#hans x dieter

[scotchballs9]

Everyday I think about my OTPs (Freemorrow, Landastrom, Natsby, WinNix, etc) having happy lives and y’know one of them doesn’t FUCKING die

(WinNix is saved from my curse of picking ships that end with one of the characters dying)

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Inglourious Basterds

Sample Size: 263 stories

Source: AO3

[rurivu]

I love bastard's soooo much!!!!🛐

Bonus:Hans and Aldo dynamic

[thatluckystrudel]

Practice.

Movie: Love in Thoughts (Was nützt die Liebe in Gedanken). Bonus little major from Inglourious Basterds :)

[reitsportportal]

Marc Houtzager siegt im LONGINES GRAND PRIX Großer Preis der Landeshauptstadt Wiesbaden

[thetriumphantpanda]

congratulations on your amazing milestone my love 💜

this was nearly impossible to choose buuuut what if it was mirror sex and breath play with Dieter? what if that please?

WHAT IF I WROTE IT HAN?! WHAT THEN?! Heh. My first ever bit of Dieter writing so please be gentle with me, but I hope you enjoy regardless!

Thank you so much Han, I really appreciate the love! I think it was your reblog of my first Javi P mirror sex 👀 that made my followers explode a little, so thank you for always supporting me. 🧡

Pairing | Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4k

Warnings | Explicit, 18+ Minors DNI. Mentions of smoking weed, MIRROR SEX, breath play and unprotected PiV sex.

Part of my 1k Smut Sensation Celebration - if you want in, check here for details - I’m accepting requests through July 15th.

He’s bored. You both are. Dieter’s break from work seemed like a really good idea at the time. A chance for him to recoup after back-to-back projects and a chance for what was a new relationship between the two of you to have time to actually blossom. Neither of you had really thought about Dieter’s need to be constantly entertained, his fingers itching to do something. Anything. All the time. 

He'd woken up from his second weed-induced nap of the day about twenty minutes ago and was already up and pacing the room, taking books from your shelf to flick through hoping something would catch his eye, or channel surfing the TV to try and find something to capture his attention. On the forty-fifth click of the television remote, because you were keeping count, you lost it. 

Pushing yourself up from the couch, you grab hold of his wrist, “I can’t fucking take it anymore.” You mumble, pulling him up and dragging him down the hallway of your apartment. 

You didn’t really have a plan on what to do once you got here, but you push him by his shoulders into your room, pushing him back until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he tumbles backwards. He grabs hold of you at the last second, causing you to tumble down with him, ending up straddled above his hips. 

You bend forward and start trailing soft kisses across his jaw, feeling his hands come to your ass where they squeeze, enough to have you whining for more. You push back slightly and feel Dieter’s already half-hard cock through his plaid pyjama pants. You loved this, the way he was always so receptive to you. You shimmy down his body a little, letting your own clothed core grind down into him. 

“Fuck, baby,” He spits out, hands flying to your hips to help guide your movements, dragging you slowly to grind against his growing erection, “Can’t believe I get to fuck you as much as I want now.” 

“I think you’ll find this was my idea,” You grin, moving to rip your tank top over your head, nipples pebbling almost immediately in the cool air of your room, “And I’ve got an idea.” 

Dieter sits himself up, wrapping his arms around your back to bring his mouth to your tits. He’s running the flat of his tongue over a nipple, using his teeth to make tiny bruises on the delicate skin around them, before he switches to the other side. It drives you wild, how this man has absolutely zero patience in any other part of his life apart from this, where he will happily spread you out and tease you for hours before giving you want you really want. One of your hands is running through the messy curls on the top of his head, the other draped across his shoulders as you continue to grind yourself down on him. You can already feel your pussy soaking through the material of your pyjamas. 

“Well, go on then,” He insists, finally pulling away from your chest, “What’s your big idea, baby?” 

You extract yourself from your place on his lap, standing at the foot of the bed, shedding the last item of clothing you were wearing, “First of all, stand up and take your clothes of.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He shoots at you, before scrambling from the bed, t-shirt dragging over his head to join your pile of clothes on the floor. 

You know Dieter enjoys it when you boss him around like this. He likes being told what to do, how to please you best, what you like so he can do more of it and what you don’t like so he knows what to stop. He likes it when you ride him, using him to get yourself off being finally telling him he can come too. 

Watching closely as he pulls the plaid down his legs, a smirk on your lips when he grips his cock in his fist and starts pumping himself, the idea forming in your head is becoming more enticing by the second. You wordlessly walk over to the full-length mirror in the corner of your room, placing flat palms on the glass. You look over at Dieter, who is watching with glazed eyes and an open mouth as you push your ass out and spread your legs, “Well, come on, big boy,” You coax, “Come fuck me where I can watch.” 

He's behind you in minutes, spitting into the palm of his hand to coat his cock before he’s lining up with your entrance, slick from the work of his mouth on your tits, and pushing into you, slowly letting you take each and every inch of his cock until he’s buried inside you to the hilt. 

You’re making direct eye contact with yourself in the mirror, the sight of your mouth dropping open turning you on even more than you already were. Dieter lifts his head once he’s found his rhythm of slow, languid thrusts, smirking at the way you’re watching yourself. 

“Don’t I always tell you you’re the most beautiful when you’re getting fucked?” He groans into your ear, one of his hands coming to grip your chin to hold your stare steady in the reflection, “Believe me now, baby?” 

He’s picking up the pace now, you can hear the slap of skin as his hips meet the skin of your ass, and when he finally hits that sweet spot inside you, you practically sing for him, letting your eyes trail down the mirror to watch as your tits bounce with every thrust. It’s delectable, really, but it’s still not enough. 

You move one of your hands from the mirror to drag his from holding your chin, to holding your throat. You’re looking at his eyes in the mirror as the widen, his hips are getting sloppy but still manage to drive you insane. 

“Go on,” You encourage, “You can squeeze a little.” 

His wide palm is covering most of your neck, a thrill travels all the way down your spine as he does squeeze. It’s light and gentle, barely enough that you can feel it, but it’s enough to have your pussy clenching around him. 

“Harder,” You beg, and he pulls his cock almost all the way out before slamming back into, “No, Dieter, my neck, squeeze it harder.” 

He does another tentative squeeze, tightening the way his fingers are gripping the skin to the side of your neck, which moves the pressure of his palm. You can still breathe, but it’s enough for you now, a devilish giggle falling from your lip, “You like that?” He asks, having not let up with the bruising pace of his hips, “Like when I choke you?” 

He lets up the pressure so you can talk, “Love it,” You moan, and then he’s squeezing with a similar pressure again, “I fucking love it.” 

“Look at yourself,” He’s back at your ear, “Stuffed full of my cock and begging me to choke you,” He nips at your earlobe, “Put your fingers on your pussy and come for me, baby.” 

You don’t need to be told twice. You lock eyes with him in the mirror, sticking two of your fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue over them, much like you’d done on his cock the night before, before they’re between your legs and rubbing hard and fast circles over your clit. 

Dieter applies pressure to your throat again, his grip a little tighter than the last time, and you’re done. The pressure at your neck means you can do nothing by let a whine drop from your lips as pleasure bursts through your body to settle on every nerve ending you’ve got. Your legs feel like jelly, if it wasn’t for Dieter finally pulling his palm from your neck to hold your hips as he brought himself to the edge, you’d have fallen. 

He’s pulling himself out of you, fisting his cock a few times before you can feel the warm ropes of cum spilling over your lower back and your ass. You feel him run one of his fingers through the mess he’s made, before he’s bringing his fingers to your face and watching in the mirror as you suck the finger into your mouth, tasting him. 

“So fucking hot, baby,” He’s smirking, reaching down for the t-shirt he was wearing yesterday, thrown to the floor without a second thought, before he’s using it to wipe the rest of his cum from your skin, “You wanna get high and order noodles?” 

You turn around, letting your back hit the cool glass of the mirror as he kisses you, “Hell yeah, I wanna get high and order noodles,” You grin against his lips, “You’re rolling though.” 

[castielli]

How to request:

Send your request featuring the character you want, the plot (+ANGST, FLUFF…) and anything I need to know about the reader.

MASTERLISTS:

MOVIES/TV SHOWS

KDRAMA/KPOP

OCs PROFILE:

@nathan-ocs

Fandoms I write for under the cut!

