CUBIC POPCORN

Hans took a sip of his whiskey, the amber liquid burning slightly as it slid down his throat. He stood in the VIP room on the second floor of The Mister, his nightclub, and his keen eyes watched through the glass as you moved gracefully among the tables below. The dim lighting cast a soft glow over your figure, and despite your ordinary beauty, there was something about you that captivated him entirely. Perhaps it was the way you were clearly afraid of him, yet still found the courage to reject his advances.

Hans' obsession with you was all-consuming. He didn't fully understand why you had captured his attention so completely. Maybe it was the way your fear mixed with defiance, a tantalizing combination that made you more intriguing than anyone else he had encountered. He had gone so far as to change all the waitresses' uniforms to shorter skirts, purely to see more of your legs. The sight of the fabric skimming your thighs as you moved about the club was something he relished, yet now he was beginning to regret that decision. Watching some customers groping you, harassing you, made his blood boil. You were his, even if you didn't know it yet.

Hans' hooked nose crinkled with disdain as he saw a man reach out and grab your arm, pulling you closer. He set his whiskey down with a dangerous calm, his baritone voice low and menacing as he spoke to one of his men. "Remove that piece of trash," he ordered, his German accent pronounced in his anger. "And make sure he understands why he will never return here."

His eyes never left you as the thug moved quickly to obey. The customer, oblivious to his impending fate, continued to leer at you, his hand sliding down your arm. Hans' jaw tightened as he saw you pull away, fear and anger flashing in your eyes.

You were special. Not because of any grand beauty or extraordinary talent, but because you stood up to him, resisted him, despite the clear danger. Hans had everything—wealth, power, control over the New York underworld—but you eluded him, and that was a challenge he found irresistible.

As the thug approached the offending customer, Hans' gaze softened slightly as it returned to you. The short skirt accentuated your legs perfectly, drawing the eyes of everyone around. But those eyes, those hands, had no right to touch you. You were his, and soon, you would understand that.

Down below, you felt a chill run down your spine as you saw Hans watching you. You knew what kind of man he was—the most dangerous mobster in America, controlling the entire New York underworld with a ruthless efficiency. His intelligence and charisma were undeniable, but it was his cold, calculating nature that terrified you the most. And yet, despite your fear, you had always rejected his advances, determined not to become another one of his possessions.

Tonight, you wore the new uniform, the short skirt riding up uncomfortably as you moved among the tables. You had already had to deal with several customers' wandering hands, each touch making you more anxious. But you were surprised when one particularly persistent man was suddenly hauled out by one of Hans' thugs. You glanced up, and your heart skipped a beat as you saw Hans watching you intently from the VIP room.

Hans' lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as he saw the recognition and fear in your eyes. He relished the power he held over you, the way your defiance only made you more enticing. He took another sip of his whiskey, savoring the moment, imagining the day you would finally be his, completely and utterly.

As the night wore on, you tried to avoid his gaze, focusing on your work. But you could feel his eyes on you, following your every move. It was as if an invisible thread connected you to him, pulling you inexorably closer. You hated the way it made you feel, the way it seemed to strip away your control.

You continued working, going to get more drinks from the bar to serve. As you approached the counter, one of your co-workers, Lisa, was already there. She noticed the nervous tension in your posture and the way your eyes darted around the room.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Lisa asked, her voice filled with genuine concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

You sighed, glancing up towards the VIP room where Hans sat. "It's him," you whispered, barely audible over the clinking glasses and soft hum of conversation. "The boss is staring at me again."

Lisa followed your gaze, her eyes widening slightly as she saw Hans seated in an armchair near the glass, his eyes fixed on you. She quickly looked away, her face a mix of fear and pity. "At least he never forced himself on you," she said softly, trying to offer some comfort.

You shook your head, still feeling the weight of his gaze on you. "I know, but I don't like the way he looks at me. It makes me nervous."

Lisa bit her lip, feeling a twinge of sympathy for you. "I heard the dancers talking earlier," she said quietly, leaning in so only you could hear. "Apparently, Tiffany's giving him a private dance tonight. That should take his attention away from you for a while, maybe even all night."

