𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀

── .✦. 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 … here my name will be a mistery, but you can call me 𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀. i’m a girl who lives in southeastern brazil, in a small town surrounded by forests.

i’m a girl who loves talking about movies and music.

i write some stories just for fun.

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐒 twin peaks, inglourious basterds, it, dead poets society, harry potter, dc, & tim burton films.

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐍 christian bale, jake gyllenhaal, august diehl, christoph waltz, bill skarsgård, wagner moura, cillian murphy, al pacino & aaron taylor-johnson.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. — 11/05.

I get a tattoo on my arm.

— ୨ৎ. 𝐓𝐀𝐆: john f. kennedy & fem/reader! kisses, erotic fantasies, jealousy, older, imagine!

your parents are close friends of John F. Kennedy. You are a young twenty-year-old girl, with a beauty so enchanting that it draws everyone's gaze. You were too young when you first saw John Kennedy; it was in your father's office. By chance, you passed by there right after getting out of school. That's when he walked through the main door, posture straight, wearing a tuxedo that was surely worth more than your parents' car. He greeted everyone until he stopped in front of you. With a small smile on his face, he extended his hand to you. You hesitated for a moment, still hypnotized by his striking presence. Your hand touched his: it was warm and large.

After that day, you couldn't stop thinking about him. You felt embarrassed for thinking too much about an older man, for thinking about him. He, a married and successful man, would never look at you with different eyes. Even though you were of age, he would still see you as just another teenager with a crush.

Then, for the first time, your parents are invited to one of the many Kennedy gala balls. You always avoided going; you didn't want to think about him and desire him more than you already did. But then, your mother asks you to go, at least once, so as not to be rude.

Your mother bought you a beautiful dress that afternoon. A long satin dress, in a pearly white color, with only thin straps to hold up your breasts. It was tight on the body, accentuating the curve of your waist and buttocks. A pair of high heels in the same shade as the dress and a set of pearls on your ears. You looked stunning. When you came downstairs to go to the car, your parents were waiting for you in the living room: your mother with a smile on her face, your father with a scowl, which he tried to hide. After all, you were still just a girl, weren't you?

Upon arriving at the party venue, everyone was very well dressed. The men in their black tuxedos, the women in their long dresses and valuable jewels around their necks.

Your eyes scanned the ballroom: some familiar faces, others not so much. Your father greeted everyone who passed by him, until they reached John. He, with a smile on his face, extended his hand to your father, shook it firmly, greeted your mother, and finally reached you. Your heartbeat suddenly accelerated. He approached you and spoke your name:

— How are you, Y/N? I see it's your first time here.

Your cheeks heated up, blushing deeply. You smiled politely.

In a fraction of a second, John's eyes dropped to your neckline. It wasn't flashy, but somehow the fullness of your breasts caught his attention.

Jackie approached you all, with a gentle smile on her face. She greeted everyone there. She was wearing a dark pink dress; on her lips, lipstick the same shade as the dress. Her short hair barely reached her shoulders.

She stole John's attention, which was previously on you, now it was on her. Your chest tightened; a pang of jealousy struck you like lightning. Jealousy or envy? You couldn't differentiate those two feelings inside you at that moment.

Your gaze dropped to Jackie's hands, resting around John's arm: one hand brushed against his biceps, the other remained curled around his forearm.

You looked away, glancing up to look at Kennedy briefly. You didn't expect him to also be looking at you. Your parents and Jackie were too distracted to notice this exchange of glances between you.

You barely noticed when Jackie guided John to another circle of friends. Now your parents were already talking to other people, but the only thing you thought about was that you could be better than her in several ways. You would let John do whatever he wanted with you; surely Jackie didn't like some of the things John liked. You were younger than her, had never experienced having relations with other men, couldn't even dream of it since your parents don't allow it before marriage. But you didn't even care: they would never find out.

Once, you read in a magazine that men like inexperienced girls, that they like to teach them how to please others and themselves.

Your thoughts took you away into your imagination.

You see yourself lying on a large bed, with white sheets wrapped around your naked body. Large open windows gave you a view of an extensive green lawn. The daylight entered through the windows without asking permission, flooding the room with brightness. Your elbows were propped on the bed, keeping you balanced on the mattress.

John enters through the door. He looks at you, hypnotized. His eyes never leave your body. He approaches the bed in slow steps; with each step, he unbuttons one button of his navy blue suit. He has a smile on his face, of someone who knows what they're getting into, but still, follows the path of desire.

