#i love them when they're cute i love them when they're sweet i even love them when they're big ol messes.

[bluzebub19]

I have a request for how the Arcane characters (Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Heimerdinger, Ekko) look so that the reader can access their cuteness. Maybe they are doing or saying something to the reader and the reader suddenly starts hugging and petting them, calling them cute. How would they react to this?

Note: So... I'm the only one who thinks Heimerdinger is really cute. Why aren't there fanfics with him? Mysteries of life..

Arcane characters being called cute by their s/o while they're working

Writer's note: Thanks for requesting! It took longer than I expected because I kept deleting some of the dialogue from how cheesy and cringe it sounded lmao. Heimerdinger is not on my list of characters I write for, but I figured I'll write him this one time. I hope you don't mind that I also added Mylo, cuz why not?

Request/s: Open!

Warning/s: Get a dentist. This is some tooth-rotting fluff. Not proofread and english isn't my native language.

Character/s: Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Heimerdinger and Mylo

● Viktor tends to get lost in his work, mumbling equations or sketching out blueprints for his projects. You find this incredibly endearing, but not when he gets so absorbed that he forgets to eat or sleep.

● If you suddenly hug him or call him cute, he’ll freeze in shock at first. He blinks up at you as if you just said something in a language he doesn’t understand. Then, his cheeks will flush a light pink, and he’ll chuckles softly. “Cute is... not a term I hear often. But thank you."

● Over time, he grows more comfortable and secretly enjoys the affection. He may even lean into it, but he’ll never outright admit it. Instead, he might deflect with a shy smile and, “You should focus on more important matters."

● Yeah no, that's a sign for you to keep doing it.

● Jayce is the golden boy—confident, charming, and ridiculously handsome. He likes to appear professional and put-together, but you know him well enough to see through that exterior to the dorky, hardworking man beneath.

● When you hug him out of nowhere while he cooks and call him cute, he blinks for a second but chuckles as he turns to look at you. “Cute? Babe, I’m going for ruggedly handsome and sweet here. But I'll take it."

● Still, he's flattered and loves the affection you give him. And unlike Viktor, he's not afraid or shy to show you he wants more of it. He might pull you closer and say, "You're one to talk." He's a romantic and albeit cheesy guy.

● Now, you probably might be thinking about why and how is he cooking, but that's for another headcanon! (I just realized how I'm not even sure whose side am I on. Can he cook?? Cuz I feel like he can. But I also see him burning food-)

● Jinx, as we all know, is pure chaos, always working on something explosive or messing around. She has a habit of humming and singing off-key to herself while she works, which makes you think she’s oddly cute in her own... quirky way. To be honest, it’s hard not to find her enthusiasm contagious, even if it’s a little dangerous.

● One day, you catch her doing exactly that while painting her trademark designs on one of her grenades. The sight just makes you smile as you walk up and wrap your arms around her, telling her, “You’re so cute when you’re focused like this,” or something of the sort.

● She’ll throw her hands up and turn to look at you, trying to play off your compliment as a joke. “Woah, you might be crazier than me!" She grins and laughs softly, before making her voice sound more gruff, "Ya buttering up the author nightmares with your mooshy stuff!”

● But after her initial over-the-top reaction, she’ll soften. “Fine, soak it all in.” She shrugs and continues working. But deep down, she really loves the affection and she's getting more and more attached to you. You're giving her the kind of love that she thinks she never deserved in her life, so she really appreciates these little things you do. She might even snuggle up to you later, claiming it’s to “soak in all this ‘cute’ energy.”

● Oh, by the way, she'll make this happen a lot more often. By how, you ask? Well, by doing the same thing to you, of course! It becomes a little challenge betweem the two of you who calls the other one cute first and catching them off guard with it.

● Vi is all tough love and sass, but there’s a soft side she shows only to the people she really cares about. You notice this when she’s being protective or just in those peaceful moments when you're both alone together.

● If you call her cute, she’ll raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Cute? Babe, I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

● Later, she’ll definitely tease you about it, saying something like, “So, how’s it feel dating the cutest person in Zaun?” or "Am I still cute?" with a playful grin. She'll be teasing you and making you smile with that while she's half naked and flexing her biceps (she knows you love them), or when she just got done with a fight and is still holding her gauntlets.

● She loves it, don't let that teasing fool you.

● Heimerdinger is an adorable bundle of wisdom and fluff. You often catch him rambling about science with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile. Look at him! He's just adorable!

● One day, as he’s showing you a tiny contraption he just finished, you can’t help but reach out and pet his fluffy head, saying, “You’re the most cutest genius ever.”

● Heimerdinger chuckles, his mustache twitching with amusement. “Ah, well, I suppose I do have a certain charm about me, don’t I?”

● He pretends to be unaffected, but you notice the way his tail swishes slightly when you hug him. “I must say, your affection is quite... energizing! Perhaps I should study its effects further.”

● From then on, he might start subtly seeking out your affection—like casually leaning into your hand when you pet him or “accidentally” bumping into you while working.

● Ekko is talking to you about his plans for the Firelights while sketching upgrades for their hoverboards.

● You were quietly admiring him, the way his eyes light up and the focused furrow of his brows, when you suddenly blurt out, “You’re so cute when you’re focused.”

● He freezes for a second, then looks at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Cute? Me?” He grins, a soft laugh escaping. “You sure you’re not talking about yourself there?”

● He rubs the back of his neck, trying to act nonchalant, but the smile gives him away.

● “You’re not getting away with saying that,” he teases, leaning in to nudge you lightly with his shoulder. He goes back to doing his work before playfully adding, “But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just start believing it.”

● It's these little things that matters. These moments, even if simple, it gives him hope and motivation to make the world a better place. The way his eyes soften when you look at him in that moment, and how he lets his guard down just enough to show you he cares — it’s clear that, while he teases, he loves the attention, and he loves you even more for it.

● Dude's got lines fr fr

● Mylo has always been the type of guy who had a sarcastic, sassy remark ready. We all know that from how he treated Powder.