——————————————

NCIS

Timothy McGee

Jimmy Palmer

Nicholas Torres

CRIMINAL MINDS

Spencer Reid

Penelope Garcia (platonic🫶)

Luke Alvez

CALL OF DUTY (MW/WWII)

John Price

Soap MacTavish

Ghost Riley

Gaz Garrick

Alex Keller

Alejandro Vargas

Phillip Graves

Vladimir Makarov

Rudy Parra

Red Daniels

William Pierson

Joseph Turner

Robert Zussman

Frank Aiello

Drew Stiles

SHAMELESS

Ian Gallagher

Carl Gallagher

Lip Gallagher

Mickey Milkovich

Kevin Ball

THE WALKING DEAD (+TELLTALE GAME)

Rick Grimes

Daryl Dixon

Glenn Rhee

Negan Smith

Shane Walsh

Lee Everett

Kenny

Doug

Mark

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington

Billy Hargrove

Robin Buckley (platonic)

Eddie Munson

Jim Hopper

Jonathan Byers

Peter/001

Jason Carver

Dimitri

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY (I still need to finish the last season😊)

Viktor Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

Number Five

Luther Hargreeves

Ben Hargreeves

SUPERNATURAL

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Crowley

Bobby (platonic)

Chuck

NOW YOU SEE ME

Jack Wilder

J. Daniel Atlas

Merritt McKinney

Dylan Rhodes

Chase McKinney

MARVEL (Avengers/X-men)

Wanda Maximoff

Tony Stark

Bruce Banner

Thor Odinson

Loki Laufeyson

Steve Rogers

Stephen Strange

Peter Parker (Tom/Andrew/Tobey)

Clint Barton

Deadpool

Bucky Barnes

Sam Wilson

Peter Quill

Quentin Beck/Mysterio

Eddie Brock/Venom

Druig

Ikaris

Charles Xavier

Erik Lehnsherr

Peter Maximoff

Wolverine

Scott Summers

Hank McCoy

Bobby Drake

Alex Summers

Phil Coulson

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockey

Scott Lang

Pietro Maximoff

Mobius M. Mobius

Matt Murdock

Shang-chi

STAR WARS

Anakin Skywalker

Luke Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren

Poe Dameron

Finn

TEEN WOLF

Stiles Stilinski

Scott McCall

Derek Hale

Isaac Lahey

Jackson Whittemore

Peter Hale

Theo Raeken

Liam Dunbar

Jordan Parrish

Mason Hewitt

Danny Mahealani

Aiden Steiner

Ethan Steiner

Corey Bryant

THE BOYS IN THE BAND

Bernard

Harold

Hank

Donald

Cowboy

Alan McCarthy

Michael

Larry

Emory

WHITE COLLAR

Neal Caffrey

Peter Burke

Mozzie (platonic)

Clinton Jones

DIVERGENT

Peter

Caleb Prior

Four

HARRY POTTER

Neville Longbottom

Sirius Black

Cedric Diggory

Seamus Finnigan

Viktor Krum

Remus Lupin

Draco Malfoy

Tom Riddle

Charlie Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Percy Weasley

Ron Weasley

Oliver Wood

FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM

Gellert Grindelwald (Mads Mikkelsen)

Newt Scamander

Credence Barebone

Theseus Scamander

Albus Dumbledore (Jude Law)

HUNGER GAMES

Peeta Mellark

Coriolanus Snow

Sejanus Plinth

MAZE RUNNER

Newt

Thomas

Gally

Minho

911 (and LONE STAR)

Evan Buckley (Buck)

Howie Han (Chimney)

Bobby Nash

Eddie Diaz

TK Strand

Carlos Reyes

Paul Strickland

Owen Strand

Jud Ryder

Mateo Chavez

RIVERDALE

Jughead Jones

FP Jones

Archie Andrews

Hiram Lodge

Sweet Pea

Fangs

Kevin Keller

Reggie Mantle

Chic

Moose Mason

BROOKLYN99

Jake Peralta

Terry Jeffords

All the others (platonic only)

CHRISTIAN BALE

Patrick Bateman (American Psycho)

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

PEDRO PASCAL

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Javi Gutierrez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Javier Peña (Narcos)

Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones)

Agent Whiskey (Kingsman)

Silva (Strange Way of Life)

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

DETROIT BECOME HUMAN

Connor

RK900

Hank

Markus

Luther

Simon

Gavin

Josh

BARBIE

Ken (Ryan)

Ken (Simu)

Allan

SHERLOCK

Sherlock Holmes

John Watson

Jim Moriarty

Mycroft Holmes

FNAF (movie)

Mike Schmidt

Steve Raglan

SUITS

Harvey Specter

Mike Ross

LA CASA DE PAPEL

El Profesor

Berlín

Palermo

Denver

Río

I WON’T WRITE:

-Smut (for anyone)

-R*pe

-Female readers/GN readers

-Suic*de

-inc*st

-Crossdressing

-Romantic/Suggestive stories for underage characters (only platonic, basically)

If the character you wanted to request is not on the list, you can try and ask me anyways.

[all-the-things-2020]

All-The-Things-2020 Fan Fiction Masterlist

So I’ve decided to create a pinned Masterlist for all of my finished fics. Some of them are posted only on AO3 right now but I will migrate them here to tumblr as I have time.

Pedro Pascal Characters

Year of Fandom Crossovers Masterlist

Masterlist of all the fics I wrote this year as part of the Year of Creation Challenge.

Din Djarin x Reader - A Sprig of Silver & Blue

A holiday inspired one-shot featuring Din and The Child (written before we knew Grogu’s name).

Din Djarin x OFC (Tala Pavan) - Deeds Not Less Valiant

Completed series taking place after season 3. Demisexual Din finds out that maybe romance and love has a place in his life after all.

Din Djarin x OFC (Mariana Loxli) - Finding His Way series Masterlist. AO3 link to 1st title in series

Non-canon compliant series that takes place following season 1. It is canon-compliant up to that point and then diverges. Din and The Child meet a former Imperial slave who changes their lives for good. Featuring cameos from Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Chewbacca.

Din Djarin - The Man in the Shiny Mask (Futurama crossover)

Futurama script bringing Din and Grogu into the 31st century where they meet the crew of Planet Express.

Javier Peña x OFC (Cassidy Yates) - No Better Place

Completed series taking place in Laredo after Javi leaves the DEA. Featuring horses and some smut.

Joel Miller - Kindred Spirits (Anne of Green Gables crossover)

Joel and Ellie’s relationship reimagined on Prince Edward Island.

Joel Miller - Joel’s Pony Party

You are planning a birthday party for your six year old niece. Turns out the guy who runs the pony party place offers you more than just a pony ride.

Dieter Bravo - Fifty Shades of Orange (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy crossover)

Dieter ends up on the Heart of Gold and Arthur still can’t find a decent cup of tea.

Dieter Bravo x Orignal Female Character (Emily) - Late Night Talking

Regular person Emily meets celebrity Dieter Bravo. Romance ensues, along with plenty of humor and angst.

Frankie Morales - I Need a Pilot (Star Wars crossover)

Everyone’s favorite helicopter pilot transported to the Star Wars galaxy, with cameos by Finn and Poe.

Ezra x Reader - Lost, Only to Be Found (The Last of Us crossover)

Ezra and Cee in the Last Of Us universe. This one has a bittersweet ending.

Ezra x OFC (Claire) - All Our Future Prospects.

Ezra and Cee meet a corporate scientist and they all learn the importance of found family.

Marcus Morales - Not All Heroes Wear Capes (Star Trek: the Next Generation crossover)

Marcus tries to revive his Starfleet career after losing his wife.

Non-Pedro Pascal Characters

Legolas - A Grey Ship Sails.

How Legolas and Gimli came to leave the shores of Middle Earth after the death of Aragorn.

Samwise Gamgee - Into the West. AO3 link

How Samwise the Brave followed Mister Frodo into the West.

Poe Dameron x Finn - Family Is More Than Blood series Masterlist.

Pure Stormpilot fluff, featuring a few crossovers with characters from the Finding His Way series. Also a hint of Reylo.