He stops in front of you, at the edge of the bed.

— Come here, darling.

You don't hesitate: you crawl towards him like a cat. His gaze remains on you. Your body yearns for him, for his touch. Now, your knees rest on the mattress, your face inches from his.

He approaches in slow motion. His hand travels over your body, landing on your exposed breast. His hand massages the skin, his fingers brushing against your rigid nipple. His face is inches from your neck; his warm breath against your skin makes your thighs rub against each other.

Now, your hands are resting on Kennedy's shoulder. His lips kiss every inch of your exposed skin, being careful not to leave marks. You moan softly in his ear.

You hear a voice calling you, but you are so comfortable here that you just ignore it. But the voice persists, and you return to the harsh reality.

— Y/N! I've been calling you for a long time! — Your mother had a scowl on her face.

You stammer as you try to formulate a response for your absence:

— I-I was distracted... I'm sorry.

let's agree that 𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 is an attractive old man?

we could get high in 𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐈, ooh-ooh dance the night away people never die in 𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐈, ooh-ooh that's what they all say (you believe me, don't you baby?)

come on down to 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐀, i got somethin' for ya we could see the kilos or the keys, baby, oh yeah guns in the summertime, chic-a-cherry Cola lime prison don't mean nothing to me, if you'll be by my side.

— ୨ৎ. 𝐓𝐀𝐆: michael corleone & fem/reader! unprotected sex, spanking, cheating, age difference, fictional names.

It wasn't very detailed, I'm sorry 😭

you never imagined that opening your door to a man in a suit, holding a briefcase, would completely change your life. His attentive way with children caught the attention of a very influential family in the state of Nevada.

Kay was exhausted; the pressure of giving constant attention to two small children was slowly killing her. Of course, Kay loved her children more than anything in this world; she protected them and preserved their innocence from this sick world. But she needed time for herself: time to read a book, relax in the Corleone mansion's gigantic garden, go out with some friends without the worry of being with her children twenty-four hours a day.

After several interviews with older nannies — most of which were disasters — the women just didn't have the patience for the little ones, treating them in a way that even Kay wouldn't. She was about to give up on finding a nanny, but then you appeared.

After a short trip to New York to spend the weekend with Michael and the kids, an elderly woman approached them while Kay was trying to calm the youngest child down.

— Honey, you should get a nanny.

Kay might have taken that as an offense, but she really needed one.

— I know a young woman who takes care of children; everyone adores her!

Kay's eyes lit up at that.

— Where can I find her?

The woman passed on the information of where you lived. Kay then talked to Michael about bringing you to Lake Tahoe.

A week passed. You were at home with your parents when the doorbell rang; you weren't expecting anyone. You walked down the hallway and opened the door. A man in a black suit, hair slicked back, held a briefcase with a gentle smile on his face.

— Miss Watson, correct? May we talk?

You let him in. You led him to the living room, where you both sat on the sofa. Then, he began to talk about the proposal to go to Nevada and work for the Corleones. The salary was surreal to you. You never thought you'd earn so much working as a nanny. You thought for a few seconds and agreed to stay for at least a month, until you were sure you'd want to remain there.

The next day, you were already on a plane heading to Lake Tahoe. The man who had been accompanying you this whole time was named Niccolò and worked for Mr. Corleone.

The mansion's gates opened for you. The driver stopped in front of the entrance. Kay and her children waited outside. She was kind and showed you the entire house; the children were still shy about meeting someone new.

Kay was so happy that she could finally go out without worrying about taking the kids along too.

Michael was in his office, sitting comfortably in his chair while smoking a cigar. His wife brought you to him to introduce you.

When your eyes met Michael's, your legs went weak. He was attractive, charming. You expected him to be at least fifty and just an ordinary man, but no — he was nothing like you imagined.

— Welcome, Y/n. I'm sure the children will adore you — he smiled and rose from the chair.

You smiled back, returning to reality after being hypnotized by his brown eyes.

Three months passed. You were always with the children; they loved you. Kay felt so at ease that she was always out of the house. You didn't mind that, especially since it meant you spent more time alone with Michael. You knew he had desired you from the first day; his eyes never lied. When you wore your white skirt and walked back and forth after the children, the wind blowing against it; or when something accidentally fell on the floor in front of Michael and you bent over, exposing the curve of your backside.

Then, on a Wednesday afternoon, Kay decided to take the children to the park to spend some time with them. Only you and Michael were left in the gigantic mansion.