● When you suddenly hug him and call him cute, he freezes for a second, unsure of how to react. “Cute? Me?” He scoffs, trying to play it cool, but it's very obvious he's a bit flustered by it. “Out of all the compliments you could’ve picked, you went with cute? I’m more like... cool, and handsome.” He throws a dramatic, exaggerated pose, trying to hide his nervousness.

● Despite his teasing, there's a small, pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tries to act nonchalant, but the way he keeps glancing at you shows how much he’s secretly enjoying it.

● “Seriously, though. I’m cool, alright?” he continues, trying to regain his confidence. “I don’t do cute. But, uh... thanks. I guess.” He says softly as he shrugs, clearing his throat.

● Later on, when no one’s watching, you might catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a small smile on his face, clearly still flattered.

Can you guys guess which is my favorite based on how long their headcanons are

[morningsharksworld]

I wonder what Haz wound be like if his SO got pregnant. Like imagine his big ol hands holding a tiny little baby.

How hazard would be with a pregnant S/O

Hazard would probably be a mix of awe, nervousness, and overwhelming protectiveness when he finds out his SO is pregnant. At first, he'd be stunned—this isn't something he thought would happen, but once it sinks in, he'd be fiercely devoted to ensuring everything is perfect.

His personality would take a softer turn, especially around his SO. He'd become hyper-vigilant, making sure they're comfortable, safe, and well-cared for. Whether that means running out at odd hours to grab whatever craving strikes or gently scolding them for overexerting themselves, Hazard would be all in.

When the baby finally arrives, seeing him with such a tiny, fragile little being in his big hands would be an adorable contrast. He'd handle them like they're made of glass, his gruff exterior melting as he whispers to the baby or rocks them to sleep. Hazard might not admit it outright, but he'd spend hours just staring at the baby in disbelief, marveling at the fact that something so small could mean so much.

Despite his tough-guy persona, he'd be completely smitten—probably to the point where anyone who so much as jokes about the baby gets a death glare. He’d still carry his usual edge, but now with an added layer of “don’t mess with my family.”

(Lil Scenario cuz why not 👹)

The soft hum of the television was the only sound in the room as Hazard dozed on the couch, one arm slung lazily over his eyes. The day had been long, and he’d finally allowed himself to relax. But his peace was shattered when he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps.

He cracked an eye open to see you standing in the doorway, hands resting on your growing belly, a determined look on your face.

“Hazard” you said firmly.

He groaned, covering his face with his hand. “What now, love? I’m tryin’ tae sleep.”

“I need strawberries. Dipped in chocolate. And some salty chips.”

Hazard let his hand drop, staring at you in disbelief. “Strawberries? In the middle o’ the night? Ye ken the shops are closed by now, aye?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “The baby wants them. Are you going to deny your own child?”

“Ach, there it is��� he muttered, sitting up with a sigh. “Blamin’ the bairn again, are ye? Not like ye weren’t the one who ate half a jar o’ pickles this mornin’.”

“Hazard!” You whined, your pout deepening.

He groaned as he got to his feet, running a hand through his messy hair. “Right, fine. Strawberries, chocolate, an’ chips. Salty ones, no sweet. Anythin’ else while I’m out wanderin’ the city like some daft idiot?”

Your face lit up with a smile. “That’s all. Thank you.”

“Aye, aye” he muttered, grabbing his coat. He paused at the door to shoot you a smirk. “Ye’re lucky yer cute, else I’d tell ye tae wait till mornin’.”

====

It took him longer than he’d like to admit, but Hazard returned triumphantly, carrying a bag of goodies. He’d even managed to find a 24-hour café that sold freshly dipped chocolate strawberries, though he’d had to endure the strange look the barista gave him.

He dropped the bag on the counter and held up the small container of strawberries. “Here ye go, love. Freshly dipped strawberries, chips, an’ a bonus bar o’ chocolate for good measure. Don’t say I never do anythin’ for ye.”

You gasped, taking the strawberries with a grin. “You’re amazing. Thank you so much!”

“Aye, amazing’s one word for it” he muttered, watching as you bit into a strawberry with a contented sigh. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “Ye’re lucky I love ye. Or I’d have left ye tae dream about these bloody things instead.”

You smiled at him, your eyes soft. “You’re going to be such a good dad, you know that?”

His ears turned red, and he quickly looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Ach, don’t get sappy on me now. Eat yer strawberries afore they melt.”

But as you laughed and continued to eat, Hazard’s lips curled into a faint smile. Maybe all the late-night runs and strange cravings weren’t so bad after all.

[aleisters]

i am making the sappy post about darby, finally.

the shoot love in wrestling is something that really gets to me. and it really gets to me with darby because he's a quintessential underdog. like, shoot he used to be a loner and honestly kind of a loser and a guy with an ugly personality. he can be awkward and stuttering and lisping and he has a really fucking mixed bag of tattoos.

if you go back and watch old interviews with him, he's borderline extremely unpleasant, he's rude and obnoxious, it's often demonstrably clear that he's not happy for some reason or another. he's never really mean to the interviewer, but "shows up to the facetime interview from his bed" is like. okay.

but after he joined aew, he started getting better. for the past year and a half especially he's become someone you can trust with things. he's smiley, he doesn't talk deep and slow to account for his lisp anymore. he's trusted to do things, to do media interviews, to carry around belts, to say he wants to be world champ, to represent aew in the climbing of mount everest. tony khan is paying for some (if not all?) of his mountain climbing training. that's insane.

and i don't think you get who darby is today - outwardly generous (he has random people staying with him all the time, to learn to wrestle, to lose weight with his help, whatever they want), smiley and friendly and personable - without the shoot love. you don't have who darby is today without the fact that tony khan believes in him so much. without his idolisation of jon moxley, and that moxley believes in him for real too. you don't get it without darby being trusted to work with sting - sting! the iconic wrestler sting! and then sting trusting darby's opinion that sting can return to in-ring wrestling (instead of just cinematic amtches). in the present, darby is training sting's son to wrestle. all of that is love.