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 4

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 4: The Past Is A Grotesque Animal

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter use the psychomanteum.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.6k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, drug addiction, grief, dead parent, psychomanteum, PTSD, flashbacks, cocaine use & dependence & comedown, cannabis use, homophobic hate crime mention, suicide mention, angst, YEAAAARRRRNING, fluffy things, dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, cuddling

Notes: Chapter title from "The Past Is A Grotesque Animal" by of Montreal. Which is honestly one of my favorite songs ever. The lyrics are fucking beautiful and weird UGH. 10/10 recommend listening lol. Hey so, about this chapter... the top half is pretty heavy but there's some cute stuff in there. I read through research papers on psychomanteums to get reports of people's experiences, and these are things that were actually reported to fucking happen. Which I think is neat.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

Psychomanteum Recipe

Ingredients: 

Mirror

Comfortable Chair

Lamp with 25-watt bulb

Room draped in black 

Directions:

Mount mirror on one side of the room

Place chair about 3’ in front of and facing mirror

Place lamp directly behind chair

Surround area floor-to-ceiling in black

Eliminate all light except the lamp

“What now?” Dieter asks, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, “Do we do some kind of a ritual or something?” 

He’s standing in your bedroom, hands on his hips, panting from the exertion of dragging an armchair from the living room into the closet. 

“Let’s see…” you hum to yourself, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you scroll down the webpage and nod along, “Ok. Yeah, ok, now you go in there and I murder you as my human sacrifice,” you keep your face neutral as you peak over the top of your laptop screen and watch his body relax into amusement. 

“Counter productive,” he states in an accusatory fashion, pointing at you, then adds with a scoff, “and rude.” 

He walks around the bed and sprawls out atop the terracotta comforter. The mattress shifts, jostling your body from side-to-side as he rolls onto his side, propped up on an elbow, cheek pressed to his palm. 

You smirk and return your attention to the computer screen, scrolling down the page as you skim the article, “I don’t think we have to do anything else. Just go in there and, I don’t know, try to talk to them? See what we see? I think it’s kind of up to you what you do. Pretty subjective.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his eyes on you. You turn your head and meet his gaze. Heat creeps up your neck, tinging your cheeks,  “What?”

His mouth gapes open like he’s holding words hostage on the tip of his tongue, then he shakes his head, “Nothing. Who’s going first?” 

“Do you want to?” your eyebrows press together, hope creasing your forehead. 

“I, um…” he glances at the closet, then back to you, Adam’s apple bobbing before he says, “Ok, yeah. I’ll go first.” 

“You sure?” you search his face, watching the way his jaw gnashes back and forth, the way he's staring at the closet door with dimly lit eyes. 

Dieter nods, then pushes himself off the bed with a grunt. He shakes out his wrists and rolls his shoulders as he approaches the closet, then turns back to you, “So I just go and think about him and ask him questions?” 

You close the laptop and slide it towards the foot of the bed, then sit up and cross your legs into a pretzel. Your guts are tangled in a similar knot. But you ignore it and confirm, “You got it, chief.” 

“Alright,” he strides towards the closet door, looking back to salute you before crossing the threshold, “See you on the other side."

Dieter sinks into the armchair. Black sheets hang on all four sides of the setup, which was a real pain in the fucking ass to hang up. It’s dimly lit and insulated by your clothing. His leg bounces on its own accord, and he stares down at his hands for a minute before gaining the courage to look up into the mirror you propped up on a tall chest of drawers. 

It reflects a black void. 

His hands find the tops of his thighs, thumb rubbing against the mound of coke contained inside his shorts pocket. Temptation hooks his insides. The barbs tug his skin tight and uncomfortable. It would be so easy to snort just a little before doing this. Just enough to make this bearable. Something, anything, to sheath the knife ripping his stomach into pieces. 

It would just take a second. Barely a second. He could have been done with it already if he didn’t start fucking arguing with himself. 

He shakes the devil from his head and slides his hands onto each armrest, feeling the grooves of the tangerine colored cotton upholstery on his palms. His voice is quiet and shaky when he asks the mirror, “James, are you there?” 

The blackness of the mirror stares back at him. 

Unease settles into his skin when he realizes that he may have to dig deeper than surface level into his memories. The painful things he’s been hiding from for decades. 

The thoughts of James have been locked away, buried beneath a growing pile of coping mechanisms and bad decisions. Every time James comes crawling out from his designated lockbox inside the depths of Dieter’s mind, he comes out swinging, seeking to collect the compounded interest for grief unfelt. 

Whenever he sees a man with straw blonde hair and an Appalachian accent, James peaks out and asks, "Would I look like that if I were still alive?" 

Each attempt to empty a screenplay from Dieter’s brain onto paper, James is there, reminding him, "You'll never be able to write without me." 

Once, Dieter met a flight attendant who asked him politely what he'd like to drink. When he looked up to meet her eyes, they were too fucking familiar. Brown irises bleeding into ocean blue like another BP oil rig spilling petroleum into the Pacific. As if they had been plucked from his dead body and squeezed into her eye sockets. 

He ordered a double shot of whiskey. 

And another. 

And another. 

Dieter’s brain is haunted by the ghost of him. Each brawl with James leaves Dieter broken and bruised, brittle and hollow. Alone. Guilty. He numbs himself, doing anything to get rid of the agony burning him alive from the inside out. Anything to get that beautiful voice out of his fucking head. Each and every time, right before the point of oblivion, he hears James whisper, "I feel like I don't even know you anymore," before disappearing into his lockbox again. 

When Dieter saw the way you were reeling from your drunken confession, wearing that tortured expression of self-loathing people only get when they're deeply ashamed of themselves, he knew he had to tell you about James. He needed you to know that you're not the only one who has wanted to go beyond the grave to get answers to the questions that keep you up at night. 

You’re not alone. 

He needs you to know that. 

Dieter stares into the black nothing of the mirror and opens the vault, willingly this time. 

As a kid, Dieter had seen best friends on TV shows and in movies, and his parents always talked about best friends, but he never saw them. These “best friends” seemed like a myth, only existing as pictures on screens and voices in telephones. But on the first day of school after the Bravos were stationed at Camp Lejeune, Dieter sat next to a kid that drew comics in the margins of his notebook. His name was James, and Dieter found out that best friends were real. 

They clicked immediately. Both boys were innately creative and rebellious, but not in a “cool” way, like the teenage heartthrob stereotype of a misunderstood bad boy. No, they were more like the stereotypical theater kids. Minus the theater, since, of course, Lejeune High School only offered sports as an extracurricular activity. 

Regardless, Dieter and James created new worlds, people to fill them, stories for them to live out. Dedicating whole school days dressing up and living as the characters they invented, bringing them to life. They made scripts and screenplays, then acted out scenes for the one person audience of Dieter’s mom. 

Then there were Saturdays at The VIP Lounge. 

Every Saturday morning, Dieter trailed behind James, eyes glued to the freckled, sunburned square of skin between his shimmering golden hair and sweat-drenched t-shirt collar. Tree branch shadow puppets danced on his shoulders as he breezed past the ferns and milkweed that littered the soft forest floor. 

And every Saturday morning, they stepped out from the treeline onto a secluded patch of sand that they had lovingly dubbed The VIP Lounge. A sanctuary for the boys to be themselves, carved from the New River’s bank with their awkward teenage hands. They packed blankets, snacks, sketchbooks, notepads, ditch weed, and stolen cigarettes. 

It’s all they needed to conjure half-baked schemes for fame and fortune, really. 

Over time, their close friendship had begun to take on a new dynamic. Touches and glances would linger longer, sending Dieter's heart racing. Soft, fluttering feelings crept around the edges and closed in on their relationship. Dieter, aware of the attraction he started to feel towards his friend, would test out these new waters occasionally. When sitting next to James, he'd inch closer, carefully studying his reaction for signs of disapproval as the proximity between them decreased. 

James didn't flinch away. In fact, he often would smile and blush, or sometimes even scoot even closer, until their legs were touching and their palms were sweaty. 

During one sleepover, James’s voice cut through the pitch black of his bedroom, asking Dieter, “You ever think ‘bout what it’d be like to kiss a boy?” 

Dieter remembers his heart thudding so loud it’s all he could hear in the silence. The wet squelch of his throat when he swallowed hard and whispered back, “Yeah.” The sigh of relief James exhaled through lips Dieter always felt drawn to. Dieter blinked his eyes open and rolled on his side to face James, trying to see his face through the darkness, "Do you?"

"Yeah," James confessed. 

“Do… Do you want to try?” Dieter heard himself asking, lowering his voice even quieter to make sure nobody else could hear, “With me?” 

