#major hellstrom x reader

->(not my gif)

summary: "not hungry?"; reader dreads being dragged to her father's parties, spending the night surrounded by high-ranking ss officers, but finds her boredom cured when she's seated next to a certain major

warnings: hard flirting, age gap, reader is young (but still legal dw 😼), inappropriate touching

word count: 2377

a.n: request specified teenager so im saying shes at least eighteen obvs before you guys come for me making me feel like an unc at my big age of 20 🤡 request was very recent but holy shit ive had smth similar in my mind for yonks so thank u for finally giving me an excuse to write it

~

"Would you stop messing with your dress."

"The sleeves are too long. I told you I didn't want to go back to that tailor."

"Come now, darling, you look just fine."

"I still don't understand why you have to drag me along."

"I want you to be here. We rarely get a chance to see each other and I thought it would be nice for you to meet some of the people I work with. And besides, you're becoming a young woman now-"

"Mein Gott, you're trying to find me a husband aren't you?"

"What! I don't know why you would ever suggest such a thing."

You held loosely onto your father's arm as he led you into the foyer of the building. You were tired already and the party hadn't even begun. It was bad enough that you were the youngest person in the room by some twenty years, but given your father's esteemed position in the army, you were also getting attention for a whole other reason.

You braced yourself as the guard held open the door for you both and you made your way into the main hall. The venue was as grand as most of the places your father dragged you to, swarms of people in a range of military uniforms accompanied by women in extravagant ball gowns. To your trained eye you knew most of them weren't as expensive as they tried to appear, but you were too exhausted even to trade snide comments with your chaperone.

"Papa, I swear if you've brought me here to set me up with one of your colonels-"

"Liebling," he laughed, reaching out for a champagne glass from a passing waiter. "Don't worry. I promise I have no intention of matchmaking tonight. I simply wanted some interesting company, and you happened to be the only person available at such short notice."

"Available?" you scoffed, eyes scanning about the room. There were so many people the crowds were blurring into one mass of insignia and gold, and the only thing you could think about was how badly you needed to get a drink in you. "I had plans, you told me to cancel them. You told me it was urgent."

"It is!" he protested. You pursed your lips in a tightened line and cocked him an eyebrow, ready to fight back some more, when he finally passed you a glass of bubbly, to whit you held your tongue and gave an audible sigh of relief. Quickly you raised the glass to your lips and finished off half in one go, the fizz slowly working through your bloodstream.

"Be careful, dear. Pace yourself. You're not used to drinking just yet. Make sure you stay away from the hard stuff."

You gave him a wry smile and tipped your head, wondering how with all of his military training your father had failed to find out you'd been drinking since thirteen.

The first port of call, once the guests had been sufficiently impaired by glass after glass of the old vintages, was dinner, and you knew that meant only one thing: the officer's table. You'd endured only a handful of these occasions before, when you were much younger and most of the comments directed toward you were with regard to how cute you looked, and how it was a good job your mother had been so beautiful etc.

But now was different. The dress you were wearing, though not exactly revealing, suddenly made you feel naked. Inhabiting a grown body for the first time around these men - some of which you knew to be boars when sober - wasn't going to be an easy feat.

The call came for the guests to make their way to their respective tables, and you felt your father tug gently at your arm.

"Papa-" you muttered, feet firm in place. You knew there was no way of getting out of it, but perhaps you could at least buy yourself some time; perhaps feigning an illness may have helped.

The general turned back confused, giving you a small encouraging smile. "It's alright," he whispered, the undertone of his voice clearly sympathetic, wordlessly saying I'm not happy about this either. "It'll be over before you know it."

You hesitated still, watching the officers filtering off into their respective dining rooms and feeling your chest tighten. You'd gotten enough silent looks from the lower ranks: you dreaded to think what the free tongues of the other highers would have to say to you.

"Don't worry," your father winked. "I'll make sure your glass is full. And if you pass out, I'll carry you home."

You gave a small laugh and finally assented, though your worry only increased when you passed into the room.

The party assembled consisted mostly of strangers, and by some horrific coincidence you were the only woman in the room. Cacophonous laughter flooded the room, some parties stood and slapped each other on the back, some grouped into smaller areas with more serious topics of discussion at hand.

Unfortunately your father outranked everyone in the room, so the moment you passed through the door, every conversation stopped and some dozen men all rose to their feet to attention.

"Gentlemen, please be seated."

It was odd to hear your father use what you termed his work voice, and for a moment you felt the full weight of his authority. He'd never been tyrannical at home, which may have been expected given his position. However since your mother had passed when you were little, he had sort of taken on both roles, being both mother and father. He was always soft with you and even in his punishments had never raised a hand against you: you dreaded to think how many people had died by the hand that now rested a top yours.

He looked down at you and gave you a sweet smile, completely removed from the expression he turned toward the gathered officers. He led you over to the table, pulling out your chair for you before taking the seat beside you.

There was a long moment of silence and you were conscious of dozens of eyes directed toward you. It was difficult to remember who you were, who your father was; seated amongst all those men you couldn't help but feel like no more than a helpless child.

Finally the drinks began to flow, and once your father had finally raised his glass the rest were allowed to drink and (much to your delight) turned back to their own conversations.

As soon as your wine was poured you reached for it, though you were painfully aware that the man to your right was turned fully toward you. With slight hesitation you glanced over to him. Beside you sat an officer you had never seen before, a major by the look of his uniform: your father's lessons in military attire were finally paying off. He was young, at least in comparison to the rest of the guests, with piercing eyes and an array of moles dotted around his face. He was practically smirking at you, a feat most people didn't have the audacity to perform, one hand flat on the table drumming his fingers.