there's love with the bucks too, who wanted to hire him, who love that he skateboards and stuck up for him incorporating that into his gimmick. who have wanted to wrestle with him before and then got to do that multiple times this year. darby who appears in the background of bte doing stuff like building skateboards for matt. who nick does all the primary checking-on during stunts in their matches. darby can't manage to kayfabe say a bad word about them, he's like "yeah the bucks hired me and i'm so grateful for everything they've done and they're amazing. btw they suck yeah boo hiss evps" it's fucking... cute...

and darby and brody have such a long and deep friendship that they can't wrestle without brody making some proclamation about how they're going to do it forever. brody has a tattoo about darby. eddie kingston had darby for about 1 match before becoming a Ruffling His Hair guy. adam copeland went one step further and said i'd had this boy for one match and i'm going to cuddle him and kiss him on tv. ridiculous sweet stuff.

i'm not putting darby on a pedestal, because he's fallible and imperfect and he's done weird and bad stuff, but i'm not using this post to talk about something that requires a genuine nuanced conversation, i'm using it to talk pathetic and wax romantic about my number one favourite wrestler.

i think he is one of those people who you can really shoot see the development of from an unfriendly gremlin into like, a gremlin that everyone loves for some reason. everyone around him loves him and wants to give him good opportunities and he pays that back so much, as often as possible. he does it by being the pinch hitter when nobody else is right for it, even at the expense of his own body. he does it by raising money for the skateparks that saved him as a kid. he does it by looking after the people around him - making sure his parents never have to work again. he does it by wrestling well, at the top of his game and still improving.

and i'm soft and i believe that love did all that. i think without the people who love him he'd still be a weird off-putting little mess.

and i hope 2025 is his year. i wanna see him at the top of every mountain he wants to climb.

[simplepotatofarmer]

i love your fake marriage au! it's funny and sweet, crivals are cute in it. :D

what happens when they tell everyone about their "marriage"?

thank you!! i love how silly they are <3

but good question!

c!phil definitely is suspicious about the 'fake' part of the thing because as much as c!techno says it's for the bit, well. but he's also never known techno to be, like, into relationships? so maybe he's just reading things wrong. but he's absolutely not even a little surprised when the truth comes out.

c!ranboo, who has his own weird marriage for tax benefits, is like 'hmmm yes yes i see' and then has a tiny freak out about the whole thing because he couldn't have picked anyone else to get fake married to??

the person who goes absolutely off the rails is c!tommy because he knew it. he knew it the entire time that something funny was going on between them and is telling everyone who will listen that they're married and *retches dramatically* kiss. which actually kinda helps their cause a little when people are like 'hmm ARE you actually together' because they can both claim that beyond spousal privilege and The Bit, they're doing it to screw with tommy.

[sapphicideas]

thoughts on brats?

yeah, all the time. i literally never stop thinking about brats.

the way they look at me with those big, innocent eyes when they're misbehaving, like they don’t already know what’s coming. that's why they always have that stupid smirk on their face, and it only makes me want to ruin them even more.

i think about bending a brat over my knee the moment she starts acting up. pulling up her skirt only to find her in those cute lace panties that i love. because she knew she’d end up like this, sooner or later.

i'd start with light, teasing smacks, watching her squirm in pleasure. then i'll spank her harder and faster until she's crying and begging like the desperate little thing she is. 'please' she'd whimper, 'i'm sorry, i'll be good, i swear'. but we both know she won't resist pushing my buttons again, so i'd just ignore her and smack her cute little ass even harder. just what she deserves for lying to me.

brats that act up so they can get a rough punishment? i just tease them, nice and slow. i'd pin her wrists above her head, planting soft kisses on her neck, deliberately denying her that roughness she craves until she's apologizing for being a bad girl. begging so prettily for me to ruin her. when she's had enough, i'd grip her hard enough to leave some sweet bruises that i'll kiss later. i'd lick every inch of her skin until she's shaking and mumbling incoherently, right before rolling her over and burying my strap deep inside her wet little pussy. fucking her rough, tugging on her hair as i tell her how much of a slut she's being. all that while reminding her this is how a slutty brat like her deserves to be treated.

so yeah i guess you could say i kinda don't mind brats? as you can see, they're not my favorite thing in the world at all.

[koalapastries-writes]

loscar and/or bearnelli reaction to seeing their partners top surgery scars?

🥄

loscar bc i've written a lot of bearnelli the past few days lol and have a few more bearnelli things in the inbox <3

they knew you were trans, obviously—for safety reasons, you'd told them over text before you even agreed to go out with them. it doesn't make a difference for either of them—they're both so head over heels in love with you that you could probably tell them you were an axe murderer and they'd still be like "😍😍😍 pretty boy 😍😍😍".

i actually think the first time would probably be an accident? like you're all cooking together (*cough* you're cooking while logan and oscar are given little tasks *cough*) and you spill flour or something on your shirt. you're pretty used to being home alone with your boyfriends off racing most of the year. which means you don't usually need to worry about wearing a shirt. so, out of habit, you just pull the shirt over your head, toss it into a corner, and keep cooking.

you don't see how oscar and logan are staring. you don't even realize it's their first time seeing your scars until it's far too late.

maybe you panic a little. maybe you don't. either way, they're so sweet about it. logan will probably ask if he can touch and just lightly run his fingertip down the length of one of your scars in awe. oscar looks like he's a webpage experiencing an error 404: reaction not found. he's just staring at your chest with his lips slightly parted and a very cute dumb expression. when he snaps out of it, he'll start babbling about how good they look, how good you look ... he'll take a short detour to talk about how good logan looks, but then he's back on you.

it definitely becomes a new part of their night routine to take turns kissing every inch of your scars before any of you go to sleep.

[sysig]

Still a thief at heart, stealing kisses (Patreon)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Listen I love FL he's such a scrunkly hehehehe such a blorbo, very happy shapes for my neuro divergent brain

My wife has joked to some of our friends that she's 86% sure that I'm a cryptid because of various factors (from being able to see well in complete darkness without any issues, calming down feral animals by just talking to said animal for a minute, etc).