James slowly rolled on his side to face Dieter. Adrenaline flooded their nervous systems and poured into their bloodstream. Teen hearts beating as fast as a hummingbird's. 

Dieter reached out with a shaky hand, finding James just inches away, fingers landing on his freckled cheek. His thumb brushed against the flushed skin. Their faces grew closer, until they could both feel the other's trembling breath, and they were certain they couldn't miss. 

It was awkward the way first kisses always are. A hesitant peck in the dark with stiff lips. They got better at it, though, over the next year. 

Until General Thompson found out about them. 

Dieter realizes the reflection shown by the mirror is no longer a featureless black void. He squints and sits up straight, leaning towards it. The image being displayed… isn’t really an image at all, because it’s in motion. A current of midnight blue with occasional sprays of white. 

A river running from the left side of the mirror to the right. 

Once he realizes what it is, he leans away, back pressing against the chair. His brain fires off smoke signals to the rest of his body, tapping into the ancient part of his brain that responds best to danger. He scrambles backwards out of the psychomanteum, trying to get the fuck away from the mirror as fast as possible. 

“Already?” 

Your voice faintly reaches Dieter's ears as he stumbles out of the closet. By the time the word has finished crossing your lips, he's no longer in your bedroom. All he can think is GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. 

He hears you calling his name, but it’s just background noise that’s silenced when the apartment door closes behind him. 

You’re perched on the edge of your bed, staring after the sound of your apartment door slamming shut, face twisting in bewilderment. The quiet lingers with an edge that slices your ego. You get to your feet and pad into the kitchen, grabbing your phone from the counter to see if he sent you an explanation. 

Nothing. 

What the fuck happened to make him storm out like that? 

When you call him, the loud hum of vibration sounds from your living room. You follow the noise like a beacon and sigh as you push aside a few stagnant takeout containers, then pick his phone up off the side table. 

You set the phones down side-by-side on your kitchen counter and return to your bedroom, then poke your head into the walk-in closet, narrowing your eyes at the black bed sheet hanging across as a divider. Your teeth clamp down onto your tongue as you take a step forward, carefully pulling a corner back to inspect the psychomanteum’s contents. 

There’s nothing odd about the setup that isn’t overtly obvious. The small space encloses a dim standing lamp, your plush, orange armchair, and a mirror that holds your reflection. Your hand rests on the back of the chair and you take a deep breath, thrumming your fingers against the upholstery. 

A compulsion wills you forward. You settle your body into the chair's embrace and swallow hard as you look up into the mirror. This new angle shows you a black abyss. You stare into it and fill your brain with fond memories of Ethan. 

You think about the passenger seat of his car, how you carved out a home for yourself there, tagging along when he went to do drug deals. The two of you would get stoned and drive around the city streets, listening to music, telling stories, doing whatever the fuck you felt like. 

One night you confessed that you missed seeing stars in the night sky. He drove out to Jones Beach and the two of you laid on the hood of his car, staring up at the expansive galaxy for hours. Neither of you could identify a single constellation except for The Big Dipper, but it was fucking beautiful. The next day he bought two packs of those glow-in-the-dark plastic stars and stuck them to the ceiling above his bed. 

“So you can see the stars every night.” 

Tiny pinpricks of white light surface in the black reflection of the psychomanteum’s mirror. The shimmering lights vary in size and brightness. Stars in the nighttime sky. 

Your lips part, and you’re struck by the sensation that you’re no longer alone. The already small space feels even more crowded. Your hair stands on end. Icy cold air surrounds the chair and you shiver. Your left hand begins to feel like it's been dipped in frigid water. 

“Heya, sweet pea,” a familiar voice echoes through your head. 

You haven’t heard it in ages. His presence wraps around you, squeezing you tight like one of his bear hugs. Memories flood out in an unstoppable tide. Being taught to ride a bike. Road trips to papa’s cabin. Playing scrabble. Watching baseball. Stargazing. Making breakfast for mom on Sundays.

On your next breath in, you smell pancake batter and maple syrup. Despite the temperature drop that raises mountain ranges of goosebumps across your skin, a warmth radiates from your chest. You feel completely at ease. It’s just like that feeling you had when you died. An omnipresent sense of oneness and belonging. 

You blink. 

When your eyes open, you’re in an infinite white space. Your father, as you remembered him when you were a child, is in front of you. He's absolutely beaming at you, radiating light that heats your skin like sunshine. An otherworldly sense of love spreads across your consciousness. 

Your vision blurs with tears and when you respond, your mouth doesn’t open. Rather, the message is sent telepathically to him, “Hi Daddy.” 

The "place" you're in, although to call it that might suggest it abides by Earth's rules of time and space, feels like a room. There’s an indefinable quality of insulation to the area, but there are no walls or floors or ceilings. Just this endless, bright warmth that hosts the two of you in its clutches. 

A sea of love. 

Your dad steps forward, holding his arms open, and envelops you in a hug. His arms squeeze around you tight, tighter, as tight as he can. As always, you try with all your might to match his strength when you return the hug. 

Safety and comfort radiates from him to you, and you hear his voice in your head again, “I love you, Lou. I’m proud of you. You're right where you need to be.” 

“I love you too,” you tell him, still squeezing him, inhaling the familiar scent of citrus and musk. Then you open your eyes to look up at him… and you’re back in the cold psychomanteum, holding nothing. 

It’s long past sunset by the time Dieter returns. 

In that time, you cleaned your apartment from top to bottom, dismantled the psychomanteum, made a batch of cannabutter, prepped for the next day’s orders, and started to worry-bake. You're pulling a pan of chocolate chip cookies from the oven when the intercom buzzes. The aluminum pan clatters on the stovetop as you toss it down and nudge the oven door closed with a thunk. You yank your oven mitts off and walk over to the white box, then press TALK. 

"Yeah?"

"Hey, I left my phone, can I come up and grab it?" 

You hold down the DOOR button for a few seconds. A current of nervous energy starts flowing from your scalp to your toes. You wring your hands together and start pacing the floor in an attempt to calm yourself. When he knocks, you swing the door open, "Jesus Christ, Dee, I was so-" 

Thoughts flee your brain when you lay your eyes on his face. It's pallid and gleaming with sweat, eyes hidden behind a pair of rectangular tortoiseshell sunglasses. His jaw gnashes from one side to the other as he raises his eyebrows, "What?" 

"Are- are you ok?" you reach out and grab ahold of his clammy hand, pulling him through the doorway. 

"Of course I'm ok, why wouldn't I be ok? Totally fine, doll," he follows your guidance inside, then promptly shakes off your grasp as he peers around the apartment, "Do- do you have my phone? Did I leave it here?” 

His speech matches the erratic, jerky pace of his body movements. Dieter spots the device on the kitchen counter, picks it up, and starts texting someone, unbothered by your watchful eye. He rips off his sunglasses and tosses them on your counter, then resumes texting. A familiar kind of unease sets your hair on edge. 

You bite the inside of your cheek and cross your arms in front of you, "Where'd you go?"

His blown-out black eyes peek over the top of his phone and he shrugs, "Met some friends."

You nod and drop your gaze to your feet, "You left without saying anything. I- I was worried about you.”

"What is this, a guilt trip?" he scoffs, tossing his phone onto the counter with a thud that makes you jump, then tilts his head to the side and sneers, "Sorry I didn't want to do your little uhh... mirror trick thing. I had to get out of this creepy fucking apartment, Lua. I mean, you get that, right? How fucking creepy it is in here?"

Earlier today, before he left, it was impossible not to notice the way Dieter’s eyes would linger on the hallway or the spare bedroom door. You’d interrupt his teeth grinding, foot tapping, absent stare and ask what’s wrong, and he’d dismiss your question with a wane smile. 

But you feel it, too. The ever-present tingle at the back of your neck that tells you that you’re being watched. 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you nod again, trying to ignore the tears burning behind your eyes, "Yep."

"You know he's still here, right? Ethan, I mean. I see him in that fuckin' room. Saw him in there last night," he presses a knuckle to one of his nostrils and sniffs a postnasal drip back into his skull, "Just standing in the dark like a fuckin'- like a fuckin’ uhh…” 

He snaps his fingers a few times in rapidfire, trying to jog his own tenuous memory. Agitation spikes your blood pressure. 