You felt a small sense of relief at the news. "Thank God," you muttered. "But I've heard he fucks some of the dancers during those private sessions."

Lisa nodded, her expression grim. "Yeah, I've heard that too. Some of the girls think they're gaining power by sleeping with him. It's disgusting."

You sighed, your shoulders slumping slightly as you picked up a tray of drinks. "He used to do it with the waitresses too," you said, your voice filled with bitterness. "A few of them still talk about it, like it was some kind of honor."

Lisa shook her head, her eyes filled with anger. "It's not an honor," she said fiercely. "It's manipulation and control. He gets off on it, knowing he has that kind of power over them."

You nodded, feeling a wave of anger and helplessness wash over you. "I just wish there was a way to make him stop," you whispered, more to yourself than to Lisa.

As you walked back to the tables, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the oppressive weight of Hans' gaze bearing down on you. Even with the knowledge that Tiffany would be occupying his attention, you still felt a deep sense of unease. The way he looked at you, the way he controlled everything and everyone around him—it was suffocating.

Hans looked away from you when he heard a knock on the door of the VIP room. He ordered the visitor in with a curt nod and watched as one of the dancers entered, her outfit leaving little to the imagination. She wore a short, tight skirt that barely covered her hips and a top that clung to her curves. Hans motioned for her to begin, his eyes darkening with anticipation.

The dancer moved gracefully, her hips swaying seductively as she approached the pole dance bar. Hans got up and walked over to the armchair near the pole, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He sat down, crossing his legs and leaning back, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his face as he watched her with intense interest.

"Show me what you can do," he ordered, his baritone voice dripping with authority.

The dancer began to move, her body twisting and turning with practiced ease. She wrapped her leg around the pole, sliding down slowly, her eyes locked onto Hans'. He watched her every move, his gaze predatory and unyielding. The sight of her body, exposed and vulnerable, stirred something dark within him.

As she danced, Hans let his mind wander back to you. The way you had rejected his advances, the fear and defiance in your eyes—it was intoxicating. He imagined you in the dancer's place, your body writhing under his command. The thought sent a thrill through him, and he shifted in his seat, his desire growing stronger.

The dancer continued her routine, her movements becoming more daring and explicit. She unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor, revealing a lacy thong that barely covered her. Hans' eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening as he watched her. She reached behind her back, unclasping her top and letting it drop, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.

"Come closer," Hans commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

She obeyed, crawling towards him on all fours, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and excitement. Hans reached out, running a hand through her hair, pulling her closer. He could feel her breath on his skin, her body trembling with anticipation.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked, his tone soft yet menacing.

"Yes, Mr. Gruber," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Good," he replied, his fingers tightening in her hair. "Then you know what I expect."

He pulled her up, forcing her to straddle his lap. The dancer gasped, her body pressing against his, but she didn't resist. Hans ran his hands down her back, savoring the feel of her skin under his fingertips. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear.

"You will do exactly as I say," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "And if you please me, there will be rewards. But if you disobey..." He let the threat hang in the air, his meaning clear.

He stormed out of the VIP room, his mind already calculating the best approach to diffuse the situation. His men trailed behind him, knowing better than to speak when their boss was in such a foul mood. As Hans descended the stairs to the basement, the sounds of shouting and scuffling grew louder. The dim, flickering lights cast eerie shadows on the concrete walls, adding to the tense atmosphere.

The dancer nodded, her body tense with fear and desire. Hans smiled, satisfied with her submission. He would enjoy this, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you. The challenge you presented, the way you resisted him—it only made him want you more. And he was determined to have you, no matter what it took.

Hans explored the dancer’s body with a deliberate, almost clinical precision. His fingers traced the curves of her waist and hips as he kissed down her neck to her collarbone, ignoring the soft laugh that escaped her lips. His touch was authoritative, a reminder of who held the power in the room. He reveled in the way she shivered under his control, every inch of her a testament to his dominance.

Just as he was about to continue, a sharp knock on the door interrupted the moment. Hans growled in irritation, his hooked nose crinkling with displeasure. He looked up as one of his men entered, a nervous expression on his face.