And I'm thinking about FL with a reader that has cryptid energy and thinks he's just the cutest little guy ever hehehe like they're pretty weird in their own regard but they have a lot of heart and somehow have befriended lots of creatures throughout the world (from the regisvines to hilichurls to weenuts to the mushroom creatures, they're all about making friends)

*claps hands* hoyoverse make a character who is friends with Abyss Mages in a wholesome way, do it!!

you and Childe would get along famously since you both have a mischievous streak- when he's not on the clock, of course. your favorite activity is popping out from the shadows when he least expects it, acting like you've been there the whole time when you definitely weren't! he also adores how you become friends with any creatures you run across, ranging from cats all the way to the monsters of the wilderness (he swore he once saw you using an Abyss mage as a pillow), so he's not worried about introducing you to Foul Legacy at all

Foul Legacy, on the other hand, IS worried- what if he's the exception, the one monster you find terrifying? he wants you to like him as much as he likes you!! so when Childe finally allows him to meet you, he instantly tries to lower his head so he appears more friendly, less intimidating. luckily his worries are for naught, because you think he's the cutest, most beautiful beast you've ever seen, laughing with delight and cupping his cheeks so you can plant a kiss on his forehead. now whenever you happen to see Foul Legacy you immediately run towards him, hoisting yourself onto his shoulders so you can mess with his hair and horns, putting little flowers that you found earlier in his ginger locks

you both give shiny rocks to each other as gifts :)

[numberonetribble]

Stuck at my mom's house until the 27th, can't finish the comic I was working on until then :( here's a rough Cowboy!pinup sketch of Bumblebee and some Breakbee + Piston angst:

[longagoitwastuesday]

Going through the Utahim.e tag had me checking several times if at some point I had clicked on the G.ojo/Utahim.e one instead

[bmpmp3]

the really beautiful landscape/skyscape animation in makoto shinkai's works tends to be the big thing i see focused on and that is understandable and deserved like the weather and lighting effects are unREAL but i do think we should also appreciate how absolute insane the plotlines of his original movies get. at least two movies with in universe catastrophes with major ecological implications. the guns and explosions. theres that one movie i havent seen yet with the guy who turns into a chair (?)

[bamgeut]

do you ever remember random people from your past and start wondering how they're doing now

[noxtivagus]

rinoa n squall i love them so much they're the cutest 🥺

[articskele]

This man got me listening to All I Want For Christmas Is You in the middle of May I'm so done for

[arminsumi]

Another geto size kink vanilla smut please. I can't get enough. I always go back to reread yours it's so good

Oh, boyfriend Geto Suguru and his petite girl — who he's obsessed with.

+ warnings; size kink, panty-humping, some dirty talk

+ an; omg this was so yum to write, thank you for reminding me that Geto Suguru + a size kink exists 😋💗

Bf!Geto who's got one enormous hand resting on the small of your back during parties, his straight lips twisting into a grin when he looks down at you — a dirty grin that gets you tingly all over. Oh his heart lurches when you crane your neck to look back at him. As he commented when the two of you first met three years ago, "It's cute that you have to put in so much effort to look up at me."

... and pre-bf!Geto who used to randomly whisk you off your feet, big biceps twitching and flexing against your sides, as a 'joke' — yeah, yeah, it was just to surprise you. But he just wanted to have a sweet small girl in his arms, and wanted to show off how strong he was.

Just standing behind him and seeing his big broad back worked your imagination — how d'you think he'd look from the back while driving into your sloppy hole, how his muscles would flex?

And you know, Suguru was always aware each time you were staring even though you thought you were little miss slick, so of course he straightened out his posture — he had to remind you that he hits that 6'3 mark!

Bf!Geto's favorite thing is rubbing his thick fingers up and down your tiny clit through your innocent pink panties, making you shiver and twitch and whine in response to the subtlest friction as he's got you bent over his black-sheeted bed. It makes him smirk, it makes his cock stand stiff and upright in his pants, leaky cockhead dripping precum against his inner thigh.

It's in this bed that bf!Geto loves eating you out — of course, he likes to get you impatient, taking his time tying his hair up until you tug at the hem of his shirt and practically pull him into you for a hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that he just melts into. In minutes he's sliding down, big rough n' calloused hands prying your thighs apart, dragging you closer to his face like you weigh nothing — because you do weigh nothing to a big boy like him.

You're especially reminded of his size kink when he thumbs your pussy lips apart, or when he stuffs his thick fingers inside you, rubbing against your favorite spots like it's just a fun little game for him. Or when he thumbs your actual lips apart to explore your mouth a bit before sliding his fingers in — "Get 'em wet for me, baby." he murmurs, eager to feel your tiny mouth.

Bf!Geto loves squishing his cock against your slit, dividing your soft lips until they sandwich him. Of course, he acts so nonchalant, blowing his hair out of his face as he looks down at the pretty sight of your pussy getting dwarfed by his thick girth.

When his black, sultry eyes drift up to meet yours, you feel your stomach drop and your face heats up.

"Feel me pulsing, baby?" he teases, "Aw, sorry, I didn't mean to make you shy. No, come on, don't be shy — " he giggles, leaning in for a fat kiss. "You're so cute."

As the thick middle of his cock's sliding through your folds, his free hand meets yours and pins it down, holds it tight — did you see that? Did you catch the glimpse of his bicep twitching when he squeezed your hand?

bf!Geto still goes crazy each time you grind your pussy back on his cock as if it's the first time all over again. He lets out a hot breath, presses his cockhead tightly against your hole, and rubs so hard through your thong that he half-fucks it into your gushing pussy. They're totally ruined with gooey cum and sticky juices by the time he's done obsessively rubbing his cock against you.

And bf!Geto loves your tiny thongs, loves pulling them back and letting them snap against your holes when he's got you in reverse cowgirl.

And he just simply loves how much smaller your clothes are. When you and him weren't dating yet, he'd let you wear his big t-shirts or hoodies for sleepovers — only to choke and drool the next morning over the sight of little you in his big clothes.

bf!Geto's got thick, thick muscular thighs that press into the back of your plush, smaller thighs. And his long legs? He loved flirting joking "... I think I'm too tall for you — yeah we'd have a hard time having sex, huh?" long before you and him were dating.