“Fucking hell, Dee, go sit down,” you pinch the bridge of your nose and point to your couch, then breeze into your bedroom before Dieter can start running his mouth again. 

You pull open your bedside drawer, grabbing an ashtray and a joint out of its designated altoids tin. When you return to the living room, Dieter is pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, muttering to himself. 

“Sit,” you command while raising a lighter flame to the joint, puffing away until its tip is glowing orange and spilling thick plumes of smoke. He ignores your request, but stops pacing and watches you. The THC blooms in your lungs and a haze begins to settle in your brain. You take another puff and hold the joint out to him, “Hit this. You’re crashing hard.” 

He accepts the offering and takes a hit while you go fill up the biggest cup you own with ice water. You drop cookies onto a plate, then return to the living room, “You wanna stay out here or go lay in my bed?” 

His brow furrows and he frowns, “I- I- I- no, I have to meet-”

“No,” you shake your head, “You’re gonna be out of commission for a while, love, so… living room or bedroom?”

He takes a hit off the joint and exhales, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, swinging his hands around in grand gestures as he talks, “I’m gonna be fine, Lua, look, I know what I’m doing, ok? I just need to call my guy-”

“The fuck you are, Bravo,” you interrupt, setting down the glass of water and plate of cookies on the side table, “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m fine, I know what I’m about, babe,” he scoffs, puffs the joint, starts pacing again, “You- you- you can’t tell me what to do, you know. I’m my own person. Everyone always trying to tell me what I can and can’t do and I’m fucking sick of it,” he stops, sniffs away his coke drip, and narrows his eyes at you, “This is your fault, anyway. You know that, right, Lua? If I didn’t have to think of fucking James, and that- that- that fucking river,” his voice cracks and his shoulders sag, face falling into sadness as his eyes well up with tears. 

His accusations pierce sharp and precise into your heart. You remind yourself that this isn’t Dieter. It’s the obvious cocaine binge that has set his brain on fire, steering him towards self-destruction. Your lips remain sealed and your eyes drop to the black stain on your carpet. You remind yourself that this isn’t Ethan, either. Dieter can still be brought back to sanity. 

He takes a puff off the joint and exhales, staring up at the ceiling with watery, far-away eyes, “I loved him, you know. First love. But his dad-”

Abruptly, he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs as he buries his head in his hands. All is still for a moment before his body starts to heave with sobs. You crouch down next to him, plucking the loosely held joint from his fingers. As you stand up, you take another hit, then crush the glowing cherry in an ashtray. 

You return to the heap of a man crumbled on your floor and sit facing him, knees pressed against his shins, and remind him, “I’m here, Dee. Talk to me.”

“His d-dad saw us k-k-k-kissing, and he- he- beat the shit out of him, Lua. Almost fucking killed him. And I just stood there. I didn’t do anything. I- I let it happen,” he takes a deep, shattered breath, then continues, “He wasn’t the same after. It’s like he fucking died right there in front of me and I let it happen. Word got out, and we moved to a new base. And-” a high-pitched squeal of agony fades into more choked sobs, and he looks up at you, face sopping wet with tears and utterly fucking tortured, “He drowned himself.” 

“Oh, Dee-” tears blur your vision as secondhand sorrow aches your chest. Your hands find either side of his face, thumbs wiping away his tears in vain, “Can I hug you? Is that ok?”

He nods and you climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso. You squeeze him tight. Your best attempt at a bear hug. He buries his face in your neck and continues to cry. You slide one arm around his head and cradle him against your chest, petting his sweaty, messy, hair, and you whisper to him the phrase you tell yourself every day, “It’s not your fault, ok? Not your fault, Dee, I promise. It’s not your fault.” 

His sobbing starts anew, and he pulls you close. Hot, wet tears drench your neck and shirt. Anguish rolls off of him in waves, and you wish you could absorb every ounce of pain from him like a sponge. He nuzzles in closer, and you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of his body wrapped up with yours. You trail your fingers through his messy locks with one hand while the other gently scratches his back. 

Something stirs inside you, soft and sweet. 

You think about the numerous phone calls with him throughout the past few months. FaceTime, text messages, Snapchat. How his name popping up in your notifications always makes your heart skip a beat. How seeing his handsome face, or hearing his voice, always seems to make your day better. How he flew across the country for the sole purpose of spending time with you for a few days between projects. 

Granted, this visit has been a complete and utter shitshow so far, but there have been moments that you find yourself staring at his lips, longing for his hands on your bare skin, imagining the heat of his body pressed against yours. 

In his absence today, you couldn’t stop from wondering whether or not he would return, thoughts always drifting to the worst. You typed his name into Google, searching for the latest headlines to make sure he wasn’t found dead somewhere. Nothing surfaced, of course, except for the latest exposition on his divorce, which you avoided reading even though it piqued your curiosity. 

The idea of losing him ate away at you more and more with every second. You’re grateful to be curled around his shattered breaths, knowing that even though he’s crashing and burning, he’s alive. 

It occurs to you… that you care about him deeply. 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, and it seems that the active flow of tears has slowed to a stop. You close your eyes and squeeze him hard. He pulls back to look at you, eyes all swollen, red, and glassy. His hands slide to your waist, and his thumbs smooth circles against your sides. The contact pools liquid hot in your belly. 

You search his puffy, tear-stained face, running a hand through his hair, “Wanna go lay down for a bit?” 

He nods and peers behind you, sniffling, “It smells good in here.”

The corners of your mouth upturn, and you bring your hands to meet at the nape of his neck, “I made chocolate chip cookies, do you want some? You must be hungry.” 

“Fucking starving,” he admits, but his grip on your waist tightens and he nuzzles back into your chest, “I don’t wanna move, though.” 

Warmth radiates across your chest and you hope he can’t hear the way your heart just started pounding. 

“We can cuddle in my bed. I’ll bring cookies and make a frozen pizza. Does that sound ok?” you rest your cheek on the crown of his head and stroke his hair.

He hums in the affirmative, pulling you closer, and mumbles against your drenched t-shirt, “Dibs on little spoon.” 

This pulls a chuckle from your belly, “Fine, but you have to drink at least two glasses of water and take a shower. Then you’re gonna stay here while your comedown passes. Deal?” 

“Deal.” 

After eating half a dozen cookies and two frozen pizzas that have to be at least 50% cardboard, guzzling down 2 quarts of water, and taking a hot shower, Dieter lays his head down on your bosom and promptly passes the fuck out for 12 hours. 

Withdrawal keeps him pinned down at its mercy for another two days, allowing him to only exist as a hollowed out zombie who shuffles from your bedroom, to the bathroom to use your toilet, then to the kitchen for food and water, then back into your bed to sleep. 

It’s a miserable kind of half-existence. Blanketed in a thick, web-like fatigue that anchors him to the bed. 

He catches glimpses of your day-to-day routine while cycling through this pattern. Sometimes you would be in bed next to him, watching tv or writing in a journal. Sometimes you were in the kitchen, dancing and singing along to music while baking. Sometimes you were in the living room, reading or fucking around on your phone. Once, you were talking to a client who spotted him and asked, “Is that Dieter Bravo?” 

You gaslit the shit out of her and shooed her from the apartment. 

Now when he wakes, blinking his eyes open to find the sky is still a dimly lit dark blue, casting a cool light onto the room, he is relieved to find that the fog in his brain has lifted. There’s a tranquil silence in the apartment that he inhales like his first breath. He rolls onto his side, relaxing into this unfamiliar feeling of peace, sinking even further into your mattress. 

This is when he notices that you’re in the bed, too. 

Your back is facing him, body completely still except for the gentle expansion and compression of your ribcage, quiet puffs of air escaping your nose. 

His stomach churns when he remembers how he treated you when he was strung out. The hurt he saw in your eyes when he mocked the psychomanteum. How he tried to pick a fight with you. He was angry, lashing out at you for making him confront James. 

You didn’t really make him, though. It was his choice. His anger was misdirected. 

It was like all his emotions were collapsing in on him at once. This crudely pasted together façade of a man crumbled into pieces on your living room floor. And what did you do? 

You looked at him, a sobbing trainwreck on the ground, and embraced him. Told him it wasn’t his fault. Let him empty his tears onto your shirt. Fed him, sheltered him, nursed him back to some semblance of a human. 

Without hesitation, you graced him with a kindness he’s never encountered. How could he ever repay you? 

Nothing he can think of is adequate enough to express his gratitude. 

You take a sharp inhale and start to stir. Dieter scoots closer, drawn to the notes of vanilla and macadamia nuts that waft from your hair. To the warmth of your body that he longs to feel against his skin. 

He reaches out and hesitantly presses the pads of his fingers to your shoulder. Testing the waters. You hum and lean into the touch, scooting back towards him. 

In one swift movement, he pulls you into an embrace, snaking an arm under your head, draping the other over the dip of your waist. Your back against his bare chest. The sections of skin peaking out from beneath your tank top stick to him like glue, both of you tacky with a gleaming coat of sleep sweat. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath of you, letting your presence consume him. 

Tears burn behind his eyes as it dawns on him: you mean more to him than he ever anticipated.  

When he met you and recalled his visions of your future together, he expected something, of course. Although a skeptical part of him always had reservations.  

But he never expected to feel safe with you. Never thought another person could see his ugly, broken pieces and beckon him closer instead of shoo him away. His heart thuds with humility and adoration. 

You hum again, wriggling further into his embrace with a sleepy sigh, “G’morning.” 

“Good morning,” he whispers back. A fat, salty tear breaks loose and rolls down his cheek, onto your shoulder. 

“Feelin’ better?”

 He nods, mumbles against your neck, “Much better,” then his voice cracks as he says, “Thank you, Lua.” 

You reach back, finding his cheek with your hand, and rub your thumb against his patchy beard. The motion sends tingles all the way down to the base of his spine. His hand at your side slides up to your belly and grips the fabric of your baggy tank top. 

“I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you,” he adds in a whisper, “I feel terrible.”

The gentle circles against his jawline continue to trickle down the center of him as you mumble, “I’m just glad you’re feeling better, love.” 

He hums and closes his eyes, concentrating on the tiny movements of your body against his. How you’re arching towards him ever-so-slightly. The soft little huff you let out when his grasp on your shirt tightens. He feels the muscles in your legs tense and shift, like you’re trying to create friction between your thighs. 

When he thinks about sliding his hand between them, his heart starts to thud in his chest. Blood laced with desire, spreading this aching, heavy-handed lust throughout his body like a virus. His fingers twitch at your belly, where they release your shirt and slip underneath, splaying across the heat of your skin. 

You hum in approval. He swears you try to move even closer. 

“Let me make it up to you,” he wets his lips, then presses them against your pulse. You gasp and grab ahold of the hair at the nape of his neck, and he starts to back away in a panic before realizing that you’re pulling him closer. 

He lays another kiss down on your neck, then mumbles against your skin, relishing the salty bite of sweat that transfers to his tongue, “No strings, right? That’s what you want?”

Beneath the covers, his fingertips slide across the soft skin of your belly, and you let out a soft gasp as you nod, “Can- can we still be friends, though?” 

His fingertips graze the elastic band of your underwear and he leans into your ear, “Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.”

Dieter props himself up on his elbow and stares down at you, watching your eyes flutter and face flush in reaction to his wandering touch. The tip of your tongue darts out and licks your lips. He imagines what the soft muscle would feel like in his mouth. Against his neck. Along the length of him. 

The thought pools hot lava that urges him to touch you more, grip your skin harder, move this along faster. He wants to feel your arousal douse his fingers. He wants to taste you on his tongue. He wants to hear your moans when you're falling apart in his hands. 

His muscles burn as he tries to keep himself tethered, reigning in this mounting animalistic need to devour you. 

“I want to show you how grateful I am, Lua,” he lays a slow, gentle kiss on your shoulder, pressing his lips to a torn up, blackwork tattoo of a pomegranate. His fingertips trail along your abdomen, entranced by the way your whole body trembles under his touch, “Do you want that?”

You nod, peering up at him through your lashes, meeting his lust-blown black eyes. Desire rolls off of him in waves, washing over you, condensation collecting hot and damp at your center. 

He tugs at your underwear under the sheets, sliding them down your legs inch by inch, his whisper burning in your ear, " Say it , baby. Tell me what you want." 

A whimper escapes your lips and you arch your back up towards him, "Touch me, Dee, please."

Your underwear at your feet, he pulls the covers back and reveals you to the morning light. 

He hovers above you, licking his lips, drinking in the sight of your pussy as his hands ghost along the tender skin of your thighs. When his gaze falls on your tank top, he shakes his head and yanks on the thin fabric, "We gotta do something about this."

Without hesitation, you pull it off over your head and toss it on the ground, "Better?"

"Fucking perfect. You are-" he cuts himself off with a groan, biting down on his plush bottom lip. Dieter sits up and stuffs a few pillows behind your back. The heat of his palm presses against the base of your skull and his warmth drips down to your cunt. His other hand splays across your sternum, pushing you back until you're resting atop the pile of pillows, head cradled in his impossibly large hand. 

You follow his wordless guidance, watching him in awe, completely mesmerized, aching at the thought of what he'll do to you. 

The bridge of his nose presses against your cheek, his breath a furnace on your skin, and his fingertip traces the outline of your mouth, "Open."

You obey, parting your lips for his thumb. It scrapes against your teeth and draws circles into a pool of saliva on your tongue. He withdraws and brings his hand to grip the soft flesh of your breast, brushing his wet thumb across the bud. The contact is electric, sending a current of pleasure rippling across your skin, dripping down your spine. 

A whimper escapes your lips and he hums in approval when you puff out your chest against his hand, "That's it, doll, I wanna hear how good you fucking feel."

Your gaze drifts to his face, and you lift a hand to his chin, turning his head to meet your eyes. When they lock on, all the air whooshes from his lungs. You drag your thumb along his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth for you to enter. 

Mimicking him, you collect spit from the soft velvet of his tongue. When you pull away, a web of his saliva gaps the growing divide and falls across your chest as you grab your unoccupied breast, using his lubrication to tease your nipple. He groans, eyes drifting back to watch you squeeze and pinch yourself. 

"Do you like to be handled rough?" he asks, gaze returning to study your face when he rolls your nipple in his fingers, applying firm pressure.

You shudder, "S-sometimes."

"Is that how you want it now? Hmm?" he brings his lips to your shoulder and catches your skin in his teeth, making you gasp. His fingers clamp down on your nipple hard and he growls, "You want me to fucking wreck you?"

And- fucking hell - the way he talks to you like this, so direct, so eager to learn exactly what sets you on fire, it fills you with a heavy, aching need. With a breathy moan, you answer him, "Yes- yes , fucking destroy me, Dee."

His grip on your head tightens, balling your hair tight in his fist, tugging at your scalp. Your body shudders and you bite your bottom lip, closing your eyes to revel in the ecstasy. His lips press against your neck in a gentle kiss that makes way for his tongue to roll circles onto your thudding pulse. 

A trail of trembling nerves follow the pads of his fingers down your torso to your vulva. He stops here and tugs at your thicket of pubic hair, "You like having your hair pulled?"

You gasp in surprise and your eyes snap open to meet his hot gaze on your face. He has a mischievous grin plastered on his face as he pulls at your hair from both sides, watching the way your face contorts with bliss. In a half-chuckle, half-moan, you admit, "That's really fucking good, actually, holy shit -"

"Yeah?" his smile widens and he pulls harder, sending a jolt of electricity to your cunt that makes you moan. 

"That's what I want, sweetheart, want you to feel fucking amazing. You deserve that, you know?" He drags a finger along the seam of you and purrs, "You're a caretaker, aren't you? Always taking care of people?"

Your eyelids flutter and you nod with a moan as he spreads your lips and runs his fingers through your arousal. 

"Mmm, yeah you are," he finds your clit and traces the swollen bud with precision, "Well right now, I'm taking care of you, ok?" 

"Ok," you pant, swallowing hard as you look up at him and whimper, "Fuck , Dee, that's so good ."

His dark eyes meet yours with intensity, searching your face as he draws tight circles that echo pleasure throughout your body. Ecstasy rolls steady in your center. You buck your hips against his touch, hungry for more friction as your body starts to feel weightless. 

He takes your cue and applies pressure through his fingertips, rubbing you harder, faster.

You nod and gasp, "Yes, just like that, baby, yes."

His grip on your hair tightens and a moan rips from your throat. He growls, "Pussy is just fucking dripping wet for me. So fucking-"

His hand slides down your front as he sinks two digits deep into your cunt. A wrecked sob bubbles out your throat as the sensation electrifies you. His palm bears down on your clit, and he starts to rock his hand back and forth, fingers squelching in your arousal as they slide in and out. 