You watched him for a moment frozen in place as his cigarette burned unattended above the ashtray.

"I'm old enough," you said by means of an answer. You tried to sound sure of yourself, but your voice came out small and you wouldn't have been surprised if he thought you a liar.

Left side of his lip tugged up into a smile, took a drag of his cigarette. Still you felt too shy to raise the glass to your mouth. Your admission suddenly dawned on you as carrying an alternate weight and you looked away when you felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

"Given who your father is," he said finally, voice as smooth as butter and lined with confidence, "I doubt there's a man here who would stop you even if you weren't."

He was casual with his words, but his gaze was fixed on you still.

Your hands were practically trembling. To your horror your father was engaged in amicable conversation with a colonel across the table, and you knew better than to disturb him.

You'd been brought as his scapegoat, but who was to be yours?

"Go ahead, fräulein. It's a good year."

Maintaining eye contact the major slowly drank from his glass, setting it down gently but not before passing his tongue over his lips. It was most likely an unconscious movement, but there was something deeply sensual about the way he did it that had you crossing your legs beneath the table.

For God's sake, this man must be at least twice your age! you cursed yourself, but the champagne from earlier on your empty stomach was persuading you otherwise. You'd always wondered why you'd had little to no interest in boys your age, and looking at the man before you now, it was obvious.

Steeling yourself, you relaxed into your chair, took up your glass, and put back the glass in one fell swoop, rather surprised yourself you'd managed it. Immediately a waiter came and refreshed your glass.

"Well," you said, the alcohol giving you some much needed confidence, "clearly my reputation proceeds me, but I have no idea who you are. Enlighten me."

Who was this new person? Usually inebriation made you giddy, silly almost, but suddenly you found yourself embodying a woman most of the wives at the party would've been intimidated by.

The man smiled softly, thumbing the neck of his glass. You had to focus intently to not stare at the deft movement of his fingers, wondering what they would feel like fanning across your skin.

"Major Dieter Hellstrom," he said.

Oh, so this was him. Your father had mentioned his name in passing once or twice, but you knew a fair bit about him from stories from the enlisted men. Many had stories to tell about Major Hellstrom, mostly of his brutality, especially with regards to his treatment of prisoners.

"Ah, from your silence my reputation also precedes me."

He was cocky, and where normally you would've been put off you found yourself only drawn further to him. Most men wouldn't have dared to talk to you like that, especially with the general only one place away. He was sure of himself almost to the point of insanity and it didn't hurt either that he was easy on the eye.

"Only rumours," you said dismissively, turning to your glass a little more gingerly now.

"Often there is more truth in rumours than in fact."

"For your sake, I'd hope not."

Dieter gave a low chuckle confirming your fears. Perhaps it was a similar situation to your father, that he was able to keep a seperate personality for work and domestic affairs: although why he would adopt a softer personality for you, you couldn't discern.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the first course was served. Not particularly because you were dying for the food - your stomach was in knots just sitting beside him (was he really inching closer to you or were you losing your mind) - but because you supposed you might get a break from his unflinching gaze.

Unfortunately, you weren't so lucky.

Rather than turning to the bowl of unspecified soup before him Dieter merely reached for another cigarette and lit it with a skilled hand. From how close he was sitting to you, you could smell the remnants of the others he'd smoked throughout the evening and you couldn't help but stare as he rubbed the stick along his bottom lip. Tilting his head back, he blew a trained cloud of smoke into the air, giving you a moment to release a breath you didn't know you were holding. A heat was growing between your legs, one you can't remember ever feeling before - at least not for a man outside of the books you'd read, or the movie stars you'd fawned over.

But Dieter was here: he was real, he was flesh, and he was moving his chair closer so that your knees were touching. The soft fabric of his suit trousers brushed against your bare knee and sent a shiver up your back.

Whilst you were inexperienced in this intricate dance, he clearly wasn't.

With shaking hands you searched your purse for your cigarettes but stopped short when the major held out his own. You held one between your lips, thankful your friends had taught you how to smoke, saving you at least some embarrassment, and leaned forward to Dieter's outstretched lighter. Almost unconsciously you gave him a perfect view of your chest, and you didn't miss the way his eyes flickered over your form. Regaining your confidence you leaned back in your chair, brushing your foot along his calf almost teasingly. You were glad your father was so intently occupied, because if he'd saw you with your foot practically in some major's lap, he would've took you home then and there.

In all honesty you were surprised by your behaviour, but the more you progressed the greater the rush felt. There was a moment where you thought the major might break his steely composure, but he steadied himself with a long drag on his Overstolz. Rather enjoying yourself you continued to run your foot over his leg, a slow dragging motion that made Dieter's breath hitch.

"Not hungry?" he asked quietly, though with the proximity you could hear him loud and clear.

Biting your nail you shook your head slowly, innocently, playing into the persona you knew he wanted. God you were so close.

Shooting you a small smile, Dieter - rather abruptly - turned his cigarette down into the soup before him and reached out a calloused hand to rest on your bare knee. His palm was warm, very warm, and from when his wrist rested you could feel his steady heartbeat.

Part 1

Synopsis: Continuation from part 1. There is NSFW/smut towards the end, MDNI

Kana's note: Here's part 2! It's my first time attempting and finishing to write a NSFW scene so pls forgive me if the smut part sucks :')

Finished writing/Edited at 2 am so sorry for any mistakes in advance. Hope you enjoy! :D

Wordcount: 1.8 k

->(not my gif)

summary: didn't your mother never tell you not to play with your food.; reader is working as a spy, but when she's faced with major hellstrom himself, has to think on her feet for a way to save her skin

warnings: 18+!!, public blowjobs, probably unhygienic idk, blowjobs in an alleyway?, look u know the drill

word count: 2523

a.n: heheh i LOVED writing this im so hard on my august shit rn. would just like to say thank u all so much for saying such nice things about my work it literally means the whole world i love u all sm mwah mwah. some very strange things are happening in my flatmate's room so apologies if the proofreading is distracted

~

You had spotted him from across the bar a while ago. There was no mistaking it: it was him that they'd sent.