And it's true. It's pretty difficult, getting railed by a 6'3 thick-muscled boy like him — that's why sometimes he just resorts to lifting you and fucking you while standing, weighting you against the wall with his whole body and each thrust of his cock.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Hi, hello, I'm here to scream a little about another Psychomanteum Snack. I still have A LOT of screaming to do about the series as a whole (which I finished the other night and was wholly and entirely blown out of my bones by) but for now we're sticking to the snick snacks. And boy oh BOY was this one a TREAT! (Make sure you have a glass or six of water handy for this one, friends. And maybe a fan or a cooling towel. You'll need it.)

Listen. I love these two a completely non-normal amount. I love them for the way they get inside each others' hearts and make each other open up and flourish and see brightness, and for the way they aren't afraid to be silly together and how they openly express their feelings and fears over time and how they put so much trust - like, metric tons of trust - in each other, and for the way that they go out of their way to make the other smile or laugh or feel loved. Just, you know, for starters.

BUT. I also love them for the dirty, nasty, filthy, kinky little sluts they are, UNHOLY FUCK.

I love the idea of this strangers at a bar scenario for them and how it lets Lua experience roleplay in a way that doesn't put too much pressure on her to "stay in character". It's still fantasy because their relationship never had a bar hookup stage, but it's not foreign because this was what both of them were doing (separately) when they met, and even more familiar for Lua, because she gets to be the boss. ;)

I am living for the fact that Dieter wants to be "chewed up and spit out" by her because he finds it hot. And it is hot, that kind of confidence. And honestly I could not fucking say no to anything he wanted to try because he's so fucking worshipful and grateful about it.

YOU USED THE ICONIC DIETER DO YOU WANNA HAVE SEX WITH ME LINE. And then all that dirty talk from him. I think I would fall off my stool. In fact, I'm a clumsy bitch so I know I would. Also? What happens in that bathroom is iconic in its own right. SHEESH.

On top of the smokin' hot smut and the playful/dirty flirting and the way that these two just SEE each other so clearly, I just want to point out how much I love the depth you put into every scene. Not just in the actions, thoughts and dialogue of the characters, but also in the layers of details that you create. It's always so tactile and visual, even when what we're looking at is a graffiti covered bathroom in a dimly lit dive bar. It's very dimensional and it's incredible.

This was suuuuuuuuch a fun detour and only made me love these two even more.

acting lesson

pairing: dieter bravo x ofc louella

Summary: Dieter convinces you to roleplay with him.

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Content Tags/Warnings: LDR, roleplay, bar, drinking alcohol (casual), dirty talk, swearing, public bathroom sex, D/s elements, fluff, impact play, pet names, hair pulling, blow job, unprotected piv sex, graffiti, football mention

Word Count: 4.3k+

Notes: In the Psychomanteum universe between Ch 12 & 13. Could be read as a one-shot. Based on this ask from @frannyzooey:

Dieter and Lou — roleplay He’s an actor, she’s….not 👀👀 How does he indulge her? ❤️

The idea first came up during one of your many phone calls with Dieter.

It was the kind of call that works as a surrogate for sitting in the room together, despite the some-odd 2,600 miles keeping you apart. Comfortable silences between organic conversation, running parallel to your evening routines. In LA, Dieter hummed to himself while rifling through his kitchen cabinets for snacks. In New York, you stared at up the marigold painting hung above your bed, and you asked him, “How do you act?”

“When I’m with you, like a fool.”

His voice purred through your phone speaker, low and warm. Heat bloomed in your chest and crept up your neck.

You giggled, “I mean, like, for your job. How do you do that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I try to channel the character and pretend to be them. You ever do plays in school or anything like that?”

“In fourth grade I got to play a munchkin in The Wizard of Oz. I had one line and I completely butchered it.”

He laughed, “Seems about right.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You’re just… very good at being yourself,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his words, “It’s not a bad thing, doll. I like that about you.”

A smile spread across your face. You hummed in acknowledgement.

“If you want, I can show you how I do it. Give you an acting lesson. You could be my scene partner,” he lowered his voice an octave, “We could make it fun.”

Something about this pricked your skin with excitement. You twisted a strand of hair around your finger and smirked, “How’s that?”

“Have you ever done roleplay?”

“Oh no,” you laughed, shaking your head, “I would be terrible at that—”

“Wait wait wait, hear me out,” he protested, “What if you got to play yourself?”

You quietly pondered this, then asked, “Who would you be?”

“I would be… a stranger at a bar. You’d just have to play along,” he rumbled, “Treat me like one of your hookups.”

Warmth trickled down your spine and pooled between your legs. You licked your lips and traced your collarbone over your shirt, “You’ve thought about this before.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea. It could be… hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe next time I see you,” you conceded.

And so, this morning, while sipping coffee together out on his patio, he brought it up again.

“Do you remember when we talked about… an acting lesson?”

Your eyebrow quirked and you glanced over at him, “You mean roleplay?”

He shrugged, draping an arm around your shoulders, working his thumb against the starfruit tattoo on your arm, “How do you feel about it?”

“I wondered what it would have been like to meet you like that.”

“Me too,” he said, then scooted closer and murmured, “You know, I’ve always thought that was something so fucking sexy about you. The way you chew men up and spit them out.”

“Really?” you studied him.

The corner of his mouth tucked up in a smirk. His gaze bore into yours, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Not you, though,” you brought your hand to his cheek and smoothed your palm along his cheek, “I like you.”

“No, not me,” he agreed, nuzzling into your touch, “But we can pretend. It’ll be an acting lesson, remember?”

“An acting lesson, yeah, that’s why you wanna do this. Not because you wanna fuck me in a bathroom stall, right?”

“It can be both,” he said, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile as you stared at him. His dark eyes flicked around your face, searching for an answer. When you released a reluctant sigh and frowned down into your coffee cup, he continued.