You are enveloped in a haze of lust, completely fucking lost in the feel of his hand stretching your walls. 

"So- fucking- wet, sweetheart, do you hear that?" he starts at a brutal pace, broadcasting the unmistakable sound throughout the quiet apartment. His jaw is slack and his eyes wild as he meets your gaze. 

You nod and whimper frantically, glancing down at his parted lips as his tongue darts along them.

The thought only crosses your mind for a moment before you're grabbing his face and pulling him towards you, pressing your lips against his. He responds with a moan against your mouth and returns the kiss with enthusiasm. 

It's just like you hoped it would be. 

Messy and passionate, painting his saliva on your tongue and lips, bodies bumping together as his fingers slide in and out of your cunt mercilessly. Your body finds a new plane of existence, twisting and turning into a thick static of pleasure that starts to overtake you.

"Dee , I'm-" you whimper against his lips, "I'm gonna fucking cum, don't stop-"

"Good , baby, that's good, cum for me, Lua," he pants, stealing pecks from your lips between breaths, "Cum all over my fucking hand, baby- wanna feel you squeeze my fingers-"

Bliss crashes down on your body in waves, hot and all-consuming, making every part of your body tremble with ecstacy. You cry out as Dieter works you through the orgasm, pressing kisses to your sweaty forehead, to your cheek, breath hot against your face as he groans, "Fuck, yes, oh that's so good, sweetheart, fucking amazing."

"Holy fuck, Dieter," you pant as your body starts to soften and relax. 

He grins down at you, chest heaving, and pulls his pussy-drenched hand to his mouth. His lips wrap around each digit, licking them all clean before he leans in to kiss you. 

The kiss is soft and slow, generous with an intimacy that tugs at something warm and cozy inside you. He pulls back and meets your eyes again, a new kind of hesitancy lingering in his gaze. 

"Will you cuddle me again?" you ask in a shy whisper, face heating with embarrassment. 

"C'mere, doll," Dieter grins wide and nods, beckoning you closer. 

You roll to face him and his arms wrap around your naked body, pulling you flush against his skin. His hard-on, still trapped within the confines of his boxers, presses against you. Your body flushes when you start trying to picture it in your head, imagining what he would feel like inside you, wondering if that will ever happen or if this is a one-time occurrence. 

"So, are you going to run away from me now?" he rumbles, cupping your cheek, running his thumb along your cheekbone affectionately. He reeks of you. And you like it. 

The question rolls around your head as you consider it. What does this mean for the two of you? Your friendship? He said it doesn't have to change anything. Unlike the variety of bar and tinder hookups you've had in the past, you don't immediately want to banish him from your life. 

This is actually… really fucking great. The warmth of his body against yours, his touch on your skin, the closeness that feels natural when you’re with him. You don’t want him to leave. 

Which is a good sign, right?

"We're still friends?" you ask in return, searching his face. Your palm rests against his chest, soaking up the heat from his pounding heart. 

He nods and cards his fingers through your hair gently, "Absolutely."

"Then, no, I think... I think I'll keep you around," you meet his warm eyes and shrug jokingly, "I guess. If you want. Or whatever.��� 

"Wow! So nonchalant, Lua," he grins, then pulls you into a bear hug against his bare chest as you giggle. He mumbles into your hair, "I do, I do want that." 

With a content hum, you ask, “What now?”

[ Next Chapter ]

[guess-my-next-obsession]

GMNO’s Spooktacular Masterlist ‘22

Oneshots:

Cabin In The Woods* (Frankie Morales x f!reader) — frankie and reader decide to rent a cabin for the holiday, but neither realize they’re walking into a “haunted house” courtesy of the rest of the TF boys

Drabbles:

That Was Mine* (Dave York)

They Let Kids Do This? (Javier Peña)

The Addams Family* (Frankie Morales)

The Visit* (Ghost!Joel Miller)

Han and Leia* (Javier Peña)

Trick or Treat (pre-outbreak!Joel Miller)

Possessed (Dark!Din)

Training* (Werewolf!Din)

First One To Jump Strips* (Dieter Bravo)

Gabriela’s First Halloween (Boss-verse!Javi)

Dr. Peña and The Multiverse of Madness (Javier Peña)

FaceTime Movie Night (Frankie Morales)

[jinxispunk]

🌹 MY MAN 🌹

rules: show four men who make you yell 'THATS MY MAN!!!!!' at your tv xox

thank you for tagging me @fruityreads and @jennaispunk <3

1. joel miller (nobody is surprised)

2. peter parker (exclusively andrew garfield peter parker, love the others but this man has a special place in my heart)

3. han solo (no explanation necessary here)

4. dieter bravo (drama queen of my heart)

no pressure tags: @dovedewdrop @goodwithcheese @stylesispunkk @mrsmando x

[inkabelledesigns]

🔔

🔔 Do you have any characters you haven't posted/mentioned yet?

Oh that's most of them. XD Most of my designs have never shown up on this page, which is a shame because Manny is like the prettiest guy ever in my head and I wish I could render him right. But the struggle is real, I have a hard time making my visions a reality when it comes to drawing. I know I've shown Auran, Loraine, and Marigold, I've talked a little bit about Manny, Amelia, Jumbalah, Hans, and Clara, and with my doll customs, I've shared Delilah, Gail, Annikah, Dina, Odette, and Amaryllis. So who haven't I shown/talked about that's relevant?

Oh, how about most of the mice? Yeah the mice are important, I should probably talk about them more, namely Lord Bertle. Bertle is extremely important to the plot and I WISH I knew what he looked like! He's a mouse that's actually disguised himself with a human glamour and works as Hans' royal advisor. It's all in the name of trying to get him to lift his banishment of the mice to Rodentia, as his people are suffering, but things take a turn for the worse as he's kidnapped and used in a ritual to bring back the mouse king from the dead by a group of extremists. Let's see, there's the other three seasonal guardians that go with Jumbalah, there's the sugar plum fairy that needs some fleshing out. OH, there's Nellie! Nellie I should really show on this page, she's little red riding hood's granddaughter and she's also a werewolf. She works delivering packages all around the kingdom, really fun character, love her dearly. All of Loraine's 25 brothers and sisters exist and never get talked about, I really should share Kallahan and Aisha at the very least. There's one for each letter of the alphabet, and I love them all dearly. Felicity, she's a human dancer bullies Loraine at ballet, very important actually. There's all of Manny's crew at the tailor's shop, they're a lovely bunch. I should really share more on the twin nutcracker soldiers, Tinsel and Minstrel, same with Allen. And Captain Dieter, he's a fun antagonist.

Yeah there's just a LOT of moving parts in this world, I really don't share enough. X''''D Thank you for the question! If any of these things caught your eyes, any of you are welcome to ask for more details on these, I don't mind. Consider this an open invitation.

[cactusjerk]

Multihybrid (Papagei x Paradiesvogel) x Nostalgie by Hans Dieter Hetzel ...

I really like this hybrid by Hans Dieter Hetzel and it's a very fertile plant in my greenhouse. I made a lot of crosses with this hybrid between PAPAGEI x Paradiesvogel ) x NOSTALGIE. PAPAGEI is a Trichocereus thelegonus hybrid with a freaky flower, and it probably passed it down to this one too. The flowers are almost always mutated in some way. The full label is HDH.2008.0048.

https://trichocereus.net/multihybrid-papagei-x-paradiesvogel-x-nostalgie-by-hans-dieter-hetzel-hdh-2008-0048/

[jubocebavaw]

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[vecucamoc]

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[one-boring-person]

Roommates. (Part Two)

Colonel Hans Landa x Female!reader x Major Dieter Hellstrom (Inglorious Basterds)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, shower sex, threesome, swearing (?)

A/n: this is entirely historically inaccurate and self-indulgent but oh well. I'm soft for these two.

Masterlist

Tagging: @alan-is-my-ginger-princess

"And where is the lovely (Y/n) today?" Colonel Landa finally asks the question Dieter has been expecting all evening. 

"I don't know. She told me this morning she wanted to meet with friends." He shrugs, tapping his cigarette on the ashtray, keeping his gaze from his superior's, "Today's her birthday."