You'd heard rumours about Dieter Hellstrom, of course - everybody had. It was just that you'd always prayed you'd never have to actually meet him. It didn't help that you'd been spying on Nazi operations for the past three months; you couldn't have taken a more high-risk position for coming face to face with the man himself.

Espionage work wasn't new to you; in fact, at this point you were one of the best in the field. Whenever your government needed a job doing well, they called on you. The rumours of a film premiere with some of the highest ranking SS officers had brought you here, to a pub in the back of beyond in a country where your accent was dubious at best. The brief of the mission had been to intercept some of the officers involved in the organisation of the event, and if possible secure yourself entry.

You weren't particularly nervous, after all you'd been pulling the wool over the Gestapo's eyes for months now, and to your knowledge none of them were any the wiser. And it was nice to finally have an excuse to dress up. You didn't have to worry about strange looks from the locals as the place was only frequented by German soldiers, so your intonation slipped nicely under the radar.

You had been sitting at a table by yourself for some time now, a sticky wooden desk surrounded by three empty chairs. The place itself was fairly lively despite how late the hour was getting. You'd been given a description of the men to target, a pair of high-ranking officers, one of whom had a distinctive facial scar, the other stout and blonde. You'd waited a long time by now, especially given that you'd expected them an hour ago. It was getting harder to stay sober, trying to keep up appearances by working your way through glass after glass of red wine. On most missions it was easy to stay sober, all you did was make conversation with your targets rather than tend to your drink.

But now, alone, you had no other choice. Halfway through a pack of cigarettes too, you were beginning to get a little nervous. A few men had come up to you periodically, questioning why such a pretty lady was sat all by herself. You would dismiss them with a laugh, tell them you were waiting for someone, joke that maybe you'd been stood up. They were all so pissed they forgot about you soon enough.

Then you saw him. You were just going up to get another drink when he caught your eye. By now the rest of the soldiers were in nothing but their shirts, shit-faced and making merry, whereas he sat alone at the back of the place, reading a book of all things. His composure was unwavering and he'd barely touched his drink.

Immediately you turned your head away, hoping, praying that he'd take no notice of you. You drummed your fingers nervously on the bar, begging that the bartender would hurry up. So long as you slipped back in time everything would be fine. You wanted to sneak another look, but you were too worried of poking the bear. You knew it was Major Hellstrom purely from the uniform. In all honesty, you were a little surprised at how attractive he was, how well-kempt, how young. You'd always imagined a man of his reputation to be older: it was worrying to you how quickly he must've climbed the ranks of the Gestapo, what he'd had to do to attain such a position.

You all-but ran back to your table, mumbling out a thanks. When you glanced back Dieter was in the same position he had been, and you felt like you'd got away safe this time. There was no more room for mistakes like that.

But why was he here in the first place? Your nerves began to stand on edge. Looking around the bar, there was still no sign of the two officials, yet the Sturmbannführer himself was here, in some secluded countryside bar - something wasn't adding up.

Then and there you decided to call it off. Someone must've snitched on you - or perhaps you hadn't been as careful as you'd thought. You'd managed to slip past the major this time, but you weren't willing to risk it a srcond time. You were just moving to take up your bag when the floorboards by your table groaned under the weight of heavy boots, and one of the seats nearby was pulled out.

Fuck.

"Leaving so soon?"

It was him, of course it was him. Before you stood Dieter Hellstrom in all of his glory, polished hat glinting under the light, carrying a crystalline glass and holding his book under one arm. There was a moment of recognition between the pair of you, but from the way he was hesitating you could tell he wanted to play. Didn't your mother never tell you not to play with your food.

If you were to make it out of this alive, you were going to have to think of something good - and fast. There was only one thing that worked every time.

You gave him a small smile, reluctantly putting your bag back down after retrieving a fresh pack of cigarettes. "Well, it seems my date's stood me up. I don't see any reason to stay."

"Oh, were you waiting for someone?" he asked, though his smirk told you he knew everything already.

You steeled your nerves, shrugged. "Not anymore."

"Well you won't mind if I join you then?"

"Be my guest." What were you doing?

Dieter sat down, putting down his book and laying down his hat on top. His dark hair was strictly combed, precise and executed to perfection like everything else about him.

"You know, I find it rather hard to believe someone as beautiful as you would get stood up," he said. Again, you gave a wry smile and balanced a cigarette between your lips. Before you had a chance to reach for your lighter you heard a click and watched as a flame danced from Dieter's outstretched hand. Though you hesitated for a moment you accepted the kindness, leaning a little over the table as you lit it, shamelessly making sure he had a clear view down your dress.

"It's a shame not all men are as courteous as you are-" You trailed off, asking for his name.

"Dieter," he said, though it existed between you already.

You offered him your hand and he kissed it with a smile, his warm lips lingering a little too long on your knuckles. He observed you with a smirk for a short while, the pair of you sizing each other up, wondering about the others' next move. The tension between you was palpable, neither of you wanting to be the first to give up the game.

You consoled yourself with the thought that if he was certain of your criminality he would've shot you by now. No, he must have something else he wanted first.

"No," he said so suddenly you jumped. He shook his head, pursing his lips together with brows furrowed in confusion. "It doesn't make sense to me. Every single man would've gone through hell to get here tonight if it was to see you. Believe me, I know. It just doesn't make sense."