“I’ll give you some pointers beforehand, love. It’ll be fun. You just be you and pretend you don’t know me,” he purred, his voice growing lower and more persuasive, “I wanna see what it’s like to be used by you, Lua. Please. Let me be your piece of meat. Chew me up and spit me out.”

How could you say no?

When you step inside the door, it slams behind you. Outside, the sun still douses Los Angeles in daylight, but the underground bar shows no signs of it. Your eyes sting as they adjust to the darkness, and you find yourself momentarily blinded.

Slowly, things start to come into focus.

Neon beer signs and pucks of dim, golden light studding the low ceiling make their surroundings glow, reflecting off the dark wooden bar and high-top tables. A few clusters of people are scattered around at the tables, and one androgynous person sits at the bar, scrolling on their phone while taking occasional sips from a tall glass of beer. Over the speakers, “You Make Loving Fun” by Fleetwood Mac plays just a decibel too loud, but you have a feeling this is the standard music volume here.

It’s one of those places that seems unchanging. Static. You bet that if you walked in here at any moment, on any day, it would look and feel mostly the same.

You approach the bar and take a seat in one of the tattered barstools. Its red pleather sticks to your legs and back. One of the advantages and disadvantages of wearing your most fuckable dress: it’s really goddamn short.

“What’ll you be having tonight, miss?”

You look to the portly bartender and smile, “Vodka cranberry, please.”

He walks away, returning a minute later with your drink. You slide a twenty across the counter and thank him.

When the bartender brings you your change, he nods at the man pulling out the barstool next to you, who says, “Old fashioned.”

The bartender makes his drink and brings back your change. You leave a few bills on the rail as a tip, then lean back in your chair and look up at the TV. Two college football teams slam into each other on the screen.

The man sitting next to you is not discreet about his ogling. His eyes burn your skin, but you pay him no mind. You lift the drink to your lips and take a few quick gulps to hush the excitement bubbling up your neck.

He does the same, then you feel him lean towards you and ask, “Why do bars always play the most boring shit on TV?”

You look over at him, looking up and down his very expensive looking, and thusly very out-of-place, navy suit, obviously tailored just for him. The top three buttons are undone, revealing his smooth chest that gleams gold in the dim lighting. A lusty ache twists at your center.

You smirk and meet his deep brown eyes, “What, you don’t find the underlying threat of concussion-induced brain injuries to be exhilarating?”

The handsome “stranger” laughs, exposing this big, contagious smile, dimples tugging at his cheeks and everything, “I guess I never thought about it that way.”

You grin, staring down at your drink for a moment, then say, “I’ve found that if I go into it pretending it’s the first half of a horror story I’ll never know the ending to, it’s not as, umm,” a giggle escapes your throat, “fucking boring, y’know?”

“Wow,” he chuckles and shakes his head, “I’m not sure if I want to run for the hills or ask for your hand in marriage.”

“The first option is probably safer,” you wink, then take a sip of your drink.

His gaze lingers on you for a beat before he stammers, “I’m Diego, by the way.”

“Louella,” you take his outstretched hand and shake it.

He holds it there, grazing his thumb along your knuckles before pulling back, “What brings you out tonight? Meeting friends or something?”

You tilt your head at him, dragging your eyes across the broad expanse of his body, “Just, you know… seeing what’s out there.”

His throat rumbles and he drops his gaze to your lips, “Find anything?”

“Maybe,” you grin and take a sip of your drink, “What about you, Diego?”

“What about me?”

“You’re here, having a drink, talking to me. Is your evening going as you’d hoped?”

“Much better, actually,” he murmurs, leaning close, “Didn’t think I’d come across someone as gorgeous as you.”

You smile, and find yourself restraining laughter. Not because he’s doing bad or anything, but because he’s doing so good.

“Quite the smooth-talker, aren’t you?”

He grins, bobbing his shoulders in a shrug, “Is it working?”

At this, you do laugh. You tuck your hair behind your ear and depart from his lustful gaze, glancing down at your drink. A wide palm slides onto your back, warming the skin between your shoulder blades. The magnetic force of his body drawing close makes your breathing stutter.

“Listen,” his voice seems to melt, low and heated, into your ear, the baritone dripping down your spine, pooling between your legs, “If this is too forward, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but… do you want to have sex with me?”

You turn to find him just inches away, hooded eyes dark and heavy with want, flitting around your face like he’s brainstorming ways to make it contort with pleasure. You love seeing him like this. Needy. Aching. Putty in your hands.

“Tell me what you want to do to me, Diego,” you tell him in a throaty whisper, “And I’ll consider it.”

A flash of his pink tongue breaches his lips. He glances around as he scoots his barstool closer, knee brushing against yours, and murmurs in your ear, “As far as the venue goes, we have a couple options. Bathroom, out back, in my car—”

“Romantic,” you tease.

He raises an eyebrow at you, dragging his gaze from your face, down your neck, following the curve of your body, “But you don’t want romance, do you, Louella? That’s not why you’re here.”

“Oh yeah?” you tilt your head and bat your lashes at him, “Then why am I here?”

His throat rumbles. He leans so close, his breath scatters across your cheek when he says, “You’re here because you want to get fucked. Hard, preferably. You want me to bring you into that disgusting bathroom and stretch your sweet little cunt out with my fat cock, isn’t that right? You want me to squeeze your tits and use my teeth. You want it to hurt, not a lot, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make you feel something. Enough to make you feel… real,” he pauses here, smirking at you, licking his lips as he drops his gaze to your mouth, “Hmm? Isn’t that right, Louella?”

You swallow hard and nod, and realize you’re holding your breath. When you draw air in, it’s shaky and subdued.

“Will you let me do that for you?”

His touch trails up your bare leg and makes you shiver.

“Yes.”

He stands from the barstool and takes a cursory glance around, then nods at you, “Lead the way.”

Miraculously, the bathroom at this shitty dive bar is one of those no-stall, single-toilet situations with a deadbolt to keep the outside world at bay.

Dieter guides you through the threshold with his hand at the small of your back. You peer around the small, dim room, studying the graffitied black tile walls. Colorful tags, crudely drawn dicks, and witty remarks surround you on all sides. The scent of bleach burns your nostrils, which is a little disorientating, but you suppose it’s better than the alternative.