Your innocent look fooled everyone, but not Michael. He knew your intentions from the start. And your sweet, meek face remained whenever his wife was nearby, or whenever anyone else was in the room. But when it was just the two of you, you showed yourself to be someone else — and he loved that.

Walking through the enormous hallways, you quietly stopped in front of the door to Michael's office. You entered without knocking; he was already expecting you.

You were wearing a short dress — it was summer, and Kay never had a problem with your clothes.

The man took one last sip of his expensive whiskey and smiled. You sat on his lap, wrapping your arm around the back of his neck. He held your waist for a few seconds, slid his hand down to your backside covered by the fabric, massaged the soft skin, and gave a firm slap. Surprised by the action, you bit your lower lip.

Michael stood up from the chair — your legs wrapped around his waist — and sat you on the desk. His hands went down the edge of your dress, pulling it off and tossing it into a corner of the room. Your breasts were exposed to him, leaving only your lace panties.

He kissed you fiercely, no time for hesitation. The excitement was already building inside you both. Michael's hands traveled up to your breasts; he kissed your neck, leaving no marks.

Your hands unbuttoned his dress shirt, tearing it from his body and tossing it with your dress. Your hands slid down his bare chest, lightly scratching his back. Your tongues fought for space.

He unbuckled his belt, revealing his erect penis. He grabbed your thighs, holding you in place, never stopping the kiss. He pressed his length against your clit, making you moan softly, teasing you to the point of wanting more. Without warning, he buried his cock inside you; your pussy clenched around his member.

— O-oh, Michael! — You weren't scared; you moaned loudly. Michael covered your mouth with his hand, while the other held your thigh. His thrusts were so deep you could feel them in your cervix.

Kay never let Michael go that hard; she felt uncomfortable. It was never a problem for him, but when he fucked you from behind until your legs were shaky and you were begging him not to stop, he got addicted — like a drug.

You rarely had the opportunity to fuck without anyone possibly seeing; so when those chances came, he buried his cock inside you until you forgot your own name.

Michael groaned softly in your ear. You clung to him as he went faster and faster.

Suddenly, he stopped his movements — you didn't understand why. He pulled back from your neck, where his face had been buried, and looked into your eyes.

— Kay's here — he said, as the sound of the car approached.

You pulled away from Michael quickly; his cock was no longer inside you. Your lips formed a pout that melted Michael's cold heart. He approached and kissed your lips.

— We'll finish another time, darling.

He pulled away, going to the clothes tossed on the floor; he handed you your dress and put on his shirt. He fixed his hair, which was messy from you pulling it. When you finished dressing, you went to him — you needed to leave quickly.

— Don't leave me wanting you — you whispered, kissing his lips one last time.

she was elegantly uncomplicated, wearing simple clothes that, at the same time, drew attention wherever she went.

and there's nothing I can do about it.

𝐓𝐀𝐆: fictitious names, kisses, mention of a knife.

Three years had passed, and your life had its ups and downs. Your father had died after living with a malignant cancer that affected his lung. His departure was difficult and painful; he was the only person you trusted, your only family, and the only one who protected you from all the evils of the world.

You were only twenty-two when your life truly turned upside down. They were at war; everyone had lost those they loved, but you were completely alone.

Sitting by the window, with only your book in hand and a cigarette between your fingers, you read each word attentively. The world around you was completely forgotten during the last two hours you had been sitting there. The door to the place opened, and two soldiers entered, walked over to two benches near you, and sat down. You decided to pay attention to their conversation; your eyes remained on the small letters in the book so they wouldn’t notice you were listening to everything.

— The Führer swore that when he found those bastards, he would hang them by their heels from the Eiffel Tower — one of the soldiers began to say, his words filled with contempt.

— He'll throw them to the rats. Last week, the only survivor was Kühn. They massacred everyone else and then scalped them — the other said. It caught your attention: who were these 'bastards'?

After spending the whole afternoon listening to the soldiers' conversation, you returned to your apartment with only one purpose: to meet those who were named the "Inglourious Basterds," a legend among Nazi soldiers.

In the following months, you frequented the same places as the soldiers, listening to their conversations and mentally noting everything that could be useful to get closer to finding them. On a cold night in a small village in the countryside, you wandered through the poorly lit streets; the high heels were starting to hurt your feet, but walking through the narrow streets comforted you in some way. With your cigarette between your fingers, you brought it to your lips, inhaled the smoke into your mouth, and then slowly blew it out.