"There's no need to pour salt in the wound," you sighed, feigning disappointment.

"Who was it that you were meeting?"

You held his eye, mocking gaze unwavering. All of this was building up to something. He was toying with you and when you least expected it he was going to pounce. You knew the only way to save yourself was to intercept his tirade.

"Some soldier."

"Give me his name."

"I don't know his name: it was supposed to be a blind date."

"You were willing to go on a date with a man whose name you don't even know, who you'd never met before? Weren't you worried he might be dangerous?"

"What?" you smiled, loosening the strap of your dress a little. "Like you are?"

Oh, he liked that. Dieter grinned wide, like a shark, and finished his third cigarette since he'd sat down. By now he'd worked his way through two whiskies and you were satisfied that his judgment was sufficiently impaired.

"Yes, Fräulein (Y/L/N), like I am."

You hesitated. Hearing your name from his lips without telling him it knocked you off your guard a little, but you'd come this far: giving up now would be death.

"Perhaps then, you'd be willing to take his place," you whispered. That seemed to catch him off guard. Dieter's eyes glanced back down at your chest, the way your strap faltered at your shoulder and you saw him shift in his seat. Bingo.

"Perhaps I could. It depends what you had in mind."

The way he looked at you was as a man who's abandoned all reason for madness. Your advances seemed to have quelled every notion of duty in him, every desire to put you to death: he was acting on a purely instinctual level now, and he was aching for you.

You'd won.

Slowly you rose to your feet, allowing him time to take in your form, pleased that you had made the effort to dress up for tonight. You stood above him, observing him from a height, the way his breath was unsteady, how his hand shook a little as he rubbed his thigh.

You outstretched a hand to him. "Follow me."

He needed no more encouragement and you quietly slipped him out into the alleyway behind the bar.

Now, this certainly wasn't your finest moment, but the alcohol had hit your system brutally, and all you could think of was how good he smelled, the way his trousers were growing tighter as he watched you. Gently you pushed him back against the wall, the pair of you grinning like idiots.

You slowly began to run your hands over him, tracing along the soft material of his uniform. It was nice for a little, but he wasn't in the mood for waiting around. Wordlessly you sunk to your knees, holding his eyes the whole way down and relishing the way his chest began to heavy with anticipation. You noticed the glint of the gun at his hip, and you had the perfect opportunity to execute him there and then, but you were so lost in the moment, so desperate to touch him you resisted. Even if it cost you your life, at this point you didn't care.

Equally, you were at a perfect height now for him to shoot you, in fact that's what he'd been sent there to do - what he'd had every intention of doing until thirty minutes ago. But fuck if he was about to interrupt you when you were looking at him like that.

There was a quiet truce between you - you both wanted this as badly as the other, and until it was done at least you were safe.

Instinctively Dieter brought a hand to your hair, gently stroking it at first, even trailing a finger across your cheek. You took your time loosening his belt, making a show of slipping the clasp from its buckle. You ushered down the hem of his trousers, pressing small kisses against his hips teasingly. Immediately his grip on your hair tightened, a small moan escaping his lips at your soft gestures.

If you were going to do it, you were going to do it right. When you were sure he couldn't wait any longer you thumbed the elastic of his boxers, finally freeing his hardened length. His breathing was shaky at the feeling of the night's air hitting his exposed member, and you caught him give a precursory glance to the alley to make sure you were alone.

Biting your lip with anticipation you wrapped a hand around his aching cock, drawing your thumb up to the head.

"Fuck," he whispered, trying to keep his composure. The way you looked up at him through your lashes was enough to drive him mad, and it was only through curiosity that he hadn't started fucking your face.

"Do you like that?" you whispered teasingly as you started to work his length. A low groan was all Dieter could muster as a response, his nails reaching out to run against your scalp. You pressed down on a long vein that ran the length of his shaft, making him throw his head back against the wall.

"Come on," he muttered. He gently tried to guide your head closer to his member, but you pushed back, holding your ground. You looked up at him playfully, smiling as you continued the movements of your hand. "Don't make me beg," he practically whined.

"I don't know, I think I'd quite enjoy you begging."

He almost growled at you, and for a second you wondered if he'd just force your head down, but when you licked a teasing stripe along the side of his member, he realised he wasn't above begging.

"Please, fuck, please just - I need it."

He breathed a loud sigh of relief when you finally wrapped your mouth around the head, reaching out to lap at the first drops of precum. You sunk down onto his length, slowly, savouring every inch, never once breaking eye contact. Dieter's pupils were completely blown-out with pleasure and his chest was heaving with every laboured breath.

It wasn't long before the power switched. As his high began to build the grip on your hair tightened, and soon enough he was the one directing your every movement. He set a brutal pace, and gave you hardly any time to relax your throat. His length was heavy in your mouth and you knew your throat would be raw by the morning.

You knew he was close when his rhythm became erratic, delving so far into your mouth your eyes began to water. You held onto his hips for balance which only gave him better leverage to fuck you.

"Chirst, fuck-" A string of curses was all he could manage, but your name was the final thing on his lips as he released into your mouth, his warm seed painting the back of your throat. You swallowed every drop, not only from necessity but from want.

He held your head still for a while and you could tell how far gone he was by how his legs visibly shook.

When he finally relaxed his grip, you could hardly breathe. Though you had relinquished the situation to him, you counted it a victory that you were still alive. What truly surprised you was when he reached down to wrap a hand around your jaw, smirking at the dried cum clinging to your lips.