The lock clicks in place behind you.

When you turn to look at him, he’s already burying his fist in your hair and pushing your cheek against the cool tile wall. You gasp with surprise at the force he uses, exhaling a giddy laugh, and he murmurs in your ear, “What’s your safe word, baby?”

Your eyes dart around for inspiration, and you focus in on a cartoon giraffe wearing sunglasses, a cigarette dangling from his lips, next to a word bubble that reads: Giraffiti is cool!

“Giraffe.”

“Giraffe,” he repeats, and you nod as much as his grasp on your hair will allow.

He slides your skin-tight dress up to your waist and yanks your underwear down to your ankles, rumbling, “Fuck, look at this ass.”

His palm slides warm and gentle across one cheek, then he digs his fingers into the soft flesh and groans when you whimper. He lets go, and the deep, bruising grip is quickly replaced with a sharp, hard slap.

A gasp expands your lungs as heat tingles across the site.

“How’s that?”

“Fucking perfect,” you breathe, eyes drifting closed, mouth falling open. He does it again, same spot. Smack. This time you moan.

When he releases your hair, you stay where you are, with your hands and face all smushed up against the tile. He smooths gentle circles into your unmarred ass cheek. When it draws away, you flinch in anticipation, and he chuckles, “Too hard?”

“No.”

It’s followed by another smack, by pain and heat, and you hiss, “Fuck yes.”

His throat makes this noise that’s somewhere between a growl and a moan. He slides his hand around your front, between your legs, and he purrs, “You fucking love this, don’t you, Louella?”

“I do,” you whimper at his soft, exploratory touch, at the gentle way he spreads your arousal up and down your wet, hot middle. Fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and hold there. The contrast between his two hands is excruciating.

“What’s my name?”

Not thinking, you exhale, “Dieter.”

His gentle hand freezes against you. The other lays down a sharp smack that burns your skin and makes you whimper. He grinds out, “That’s not my fucking name. What’s my name?”

“Diego.”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he coos, putting the hand against your pussy in motion, tracing around your clit, not touching it directly, flooding your body with a tingling, frustrated kind of excitement that makes your heart race and your breathing quicken.

You reach down and grab his wrist, pressing his hand into you harder, rolling your hips against it, and moan at the pressure it relieves.

He yanks his hand away from your grasp and buries it in your hair, pulling the strands taught, smacking your ass again, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Please,” you pout, arching your hips back towards him, “Please fuck me, Diego.”

All the air leaves his lungs and scatters across your back.

“Louella,” he rumbles, and all your insides clench at his low, patient cadence, at the way your name vibrates off his lips onto your shoulder, then he says, “You are fucking demanding, aren’t you?”

“No—”

Smack

A hot, searing pain from your battered ass cheek makes you gasp, then whimper. Arousal shoots up your spine. Your cunt aches with need.

“I’ll be patient—I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, Diego, please—”

“That’s it,” he coos, “You’re gonna be my little slut, hmm? Let me fuck you the way I want?”

“Yes.”

The word comes out with a throaty, needy force, almost a fucking sob. You want him so bad it hurts. He chuckles at this, at how fucking desperate you are right now.

“Get on your knees, baby.”

He releases you and steps back. You turn to face him, holding his lust-blown gaze as you drop to your knees like he asked.

“Show me how bad you want it.”

You nod in understanding, your shaky hands clambering at his belt buckle, unzipping his slacks, the mechanism all strained with the force of his bulge. You pull his pants and briefs down with a frantic kind of energy that makes him hum with amusement as he watches you.

His cock bobs out as his pants fall to his feet. You admire it for a moment. How it’s so thick and swollen and twitchy with need, delicate skin pulled taught, a sticky little bead of arousal sprouting up at the tip. You test its weight in your palm, grinning when you look up and see Dieter’s lips part and his eyelids flutter.

“That’s it, baby, show me how bad you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy.”

You open your mouth, batting your eyelashes up at him as you drag your tongue up his length. Again and again, painting his cock with your saliva, using flat, firm strokes, until it’s shiny and soaked with spit.

He moans when you stretch your lips out around him, rolling your tongue against the tip, the salty, heady dribble of pre-cum smearing into your tastebuds. You slide your lips further down his shaft and start to suck him off at a steady rhythm, bobbing your head along his length.

“Oh my fucking god,” he gasps, eyebrows threading together, nodding down at you, “You’re so fucking good at that. Do you like sucking cock, baby, hmm?”

You look up to meet his eyes, mouth all full and stretched out from him, and answer anyway, “Mhmm.”

“Fuck yes you do—you fucking love it, don’t you?”

You pull off of him, replacing your mouth with your hand, jerking him off as you whine, “Yes I do, I fucking love it—”

He grabs your hair and forces his cock back in your mouth, gritting out, “Did I fucking tell you to stop?”

A moan surfaces from your guts. His head rolls back and he twitches against your tongue. You take the length of his cock faster now, the stretched-out band of your lips slick and tingling. He pets your hair and holds your gaze, watching you with awe as you work, quiet groans falling from his parted lips.

The doorknob jiggles, then there’s a knock.

“Occu—”

You sit up higher to plunge your mouth down on him, jamming his cock down your throat. His mouth falls open and he moans while you move in short, quick strokes. A wet gurgling noise echoes off the tiles back into your ears.

There’s another jiggle. Another knock. A faint, feminine, “Hello?”

You pull off of him, gasping for air while you wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him as he hollers, “Occupied!”

A beat goes by while he stares at the door before he brings his focus back to you, shaking his head, kicking his pants off over his shoes, “Get up.”

Your underwear tangle around your heels and trip you up. By the time you yank them off and toss them aside, Dieter has grown impatient. He rips you off the floor by your armpits, pushing your back against the cool tile wall.

Beneath you, your shaky legs buckle, but he slips an arm around your waist to prevent you falling.

As if second nature, he looks you over and draws his body close, cupping your cheek with his palm.