“What is it?” Hans demanded, his baritone voice dripping with annoyance.

“There’s trouble in the basement, Mr. Gruber,” the man stammered. “Two heads of allied mafia families are fighting each other.”

Hans rolled his eyes, shoving the dancer off his lap with a rough push. He stood up, his tall, thin frame casting a long shadow in the dim light. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, buttoning his shirt with quick, angry movements.

The basement of The Mister was a sanctuary for the most dangerous guests—bandits, mafia families, and any allies willing to pay for the “special treatment” the underground offered. It was a place where deals were made, alliances forged, and disputes settled. But Hans couldn’t afford to let two smaller gangs fall out with each other; his strength depended on the unity of his network. The police had been relentless in their efforts lately, and any sign of weakness could be disastrous.

When he entered the basement, the scene before him was chaotic. Two men, heads of their respective families, were grappling with each other, surrounded by their equally enraged followers. The air was thick with tension, the smell of sweat and aggression almost palpable.

“Enough!” Hans shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a knife. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to him. He walked forward with an air of authority, his presence commanding respect and fear. “What is the meaning of this?"

One of the men, a burly figure with a scar running down his cheek, pointed angrily at his opponent. “This bastard tried to cheat me out of my share!” he growled.

His opponent, a lean man with a tattooed neck, shot back, “You’re the one who reneged on the deal! Don’t think you can pull one over on me, you piece of shit!”

Hans sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. “I don’t care who started it,” he said coldly. “You’re both acting like children, and I won’t have it in my establishment.”

He stepped between them, his eyes cold and unyielding. “You will resolve this matter peacefully, or I will resolve it for you. And trust me, you won’t like my methods.”

The two men glared at each other but remained silent, their anger simmering beneath the surface. Hans knew he had to be firm. Any sign of weakness would only embolden them.

“Sit down,” he ordered, pointing to a nearby table. “We’re going to settle this now.”

Reluctantly, the men obeyed, sitting across from each other with their respective followers standing close by. Hans remained standing, his gaze shifting between them.

“Now, tell me exactly what happened,” he said, his voice calm but deadly serious. As the men began to explain their grievances, Hans listened intently, his mind working quickly to find a solution that would satisfy both parties and restore order.

After hearing both sides, he made his decision. “Here’s what we’ll do,” he said, his tone brokering no argument. “You will split the profits evenly, and I will oversee the transaction personally to ensure there is no further dishonesty. Any deviation from this agreement, and you will answer to me directly.”

Both men nodded reluctantly, understanding the gravity of Hans’ words. The tension in the room eased slightly as they realized that disobeying Hans was not an option.

“Good,” Hans said, satisfied. “Now, shake hands and let’s put this behind us.”

The men hesitated but eventually complied, shaking hands with forced civility. Hans watched them closely, ensuring that the truce was genuine. Once he was satisfied, he turned to his men.

“Keep an eye on them,” he ordered. “Make sure they adhere to the agreement.”

Hans turned to leave and went up the stairs, almost bumping into you as you came down with a box. You staggered slightly, managing to keep your balance as you looked up and saw him standing there, his eyes narrowing in surprise and suspicion.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gruber," you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to pass him. The large box in your hands wobbled precariously, and you could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you. "I didn't mean to—"

Hans blocked your path, his expression unreadable as he looked down at you. "What are you doing down here?" he questioned, his baritone voice low and commanding. "You are not one of the waitresses assigned to serve the drinks in the basement."

You kept your head down, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. "The drink supply was running low in the basement," you explained, stuttering slightly. "I was told to bring this box of drinks to replace them."

Hans' hooked nose crinkled slightly as he studied you, his eyes narrowing. "And who, exactly, told you to do this?"

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "One of the supervisors," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't catch his name."

Hans took a step closer, his presence intimidating. "Look at me when you speak," he commanded, his voice soft yet menacing.

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze with trepidation. The intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. "I-I didn't mean any disrespect," you stammered. "I just wanted to help."

For a moment, Hans said nothing, his eyes boring into yours as if searching for any sign of deceit. Then, he sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Very well," he said, stepping aside to let you pass. "But next time, inform me before you venture down here. Understood?"

You nodded quickly, grateful for the reprieve. "Yes, Mr. Gruber. Thank you."

As you made your way down the stairs, you could feel his eyes on you, a reminder of the power he held over everyone in the club. The encounter left you shaken, and you wondered how much longer you could continue to resist him. The fear and defiance that had kept you safe so far seemed fragile in the face of his relentless pursuit.

Hans watched you go, a thoughtful expression on his face. There was something about you, something that drew him in despite your attempts to distance yourself. He admired your courage, your defiance, but he also found it frustrating. No one defied Hans Gruber and remained unscathed.

As he turned to leave, he made a mental note to keep a closer eye on you. You were an enigma, a challenge that he was determined to unravel. And in the dangerous game of power and control that he played, you were a prize worth pursuing.

Down in the basement, you placed the box of drinks on the counter, trying to steady your trembling hands. The brief encounter with Hans had left you rattled, and you couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You had to stay strong, had to keep resisting.

But as you worked, the doubts crept in. How long could you continue to resist the most dangerous man in America? How long before you succumbed to the pressure, the fear? The thought filled you with a sense of helplessness, and for the first time, you wondered if you would ever be free of his shadow.

Meanwhile, Hans returned to the VIP room, his mind still preoccupied with thoughts of you. He poured himself another glass of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. You were a puzzle, a challenge that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. And he was determined to solve it, no matter what it took.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Brings you a drink and gives you a massage. Whispers sweet nothings to you in English and German as you fall asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His shoulders. He's got a strong build, and it makes those fancy suits he likes look very good.

Your hands. Whether you're toughing him, a weapon, a computer keyboard, your hands hold his attention and drives him crazy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Inside you. He loves to feel you tighten around his cock, taking all of him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn’t really have any dirty secrets. You know all his most filthy desires and have done most of them.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s decently experienced. Enough to know what he likes and how to please you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes having you spread out on a desk or table, your legs around his waist and his feet on the ground so he can thrust nice and hard into you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’ll laugh darkly at the way you get when you’re desperate from being edged or completely cock-drunk.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well groomed and neat is his style.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can actually be very romantic with you. His favourite term of endearment for you is Schatzi, whispered in your ear or against your lips. You are his treasure, his jewel, and he makes sure you know it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

While you watch. He’ll stroke himself while you strip, a slow tease for both of you. Sometimes you’ll watch him finish, sometimes you can’t resist and end up knelt between his legs finishing the job for him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Edging. He loves bringing you to the brink over and over. Prolonging the sensation before finally making you see stars. Impact play. A little pain to heighten the pleasure, like smacking your ass as you ride his thigh.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere really. He’ll prefer somewhere where with some luxury like a fancy hotel room, but he’ll take you against the wall of a parking garage if the mood strikes.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you square up against someone, verbally or physically. To Hans, it's a thing of beauty to watch you skilfully hand someone their ass and it drives him wild. And on the flip side of that, when you're submissive and vulnerable to him. He is the only person in the world you would be like that with and that mix of trust, love and sensuality really turns him on.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Not much is off the table with him. He won’t do public sex thought. He is possessive and won’t have anyone else see you like that.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He enjoys giving just as much as receiving and is very skilled.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rough and sensual.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Happens a fair amount. He’s such a composed, in control man, you like teasing him till he snaps and takes you hard and fast wherever you are.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He likes to experiment when something intrigues either of you. You’ve indulged in some gun and knife play, so he’ll take some risks but not push things too far.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

On average, four. Sometimes more. He likes to wear you out and make sure your legs are still weak the next day.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t really have a use for toys. Prefers the satisfaction of using his hands and mouth make you scream.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Definitely a tease. He’ll touch you everywhere except where you need until you beg. He’ll keep your hands pinned down so you can’t touch him. The man’s a menace.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not really loud. More heavy breathing, gasps and growls.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Planning the tower heist together was a massive turn on for both of you. You had desk sex on top of your plans several times.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A good seven inches and thick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High but controlled.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)