-> (gif not mine)

summary: "if i were to kiss your hand, well, then you would have no choice but to take it to bed with you."; reader is the star of german cinema and attends the premier for her newest film, only to meet two particularly devoted fans

warnings: none? me being greedy ig

word count: 2232

a.n: lads honest to god if you want the threesome i will write it im just testing the waters here. sorry also eeby sleeby proofreading i had an exam today this is my treat to myself

~

Premier nights were always the same. Lights, camera, action. By now you had it down to an art, the fake smiles, the extravagant outfits, the commending your co-stars even if you'd spent every day shooting wishing they were dead.

Making a film during the war was a difficulty in itself, but you still had to make a living, so when the director had called you up you hadn't hesitated. Perhaps it wasn't your best work, but at least it payed the bills, and it kept invitations to these sorts of events coming. You had to admit there was something enjoyable about being the centre of attention, though some days you did find it tiring.

Tonight was was your first big event since the war had broken out, and you planned to make an evening of it. You'd never even heard of the cinema, and at first you were reticent about showing your face at an independent venue lest it all be a shambles, but honest to God you needed a night out, needed some attention for Christ's sake. People assumed with your job you'd never have a moment to yourself, but as people's priorities changed and their will to spend what little money the war had left them with on frivolities decreased, less and less people were going to the cinema. You'd spent weeks swanning around your apartment. The isolation was fun - until it wasn't.

But now you were back. And from the second you stepped out of the car, you knew this was where you were meant to be.

Your reservations about the venue vanished almost instantly. Though size-wise it was perhaps a little cosy, the decorations were extraordinary - though as the film was being produced by the Reich, you hardly suspected anything less. Always one for the spectacle, a whole host of high-ranking military personnel were in attendance, chandeliers were hanging and champagne was flowing to excess.

One party member in particular caught your eye. Though most of the eyes in the room were on you, yours were on him. You'd only heard tales of him until now, the famous Colonel Hans Landa, the most feared man in the army. Overlooking the crowd from the top of the staircase he watched the masses like a hawk, never once taking a sip of the flute of champagne in his hand. In all honesty you hadn't expected him to be so handsome; you primarily recognised him from the insignia on his uniform. Slightly greying hair, a row of pristine medals on his chest, his face was severe, cool eyes scanning the masses below.

It took him a while to notice you, or at least to look at you directly, though you'd been watching him in silence for a few moments, ignoring the conversation a producer was desperately trying to engage you in. You felt like you'd been caught staring and quickly looked away. You noticed his smile growing at the sight of you looking just as you turned away.

It took a lot to make you nervous - you'd had to rid yourself of any anxieties from the outset of your career - but there was just something about the Colonel that made your heart beat a little faster, brought a blush to your cheeks. The hangers-on were still around you and you finally tried to engage with them now - much to their excitement - if only to distract yourself from the fact that Landa was now slowly descending the staircase, eyes trained on you. You pulled your fur wrap a little tighter around your chest and gave an effected laugh to something one of the other officers had said. For a moment you thought you might be in the clear, but after all you knew who you were dealing with, and not even the most adored actress in Germany could fool Hans Landa.

"Fräulein (Y/L/N)," a voice sounded over your shoulder. There was no mistaking the gentle Austrian accent in the register and you couldn't decide whether you were relieved or anxious to finally have his attention.

Landa stood behind you with the same grin you'd caught only a glimpse of, soft eyes though for a second you noticed something darker bubbling under the surface.

"Colonel Hans Landa," you said, giving him a small smile. The men you'd been speaking with visibly withdrew and after only a few seconds of his presence, you found yourself alone with the SS's most dangerous man.

Without even your offering he reached for your gloved hand, giving it a small disappointed look. You cocked an eyebrow. "Something the matter, Colonel?" you asked, a slight tease in your voice. Your fears were beginning to dissipate into something perhaps more dangerous as you felt the warmth of his own hand radiating beneath the white fabric.

"For a moment I thought I might have the pleasure of kissing the hand of Germany's darling star, and now I see my dreams shall remain exactly that - dreams." Such a speech, and for what? What could a Colonel of the Gestapo care of you? You assumed he would think of such things as cinema as the whims of women, not worth his time.

"You are opposed to my glove?"

He gave a small shrug. His mannerisms were not at all what you'd been expecting for a man with so much blood on his hands; he teased you as though you were old friends, almost as if he was trying to court you.

"It isn't quite the same to say I've kissed the glove of the beautiful Fräulein (Y/L/N) than to say I've kissed the hand. You see, I assume when you go back to your big city apartment you'll toss that glove on the bedroom floor and won't think about it until who knows when. But-" Lightly you felt his thumb begin to trace over your knuckles through the thin material. "-if I were to kiss your hand, well, then you would have no choice but to take it to bed with you."

You were stunned. Part of you wondered if this was a joke, but when you looked to his darkening eyes, there was a complete absence of humour. You steeled your nerves and reciprocated his teasing.

"If you have such an issue with the glove," you said scarcely above a whisper, "why don't you remove it."

The straight line of his mouth curled up at one side, and he was just making to pull the first finger of the glove when you heard a cough from your side. Hans stopped and you instinctively removed your hand, realising how odd the situation must've seemed from the outside looking in. All of Hans' hilarity fell from his face, his own hand lingering for a moment in the air.

Turning to assess the intruder you saw a tall man stood at your side, brown hair slicked back into a strict part. From his uniform you recognised him to be a major, and his warm body carried the soft smell of cigarettes. A constellation of moles decorated his face and for a moment you paused to stare, not too dissimilar to how your eyes had lingered on the Colonel.

What was happening to you? Perhaps it was your weeks of isolation, perhaps it was a natural reaction to having such attractive men simultaneously imposed upon your person. You weren't quite sure what you were supposed to do with yourself. It was as if your brain had short-circuited.

Though you were conscious of the anger radiating from Hans' body, you couldn't drag yourself away from the new arrival.

"My apologies, Fräulein, if I'm interrupting," he said, voice low and almost a hum.

You shook your head before Landa had a chance to dismiss him, realising that somehow, amidst two high-ranking Gestapo officers, you were the one with the power.

"No, no," you insisted, earning a smile from the major.

"I just couldn't resist," he said with a small smile, every word delivered slowly as his eyes drank you in. "I'm quite the fan of your work. I couldn't miss an opportunity to finally meet you."

He introduced himself as Major Dieter Hellstrom, and though you were turned away you could practically feel the fury radiating from Landa. Every second longer your conversation with the major persisted his blood boiled, and it was a wonder his glass hadn't smashed from how hard he was gripping it.

"I hope it's not too bold of me," he said, eyes glancing to the floor, almost bashful. "I was wondering if I may kiss your hand."

You couldn't help but laugh, much to his immediate dismay. "Oh, no, sorry, I'm not laughing at the request: of course you may kiss my hand. It's just that Colonel Landa here has just asked me the same thing."

The two men looked at each other finally, both of their faces dark, and silence ensued. For a moment you weren't quite sure what to do, looking back and forth between the pair in wait of a truce. There seemed to be a silent war localised to their shared line of sight and you realised only you could prevent them from going at each other's throats.

"Gentlemen," you whispered, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, drawing them closer. "There's no need to fight now: I have two hands."

They turned to you, confusion written equally across both of their expressions. With a small smirk - rather enjoying juggling both of their attentions it should be added - you slowly peeled off both of your gloves, tucking them away into your purse, before presenting each of them a bare hand. Neither had quite figured out the situation yet, but when Dieter was the first to move, Hans wasn't to be easily beat, and soon enough the pair of them were at either hand, both of them looking up at you through their lashes. You had to admit, you rather liked the sight. You'd thought perhaps they'd be adverse to the idea of such a submissive configuration, but it seemed in the competition for your attention, there was room for extraordinary behaviour.

Just as you were starting to enjoy yourself, the call came that the film was about to start. You didn't want it to end, the way both of them were all-but beggars at your feet.

"Well," Hans said, coming to your side, "whilst this has been nice, it seems it's time I escort the lovely Fräulein to her seat."

He was offering you his arm, which you were much obliged to take, but Dieter wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Actually, Herr Colonel, I think your security duties would be better suited in the foyer. It's best if I take the lady to her seat." Now he offered you his arm, and you couldn't resist interlocking, his firm bicep tensing around your bare skin. You could feel his muscle move beneath the fabric of his uniform and you couldn't help the excitement that flooded through you. Between the pair of them you had the most feared men in the whole of the SS, and yet they seemed to be willing to go to any lengths for your attention.

Landa gave a small chuckle, though it was anything but humorous. "The thing is, Sturmbannführer-" He snarled the title as if to remind Dieter he outranked him - though the major remained unphased by the hierarchy. "I was just having a conversation with our star here when you arrived. So, unfortunately, Sturmbannführer, you're intruding."

Hans seemed rather pleased with himself for coming up with this work around and was just about to retrieve you from the major when Dieter once again retaliated.

"I believe it is up to Fräulein (Y/L/N) whether or not I'm intruding." He looked down to you, grin signifying he already knew the answer. "Would you like me to leave?"

You slowly shook your head, trying to keep your breath steady under his gaze.

"There. We have our answer." Hans looked a little defeated, though still refused to say a word against you.

Dieter was just leading you toward the screen when you reached back, a hand wrapping around Landa's arm. With a mere shrug for explanation, you simply reminded them there was a seat either side of you - lucky as well, as without you as a barrier they may have gone straight for each other's throats.

The pair of them settled in beside you, Hans to your left and Dieter rather smugly to your right. Whilst both of them may have been accompanying you, the major had the added enjoyment of being on the same playing field as Colonel Hans Landa, his superior.

You were just settling in to watch the film when you felt a hand land gently on your knee - your right knee. You caught sight of Dieter just as the light was going down. He wore a perfectly placid smile, as though he wasn't making your heart beat ten to the dozen.

Hans noticed your attention become diverted, and whether he was mirroring the major's behaviour or simply just had the same idea, soon enough you felt a warm grip on your knee - your left knee.

•key: ♤angst, ♡smut, ◇violence, ♧see work for warnings!

○august diehl characters

tired of singing the blues (dieter hellstrom x reader)

everybody knows that i'm a good girl officer (dieter hellstrom x writer!reader)

anniversary (dieter hellstrom x wife!reader) ♧

truth or dare (dieter hellstrom x reader) -> 18+ ♡

sins of the flesh (marc schrader x reader) -> 18+ ♡♧

strip for your drink (dieter hellstrom x wife!reader) -> 18+♡

alone in berlin (august diehl x reader)

nsfw alphabet - dieter hellstrom (x reader) -> 18+ ♡

baby blues (dieter hellstrom x pregnant!reader) ->18+ (pregnancy sex) ♡♧

i'll be watching you (robert frost x reader) ♤♧

beweg deinen arsch ins auto (stalker!dieter hellstrom x reader) ♧

'tis the season (dieter hellstrom x wife!reader) -> christmas special ☃️

walther p83 (dieter hellstrom x wife!reader) -> 18+ ♡◇♧

my girl (stalker!dieter hellstrom x reader) ♧

undercover (dieter hellstrom x reader) (hate sex) ->18+♡◇♧

care package (robert frost x reader) ->18+ ♡

secretary (dieter hellstrom x reader) ->18+♡

roommates (franz sauer x reader)