Landa's eyebrows lift, surprise vaguely registering on his face as he takes this in.

"And? Did you get her anything?." He asks, head tilted.

"Well...I wanted to buy her something, but I didn't know what she'd like. I bought her cake after work, but I'm worried it's not enough." Dieter blushes a little, unsure of why he's confessing this to Landa, unused to showing any such weakness to the man, especially since he'll likely regret it later. 

Unsurprisingly, Hans scoffs, looking comically disappointed.

"Dieter, that's nowhere near enough! She's your girlfriend!" The colonel recollects himself, "Or did my aid not help you?" 

Dieter's face reddens further, the major looking away in embarrassment. 

Truthfully, Landa's "help" had indeed made his relationship with (Y/n) more intimate. Since their time together on the sofa, he and his roommate had had sex multiple times, each with increasing levels of satisfaction and pleasure. Each time also came with a certain longing on his part, however. He wishes he could take things further with her, but finds he has no idea whether or not she reciprocates the feeling, and so no real steps had been made to appease that yearning inside him. 

Clearly, Landa can see that on his face. 

"Ach, Dieter!" He exclaims, barely holding back a grin of exasperation, finding his subordinate highly amusing. 

Just as he goes to carry on, however, he hears the front door open. 

*

I call out briefly to Dieter as I walk into the apartment, throwing my bag by the door along with my coat, heading straight for my bedroom, feeling the need to shower, and soon. 

The major responds, followed by another, very familiar voice that sends shivers down my spine as I hear it. 

Landa.

Freezing in place, I turn towards the door of the lounge and briefly battle internally with myself. Cursing, I go to the door, putting on a false smile as I stand on the threshold, looking in at them.

"Good evening, Dieter. Colonel Landa." I nod at the SS officers, greeting them politely even as flashes of memory from our last time together rush into my head. 

"Good evening, Fräulein. Happy birthday!" Landa smirks, having clearly noticed my slight distraction. 

Blushing, I smile and look down, glancing at Dieter.

"Thank you, sir." I shift on my feet, "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to freshen up."

Both nod, the smile on Landa's face seemingly widening as I thank them and leave, going to my room.

Trying not to think much of it, I strip off my clothes and take a towel from my wardrobe, wrapping it around myself before heading back out into the hall, going to the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I let the towel drop and I step into the shower, turning on the feeble stream of water.

Sighing as the gradually warming droplets slide over my skin, I close my eyes, easily falling into my thoughts, tuning out everything around me. 

I was supposed to meet with friends for a drink today, spend some time with people for my birthday. Instead, I'd found out that they'd all forgotten about our plans, and my birthday full stop, and so had left me alone. Too upset and embarrassed to go home so early, I'd ended up walking loops around the city until it got too cold to stay out, at which point I'd finally come home. Irritation and and a feeling of upset plague me now as they have done all day, the warning water only abating these very slowly. 

As I start to sink deeper into my thoughts, I suddenly feel a pair of hands slide down my body, coming to rest at my hips. A familiar chuckle follows, the cool rush of air brushing my face as the intruder speaks.

"Fräulein, you have a wonderful body." Hans Landa purrs into my ear, brushing his nose along the side of my neck, my eyes flying open now even as a second pair of hands join the first, resting above them. 

Confused, I open my eyes and find myself staring at Dieter, whose eyes are dark with lust, lips pulled into a small smirk. Behind me, I can feel Landa lean in again, his tongue flicking out to catch a droplet of water as it beads on my skin, following the trail up to my jaw. Dieter watches, before leaning in to ghost his lips over mine, pulling me towards him. 

Sighing at the beginnings of pleasure, I relax into the touches that begin to stroke over my body, all four hands starting to slide over me, feeling every inch of my skin they possibly can. Both men are entirely naked, their cocks gradually hardening at the sound of my breathy gasps, my palms coming up to rest against Dieter's chest, pressing flat against the taut expanse of skin. Lips press against my shoulders and neck, Hans licking and biting gently at me, letting out soft sounds as he lavishes my wet skin with his tongue and mouth. Dieter kisses me, his lips soft against mine, gently taking control as he tilts my head towards him, one of his hands reaching up to grasp one of my breasts. A throaty moan escapes me at this, my back arching, accidentally pushing my ass back into Hans.

At the feeling of my ass rubbing over his hardening cock, Landa groans and pushes forwards, pressing himself against me, and in turn me against Dieter, who is pinned to the wall by the combined weight. Moaning into the kiss at the feeling of their naked bodies pressed against mine, I relish the slide of skin over skin as the space between us is diminished, pleasure rising in me as Dieter's cock slips between my folds, nudging my clit even as Hans presses between my ass cheeks. 

A hand suddenly appears at my core, long fingers sliding through my folds, pressing into my clit. Moaning loudly, I let my head fall back onto Landa's shoulder as the fingers move further and press into my entrance, teasing me. Both men attack my throat, licking and sucking at the exposed skin, wet hair brushing over my neck as they lean over me, adding to the pleasure building between my legs as the fingers start to rub over me enthusiastically. 

As the fingers slide inside me, my breath hitches and I move my hands to Dieter's hair, pulling on it. The major lets out a guttural growl and pushes forwards, shoving the three of us into the opposite wall, pinning me to it as he starts to kiss me in earnest, tongue working its way into my mouth. Exploring everything it can reach, the slick muscle wraps around mine, the man kissing me swallowing every sound that escapes me, the fingers inside me thrusting far faster now. Both men grind their cocks into me, groaning out. Hans' grip on me is tight, his hands now moving up to palm at my breasts, tweaking my nipples I time with the thrust of the fingers, which I now recognise as his. Dieter's grip on me is also tight, but he seems to be reaching around me to grope at Landa now as well, drawing a grunt from the colonel, who bucks into the touch. 

Pulling back, the two look over my shoulder at each other, before Dieter turns his gaze to me, smirking as he lowers his hand to his cock. The fingers inside me pull out, leaving me with no time to be disappointed as his thick, veined cock replaces them, penetrating me deeply, hitting the spot inside me that has me seeing stars. Tilting my head back, I can only moan as Hans' cock slides in slowly beside the first, stretching me out painfully. 

Thankfully, he retains the slower pace he had used the first time, continuing on until he's fully seated beside Dieter, slightly longer but with a little less girth, though the delicious stretch does not show this at all. Aroused and ready for more, I rock my hips down on them, crying out as the two men suddenly thrust hard out and into me, slamming themselves into me. 

After the first hard thrust, however, they revert to a powerful but slow pace, lips pressed to my shoulders, tonguing lazily at my skin as they fuck into me. The two whisper praises, telling me how well I'm taking them and how good I feel stretched around them, my body feeling so full I could burst. Pleasure builds swiftly, my slick dripping down my legs even as I feel the first trails of precum within me, the thrusts now getting erratic as we meet our ends. 

I climax first, tightening like a vice around them, practically screaming as the pleasure envelopes me entirely, blinding me in its white-hot ferocity. Consumed by euphoria, I collapse against Hans and Dieter, who groan as they pull out, jerking themselves off against me until they both cum, painting me in thick white ropes of the stuff even as water courses down our bodies. 

Breathing heavily, we remain in each other's hold for a time, basking in the bliss of our combined orgasms. Eventually, we move, or rather they move me as I go limp, too exhausted to do anything as they clean me up, hands soft as they rub over my body. 

In no time, we're all showered and clean again. 

Climbing out, Dieter picks me up, holding me against his chest, Hans having wrapped a towel around me and patted me dry, smiling and murmuring sweet nothings the whole time. Dieter gazes down at me, smiling softly, his wet hair hanging in his face, disheveled and beautiful, just as Landa's is as he looks at me. 

As they carry me to my bedroom, having dried themselves, I feel a sense of loss growing in me. It only grows as they place me down on my bed. 

"Stay...please stay…" I murmur, looking up at the two officers hopefully but tiredly, lying bonelessly on the bed, trying to plead with my eyes.

Surprisingly, they both smile. 

"As you wish." Hans says, nodding at Dieter as they climb into the bed with me, the former on my right, the latter on my left. 

Smiling happily, I curl into Dieter's body, glad when I feel Hans press against my back, his arm looped over my waist, their combined warmth seeping into me. As Dieter pulls up the covers, I feel him press a soft kiss to my forehead. Landa starts to him softly, a gentle lullaby that quickly lulls me to sleep.