You spotted a man leaning against a post, smoking; he hadn't noticed you yet, or he simply chose to ignore your proximity. Your steps remained slow and stopped when you stood beside him. He turned his face and looked at you.

Blond hair, a chevron-style mustache, and a large scar on his neck. Fate had decided to intertwine your paths; you had waited months for this meeting, and it happened unexpectedly.

— Are you Aldo the "Apache"? — you said, still analyzing him; his gaze avoided your face.

— How do you know who I am? — he approached, standing in front of you; the sharp iron tip touched the side of your belly. Fear settled inside you; you knew who you were dealing with, you expected nothing less, but the fear still remained there.

— You're famous across Europe; wherever you go, you leave a trail of soldiers' bodies. I want to join the bastards — you remained motionless. He laughed.

— What made you think it would be that easy? I don't even know your name, and what if you're one of them? — he pressed the knife, not enough to cut the skin, but enough to be uncomfortable.

— If I were one of them, would I come like this? Unarmed, in the middle of the night, in an unknown village in the middle of France? — he fell silent, absorbing every word you said. Then, he moved the knife away from your belly and leaned his back against the post.

— You'll have to answer a few questions — men approached you, probably the rest of the members.

…

— What?! I'm going to distract Colonel Hans at tonight's premiere?! — It had been a year since you joined the Inglourious Basterds, the only woman in the group. Deceiving Colonel Hans was almost impossible; he analyzed every expression on your face, how your tone of voice came from your throat, your posture, even discreetly holding your wrist to feel your heartbeat.

— S/N, you're the only woman in the group; he doesn't know what you look like physically. And we need a distraction to get past him and successfully complete the plan. Have a glass of champagne with him, use your charm — he crossed his arms and leaned against the table; everyone was there. Hugo was sharpening his knife with the utmost patience in the world, Donny was throwing a baseball against the wall, while the rest listened to the conversation in silence.

After thinking for a few long minutes, everyone already knew there was only this option; you just had to accept it. You give in and agree to the plan.

There were only two hours left for everyone to be seated in the red armchairs watching the film Nation's Pride. They had no time for other plans.

When the plan to sneak into the premiere, where the Führer and the other soldiers would be, you already thought about how you would behave, being overly exposed to the dogs, like a rabbit.

You went to an elegant shop where evening gowns were sold and bought the one that would attract the least attention: a long black dress, tight to the body, accentuating your curves, with a side slit that started at the thighs and went down to the foot. Light makeup: foundation, powder, blush, and mascara; finally, red lipstick on your lips. You draped the soft fur stole around your arms and let your hair fall over your shoulders.

You were facing the mirror, looking at yourself, when Aldo appeared at the door of the temporary room.

— Can you help me? — you ask and point to the necklace on the desk.

Aldo picks up the shiny object in his hands, places it around your neck, and fastens the clasp.

— I trust you — he touches your shoulder, looking at you through the mirror; you smile.

…

Shosanna took you to a hidden entrance at the back of the cinema. You looked around, making sure there was no one in the corridor; you went up the stairs and reached the corridor on the upper floor. The cinema was packed — not that this was difficult, as the cinema was considered small.

You had a view of everyone on the lower floor; your eyes wandered around the hall, looking for Landa.

— Mademoiselle — you recognized that voice almost immediately. You turned on your heels; you were face to face with the Colonel. You coldn't hesitate, stutter, or let your hands sweat.

— Colonel Hans Landa — he holds your hand, bringing it to his lips.

— If my memory serves me correctly, you are S/N? The farmer's daughter — he remembered you so quickly.

— Colonel, how do you still remember me? — you smiled kindly; he returned the smile.

— I cannot forget a memorable face like yours, mademoiselle — he hadn't changed, only his hair a little grayer. But this made him even more attractive.

— Champagne? — the waiter stopped beside you with a tray of champagne glasses. Hans took two glasses, handing one to you.

— I thought I wouldn't see you again — you said, bringing the glass to your lips, savoring the liquid.

— I, on the other hand, wished to meet you — you looked deep into his eyes, never leaving them.

— Don't think I didn't wish for that, darling — he moved closer by a fraction; however, it was enough to feel his breath.

— Not wanting to be rude, but how did you get in here? — your heartbeat quickened. He was testing you, for sure.

— My close friend owns the cinema, and since I love watching movies, she invited me tonight — your answer was clear; Landa nodded positively.