close encounters (dieter hellstrom x reader) ->18+ ♡

champagne supernova (dieter hellstrom x wife!reader) ♧

moonstruck (gunther scheller x krantz!reader) ->18+♤♡♧

valentines (dieter hellstrom x wife!reader) ->18+ (breeding kink) ♡♧

scotch (dieter hellstrom x reader)->18+♡♧

dating headcanons -> (karl koch)♤♧

good boy (robert frost x reader) ♧

big brother headcanons -> dieter hellstrom♧

○christoph waltz characters

mambo italiano (hans landa x reader)

apple strudel (hans landa x dieter hellstrom's sister!reader) ; part ii

nsfw alphabet - hans landa (x reader) -> 18+ ♡

a night at the opera (young!christoph waltz x reader)

cherry (hans landa x reader) -> 18+ ♡

party favours (hans landa x reader) ->18+♡♧

having a daughter headcanons -> hans landa

○multi/others

nickname headcanons -> hans landa & dieter hellstrom (incl 18+)♡

hands on your knees, angelina jolie (hans landa x actress!reader x dieter hellstrom)

taking care of you headcanons -> hans landa & dieter hellstrom ♧

marriage headcanons -> hans landa & dieter hellstrom (incl 18+) ♡

-> (gif not mine)

summary: "look at you. you're good enough to eat."; although hidden behind a myriad of love and attention, the reader starts to realise that there may be something darker motivating the attentions of her new boyfriend.

warnings: stalking, obsessiveness, toxic relationship, very obvious stockholm syndrome

word count: 2460

a.n: requested by a lovely anonnn tysmmm hope you enjoy!!! updates will be slower now exam season is in full swing and the next person to say the words 'measure theory' around me is getting shot 🤡

~

At first you hadn't noticed it, the little things that gave him away. At the beginning of your relationship he'd seemed nothing but the perfect gentleman, and you supposed you were just so wrapped up in how good he made you feel, how well he took care of you, how he treated you, to notice just quite how obsessive he was.

You thought your relationship with Dieter was perfect. Only when you suggested you were going out with some friends did you begin to realise something wasn't quite right with him. It had seemed a simple enough suggestion, a meeting with some old friends from college for reunion drinks. You were just walking to the bar to meet them, a normal Saturday evening, when you happened to bump into your lover.

At this point you had only been going out with Dieter for a couple of months. Of course you liked him - perhaps even a little more than that - but usually you would've expected a little more time get to know each other before anything got more serious.

Dieter, apparently, thought otherwise.

You were just reaching into your bag to check your keys were safely tucked away when a firm hand wrapped around your arm. You were so startled you were just about to wrestle away from the grasp when you looked to its owner, seeing none other than Major Hellstrom, with a face like absolute thunder.

"Where on earth do you think you're going?" he snarled. From a little way away you could see a group of some three other officers, watching the scene with no hint of confusion.

It took you a moment to register what he'd said. You couldn't think of a possible reason for him to be angry with you: in fact you were still getting used to the fact you'd bumped into him at all.

"I'm just meeting up with some friends," you answered, though you didn't know why you had to justify yourself to him.

His grip only tightened and you could see the indents of his fingers pressing deep into your skin. For a moment you feared him, after all you'd been seeing him for such a short while you'd barely had chance to properly get to know him. This was the first time he'd exercised such force toward you, and you were so shocked you felt rooted to the ground.

"Dressed like that?" he all but spat. He gave your form a one over.

You couldn't think what was wrong with it. A simple black dress, not particularly revealing, light makeup; it was the kind of outfit you always wore to have drinks with friends, there was nothing especially of note about it. "What do you mean?"

"No, I'm not having this." Dieter shot a brief glance back to the men who stood waiting for him before beginning to drag you in the opposite direction of your travel.

You tried your best to resist, but his hand was iron-tight and the last thing you wanted was to make a scene. "Dieter, stop it," you pleaded. "You're hurting me."

Instantly his grip slackened and though he gave you a window of opportunity, you still found yourself unwilling to run. Part of you was curious now of his motives. You were more used to boyfriends forgetting your name than having such attention from someone you'd scarcely gone out with for two months. His face changed completely, and now he looked more worried than you did.

"Mein Gott, what am I doing? I'm so sorry; are you okay? Christ, you must be cold. Here," and just like that he was wrapping his officer's jacket around your shoulder. It was as if he was a whole other person, his eyes almost welling up with concern.

"Dieter, you're scaring me," you whispered, reaching up to press your hand to his cheek. His skin was warm and the contact sent a shiver down your spine, the soft peaks of moles beneath your hand, the way he brought his own hand to press a top yours.

For a moment he paused, eyes closing and relishing in the touch of your cold hand upon his skin. The image of you wearing his coat would be forever ingrained in his memory.

"I just worry about you, liebling," he sighed.

Already his voice was laced with exhaustion and you couldn't help but feel bad, perhaps even a little guilty - though why you weren't even sure why. After all, he had been the one to interrupt your plans out of nowhere, without so much as an explanation, and now suddenly you felt the need to apologise.

"I panicked, I'm sorry. Seeing you looking so beautiful, all dressed up: I was worried you were going to see someone else. And when you said you were going to see some friends, I couldn't help but think of all the men in the bar, watching you. I-" He shook his head as though he were choking up, and now you really did feel sorry.

Needless to say you didn't go to the bar that night: nor any of the following times you were invited. In fact, as your relationship with Dieter progressed, you found yourself seeing less of just about everyone. He was always encouraging you to take days off, spend long mornings in bed with him, which you found yourself accepting more and more. He treat you so well you hardly realised your whole life was starting to revolve around him. You hardly ever went anywhere without him anymore, had less and less need for your part-time job as Dieter gifted you more and more - least of all your rent.