And… fuck, the way he stares at you, with this warm, attentive gaze… you know he wants to kiss you. You know he wants to hold you close and whisper sweet somethings in your ear. He wants to tell you he loves you and that he’ll never stop loving you, forever and ever until he’s dust, and maybe even then, if dust has feelings.

It’s all Dieter, not Diego.

You grin and search his face, then whisper, “You broke character.”

He narrows his eyes for just a moment, as if trying to process what you said. When he realizes you’re right, this big amused smile spreads across his face and he chuckles, “You hush.”

You link your hands at the back of his neck, “We can rewind.”

His throat rumbles as he considers this, brushing his knuckles along the side of your face, glancing down at your lips. The grip around your waist tightens and his hips sway a little.

“You just wanna kiss me and make sweet, sweet love to me, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he grins, pressing his forehead against yours.

You giggle and comb your fingertips through his mess of curls, “You big softie.”

His smile falters a little and he shrugs, “Sorry.”

Your stomach twists.

“Hey, no,” you pull back enough to meet his eyes and shake your head, “It’s one of my very favorite things about you.”

He furrows his brow and blinks, “Really?”

“Yes,” you giggle, rubbing your palm against his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch and you tell him, “Diego is hot, but Dieter? My Dee? I fucking love him. And he’s hot.”

A bright, bashful smile spreads across his face. He meets your gaze with those loving, loving eyes and asks, “Can I fucking kiss you now?”

“Oh my god, plea—”

His lips cut you off, pressing into yours with passionate force. From its place pinned between your bodies, his cock twitches. He brings a hand to the back of your head and renews the kiss, pulling you closer, slotting his mouth against yours.

You whimper at the velvet of his tongue. The tug of his fingers clamping down in your hair. The persistent, pulsing current where your bodies meet.

The two of you seem to lose yourself here, in the heated kissing and touching and writhing, forgetting your presence in the restroom has a time limit.

Another knock on the door. Harder. Impatient.

Dieter parts from your swollen lips, his mouth a mess of your red lipstick, and hollers at the door, “Give me a minute!”

Then he turns back to you, his gaze all obsidian want, and mutters, “We better hurry before they ram the goddamn door down.”

“How do you want me?” you ask, batting your lashes at him, trailing a fingernail along his jawline.

“Just like this.”

Sometimes you forget how strong he is.

When he lifts your hips you let out a little yelp of surprise and hook your arms around his shoulders.

“Legs around my back, love, I got you,” he breathes. The wall bears some of your weight as you lean against it and wrap your legs around him. He settles in closer, shifting his hips under yours. The tip of his cock nudges your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks, caressing your cheek with the slope of his nose.

Normally, he has to work himself in slow. Let your body adjust to the stretch of him in increments. So you know what he means when he asks this.

But when you nod, and he loosens his grip to let gravity take you down, it still shocks you. The pain is immediate. And exquisite. You bury a deep, guttural moan into his shoulder and dig your nails into his skin. Your eyes flutter shut and you inhale a few sharp breaths.

“Fffffuck,” he hisses when you can go no further, “So fucking tight, holy fuck.”

All you can respond with is a whimper. He holds you here, impaled, not moving, as you start to relax around him and the pain condenses into a gooey ember right at the center of you.

“That’s it, love.”

His hips start to roll slow, dragging his cock along your walls, sending sparks up your spine.

“Fuck, Dee,” you gasp.

He snatches a kiss from your trembling lips and asks, “Too much?”

Your mouth gapes open with a ragged moan and you press your sweaty forehead into his, “Issss perfect—So fuuucking good—“

He lets out a raspy chuckle, “Listen to you, Lua, all fucking cock drunk, fuck—”

The laugh you release is delirious, and quickly devolves into moaning as he starts to fuck you faster. He’s not wrong. You feel disoriented and tingly, like you’ve been launched into space and you’re no longer on Earth, but on Planet Dieter.

You can tell he’s starting to unravel when he pants all kinds of filthy things against your frantic breathes, fueling the fire licking your insides, pulling you closer and closer to your ascent.

“You fucking love when I stretch your cunt out, don’t you doll? Hmm?”

You whimper and nod.

“Say it.”

“I—I fucking love w-when you stretch my cunt out.”

“Who’s my little slut?”

“I’m your little slut, Dee—oh, fuck—”

“That’s fucking right, baby,” he grunts, fucking you harder, faster. You clamber up his body, tugging on his hair, pulling him closer, gasping at the brilliant heat expanding at the base of your spine.

“Don’t fucking stop, don’t fucking stop, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” you sob, drawing one more sharp inhale before you fall off the edge, ecstasy shattering you into a thousand pieces, then bringing you back together whole.

“Fuck yes, baby, there we go—oh my fucking god—”

Dieter’s hips drive up into you with a handful of rough, deep thrusts, while your whole body shudders and you release a choked moan. His echoes alongside yours, harmonizing in this unrestrained, unmistakably feral noise.

Every ounce of pressure held under your sweat-drenched, tingling skin deflates.

“Holy fucking shit, Dee,” you pant, ripping your sticky legs away from his, trying to find solid ground.

He lowers you to your feet, and you both stumble back a little, chests heaving, grinning at each other like mad.

“God, I love you,” he says, shaking his head as he doubles over to catch his breath, then he glances around and mutters, “I need to lay down.”

Three hard bangs against the door make you both jump.

“Are you done fucking yet?”

Your wide eyes meet his for a terrified moment, then you both burst with laughter.

“Yeah, give us a second,” Dieter calls back, then scoops his pants off the ground. After adjusting your dress and collecting your underwear, you walk to the sink to wash your hands and notice something resting between the faucet and wall: a metallic silver sharpie.

A smile spreads across your face. You grab it and hold it up to Dieter, who’s buckling his pants, “Do you want to do the honors, or should I?”

He raises his eyebrows when he glances up at you, and when he realizes what you’re implying, grins like a madman, “May I?”

You hand him the sharpie and he finds an unmarred section of black tile on which to write the message, framing the words with a frilly Valentine’s Day heart: DEE + LUA 4EVA!