— A movie lover — he took a sip of champagne; for a few seconds, his eyes wandered, and yours did too, observing the hall from the upper floor. Looking for the Basterds, when you see Aldo, Donny, and Omar in their elegant tuxedos walking through the crowd.

Your eyes return to Hans; he was staring at you.

— I would like to have a private conversation with the mademoiselle, if you don't mind — his hand touches your lower back, guiding you to the empty corridor; the movie would start in a few minutes, and everyone was going in the opposite direction.

He opens the door for you; it was a small office, with a desk, two chairs, and some shelves with various books. He closes the door; you could hear the key turning in the lock.

— You may sit — he positions the chair for you to sit, removes your stole, and hangs it on the hook next to the door. He remains standing behind you. You didn't dare ask why he was doing this.

Then, one of his hands moves your hair away, holding it at the nape of your neck — at any moment, he could pull. Your neck exposed to him, like a mere human exposed to a vampire about to sink its sharp teeth into soft skin. He bends down; his calm breath against your skin gave you chills. Without warning, he begins to seal his lips against your neck: long, calm kisses, not worrying about missing the movie. His kisses started at your shoulder, moving up your neck until finally reaching your jaw.

Your eyes close, enjoying the sensation Hans was giving you. His other hand moves up to your breast, grabbing it and massaging it. You let out a moan. His lips pull away, and before you could open your eyes, Hans devours your mouth. The kiss was wild, desperate for more; your tongues danced in an addictive rhythm.

Until he grabs your hair, pulling it back, forcing you to look at him. Now he was facing you, with one hand in your hair and the other resting on the chair.

— Darling, I'll be quick about this, and I want you to answer honestly. You are an infiltrator — he doesn't ask but states. Your eyes fill with tears; your hands were paralyzed; trying to avoid his grip would be worse.

— Colonel, what did I do to make you think that? — he lets out a nasal laugh and moves closer to your ear.

— Your sweet and innocent act doesn't fool anyone, only yourself — you needed to get out of this. You would never give up any of the Basterds; you would die for them; your loyalty was the thing Aldo admired most about you.

He continues to speak.

— Talk! I know you're one of them — his grip becomes tighter. Now, his hand, which was previously resting on the chair, grabs your cheeks, squeezing them painfully — it will probably leave marks.

— You're hurting me — tears run down your rosy cheeks; Hans runs his thumb over them. Your eyes almost begged for mercy.

— Well, since you're making things difficult. I'll give you two alternatives — he then releases his grip, moves away from you, and leans against the desk in front of him. He admired how you looked even more beautiful crying.

𝐓𝐀𝐆: fictitious names.

— 𝓢: maybe there will be a part 2.

𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟏

You were a young girl living in the countryside of France with your father after fleeing Germany before being captured by the soldiers. New documents had been made, new names had been given, but the past was still there, like a secret locked away with seven keys and the key thrown far away.

Lying down with your legs crossed upward, elbows resting on the freshly cut grass, you read your favorite book. Your father shouted from afar for you not to go inside the house; you questioned yourself, and in the very next second, you heard the sound of a car engine approaching. You moved closer to the wall stealthily and remained outside, hidden, only listening to the conversation between your father and Colonel Landa as they stepped out the door. Your father had instructed you to stay where you were; nevertheless, you wanted to see with your own eyes the man whom everyone feared.

You approached in slow steps, heading toward the front door, where the two men were shaking hands. Hans, noticing your presence, lowered his gaze to you. A small smile formed on his thin lips, a gentle smile, yet one that hid something darker beneath.

— Is this your lovely daughter? — Hans asked your father as he stepped closer. He extended his hand to touch yours, then gently placed a subtle kiss upon it.

— Yes, my only daughter — your father was nervous; surely Landa noticed it. After all, what father would want to expose his beautiful and only daughter to an older man, especially knowing who he was?

— S/n — his lips moved away from the back of your hand, his eyes fixed on yours.

— A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Hans Landa, SS colonel — he was dangerous, yet so attractive. He carried fire within him and showed it in the way he walked; his posture was upright and confident, easily intimidating anyone. And when his lips touched your hand, a small flame, like that of a matchstick, ignited inside you.

— I shall take my leave, Mr. Leblanc and mademoiselle — he turned his back and walked toward his vehicle.

──── ୨ৎ. 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐗 & cola

──── ୨ৎ. 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 & national anthem

──── ୨ৎ. 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐙 & off to the races

──── ୨ৎ. 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀 & million dolar man

──── ୨ৎ. 𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐎 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄 & american