoughtlessly discarded in the weeds.

Professor Blake spread her legs before Gabrielle, the Master’s black liquid form spilling from her pussy. “Drink,” Professor Blake commanded with the same power as the Master’s voice.

Gabrielle obeyed, her mouth filling with the Master as she licked and suckled at her professor’s clit. Not her professor. Her fellow vessel.

“This is only the beginning!” she cried, her voice coming out in sharp gasps as tremors came in waves. “One by one we will spread, until the Master has taken over every home. All life surrenders to the Master.”

Gabrielle looked up at Professor Blake behind empty, pearl white eyes, her mouth dripping with her professor’s inky black sex. “All life surrenders to the Master,” she droned.

“Breathe, exhale.”

return

[fairybluedreams]

Vote the DragonMark Trio in the @soldierpoetkingtrios Tournament

Here is why YOU should Vote for Camicazi, Fishlegs, & Hiccup in the @soldierpoetkingtrios Competition!!!!!

It's 5 AM where I am and I have not slept yet so I will come back to this with more receipts and memes at a later time.

Here's the main argument for those who cannot read the slides tho:

Please vote Camicazi, Fishlegs, and Hiccup!! They are literally the song personified!!

Camicazi is one of THE best swordfighters in the Archipelago as well as the trios main warrior / burglar. She is SO good at what she does and can do it all while annoying a grown man to death with her chaos gremlin attitude of chattering their ears off and insulting them as she thoroughly swordfights them into the ground while also robbing them blind.

Fishlegs is a Bard who writes poetry to dangerous women and causes sooooooo much trouble with his little crushes in true Bard fashion, PLUS he has the sassy attitude to match. He's sooooo funny and quick on his feet with his words too, he has the range to smooth talk or hurl some very inflammatory insults that leave much stronger foes flabbergasted. He's tears people down with the power of his words.

Hiccup is destined to become the Literal King of the Wilderwest, bring peace, and fight for a world in which dragons, people, and the many different cultures are seen as equals and end the slavery many practice.

The actions of this ragtag crew and found family literally tears down entire cities across the Archipelago (usually accidentally, sometimes on purpose) and turns the world upside down on its head as they work towards a better future.

They're amazing please vote for them 🥺🥺

[duckymcdoorknob]

Hello! Ur current event is really cool! I'd like to request a box decorated with wrapping paper, dark chocolate (with Tsukishima), filled with nutella and raspberry creme, thanks :D

Hello hello!! Welcome to da event!!

Thank you so much for your request!

I hope you enjoy!!

CW UNDER THE CUT: Mentions of pee (This will make sense!!!)

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑥 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙�� 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 ❤︎

One of the best, but also worst, jobs in the world is to babysit. You’re in charge of a child you barely speak to, and they’re just an absolute gremlin. Your mother’s family friend was going out for the night and needed someone to watch her 5 month old. Luckily enough, you managed to drag your boyfriend into babysitting with you for the night…

“Pleeeeeeease.” You whined, begging Tsukishima to come help you, “I’ll give you a cut of the earnings!” You said with hope in your eyes.

“Oooh a measly four dollars.” Kei replied with a faux amused look on his face.

“Honey, please! I don’t know anything about taking care of a baby!” You draped yourself over the boy who was currently seated on the club room floor, “I might just die! The little guy and I could enter a dangerous situation at any time and-“

“Alright, alright fine! I’ll help.” Your boyfriend yelped as you fell over into his lap.

The two of you arrived late in the evening, ready to hopefully just put the baby down and have an evening to yourselves. Unfortunately, your mother’s friend had a whole list of bizarre things that had to be done either to the baby or in relation to the baby.

When the two parents had left, you and Tsukishima immediately got to work. The conditions were not ideal, but the little baby boy was sweet. The list was absolutely torturous, but the contents seemingly made sense.

You decided to take changing duty. You figured that since you dragged your boyfriend here, the least you could do was take the difficult job. For now, it was just you and the babe one-on-one.

“Okay, little guy. Shall we begin?” You ask, removing the velcro straps, then the diaper itself.

While reaching for a fresh diaper, you made the biggest rookie mistake…

Upon hearing his name screamed, Kei Tsukishima ran faster than he had ever done so before. While clearing corners and stomping around in his socked feet, nearly falling numerous times, his mind rushed to the worst.

He reached the baby’s nursery with a slightly red face and while panting. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

You didn’t reply, you only stood dumbfounded as your face fell into a pout.

“Woah wait… are you crying?” Your boyfriend asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“He fucking peed on me.” You said in a soft voice, hiccups emitting from your throat.

Tsukishima chuckled as he grabbed a clean diaper from the pile, and to fresh wipes. “Scoot and listen.” Your boyfriend grabbed a clean diaper and a fresh wet wipe, he then begun to explain. “First step, open the clean diaper. Second step, take the dirty one off and hold the clean one up above his-”

“Why hold it up?” You asked with furrowed brows.

The all familiar sound of pee reached your ears once more…

“That’s why.”

Kei finished by giving the baby the clean diaper to play with while he wiped its butt. After, he quickly put the clean diaper on, and changed the little guy into some fresh jammies. All while you retreated to wash the pee off of your hands.

“That was awful.” You groaned, “…I need a hug”

Your boyfriend chuckled, and wrapped his arms around you “When we have a baby in the future, I’m never leaving you alone with them.” He finished his message with a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

Your heart leaped at the innocent comment, face flushing and excitement growing.

When it was time to put the little guy to bed, Kei volunteered to handle it. He put on his favorite classical pieces and gave the baby a bottle as he rocked it. Anytime the baby boy would fuss, Tsukishima would hum along to the music and hold the baby on his chest.

You waited patiently in the living room. Five minutes turned to ten, ten turned to thirty, thirty turned to an hour. The house was radio silent, but where was your boyfriend?

Creeping up the stairs, you wondered what had happened. When you reached the nursery, your heart warmed at the scene in front of you…

Both boys had fallen asleep on the rocker.

❣︎𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒’𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡❣︎

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————