Nevertheless, despite his quirks (as you reconciled them to be), despite this little episode, you managed to persuade yourself his obsession and possessiveness was nothing more than an extension of his love for you. You managed to find it endearing, the lengths he was willing to go for you. Above all else, your happiness was his priority - except, of course, his utmost concern seemed to be knowing your every movement.

How he was able to maintain his career, unfaltering in his professional success, whilst having an eye on you every second of the day didn't bear thinking about. There had been occasions when you'd thought someone had been tailing you, when someone had taken a little too much interest in you at work. Only for Dieter to bring up details of your day he otherwise would've had no way of knowing, topics discussed with colleagues on your lunch break no-one else could've heard.

Dieter had been insistent that you quit your waitressing job at the cafe, reassuring you he could provide for you both easily, but you liked the freedom it gave you, and after some time, you realised it was the only place you got to see people besides him. Of course you loved spending time with him, but when it came at the expense of all your other relations, then you started to worry. After all, Dieter was a military man, a major at that, and you'd already had a hint of what sort of strength he was capable of.

But you loved him. So what if he was a little obsessive? At least he cared. That was more than could be said for most men.

It all seemed to come to a head one night some months after the incident in the street. Dieter had invited you to one of his officer's galas, an extremely grand and exclusive event with some of the biggest names in the army in attendance. You were a little reticent at first, perhaps thinking it too much of a step, but he'd been insistent - and it wasn't much use trying to tell him no anyway.

You had worried Dieter would be too anxious to fratenise with his colleagues and you may end up stood by yourself the whole night, but it turned out the exact opposite was true. From the moment he picked you up, you started to think this may not have been such a good idea. He said formal, so you'd dressed formal, even though it was out of your comfort zone. The way he stood staring at you in the doorway you might as well've been stood on your head. He was wearing a more formal military garb, the likes of which you supposed were reserved specifically for such occasions, but it was still hard to gauge whether or not you were dressed appropriately.

"Too much?" you asked, though there was no time to change.

A definite shake of the head. His hands were on you instantly, settling firmly on your hips, and you ended up having to remind him there was a reason you'd got dressed up.

The whole drive there he spoke of nothing but how beautiful you looked, how good you smelled, how he couldn't wait to get his hands on you after this was done.

"Dieter," you laughed as he traced small kisses along your neck in the back of the car. "We haven't even got there and you're already excited to leave."

"Can you blame me?" he whispered against your skin. "I'm not going to be able to focus the whole night, anyway. Look at you. You're good enough to eat."

He'd almost won you around to ditching the function - though you'd never say no to the prospect of free champagne - when the car finally arrived.

As these things often were, the gala was held at a stately country house, probably just one of many. Dieter didn't even seem to notice the grandeur of the building, and whilst you spent the walk to the front door in awe that you were even allowed to be here, his eyes never left you.

A glass of champagne found its way into your hand, and for the first twenty minutes or so you were content for Dieter to just give you the lay of the land. The whole place got more extravagant every new room you entered. High ceilings, Italian marble, the quiet expensive taste of the ultra-rich.

You'd never imagined you'd get to see this side of society, you who had barely been making ends meet six months ago.

In fact, you might've been tempted to leave, had it not been for how comfortable Dieter made you feel. Any worries of abandonment vanished instantaneously. His arm was linked with yours the whole night, and after some time it became more amiss that he had yet to speak to anyone besides you.

"You know," you tried, looking down into your glass, "I don't mind if you want to go talk to some of the other officers."

Nothing. "I get enough of them at work, and besides, you're here now." He placed a soft kiss to your mouth, tasting subtly of tobacco and the final remains of black coffee. "There's no-one I'd rather speak to than you."

You tried again, beginning with a small, flattered laugh. "It might be nice to see them outside of work though. Not have to talk about such boring things."

He merely hummed, continuing to study you with a small smile. It was clear this wasn't the right approach, as he'd all but ignored your last suggestion, so you pivoted.

The one place he couldn't follow you. "I need the bathroom, I'll be right back." That seemed to pull him from his trance, his face losing its light, and for a moment you thought he was going to refuse you. Luckily, rather than argue, he pressed a small kiss to your knuckles before allowing you to slip away.

The walk to the washroom felt like an eternity, and in a house this big you weren't even sure you'd remember the way back. You spent a long time musing at the sink, making as though fixing your lipstick. You must've applied it and reapplied it ten times, trying to buy time to calm your thoughts. You wrestled with your love for him, your love of how he treated you, with your desire for freedom.

What kind of love was it if he kept you in a cage?

You left the bathroom still undecided. There were dozens of people around you, a sea of unfamiliar bodies confusing you even more. You couldn't think. You tried your hardest to retrace your steps, but you were beginning to panic, and you weren't even sure you wanted to find your way back to him.

"Are you alright?" A stranger stood before you, a young, respectable-looking man with black hair and a small scar along his jaw.

You smiled, hoping you didn't look quite as manic as you felt, but clearly some trace of disquiet must've been evident on your face. "Yes, of course I-" You shook your head, trying not to make eye contact with him. Not only were you an imposter here to begin with, but now you threatened making a scene. You had to keep it together. "I just went to the bathroom and I'm afraid I've lost my date."

Part of you screamed to tell this man of the trap you'd found yourself in, that this may be your last chance at freedom - but the thought of losing one of the only constants in your life kept your lips shut.

The soldier was perfectly agreeable and gave you a small smile. "Would you like me to help you look? Who is it that you're here with?"

You thanked God for him. Dieter's name was just on the tip of your tongue when suddenly the man before you raised his hand to his temple in salute, eyes now straying above your head. Your confusion lasted only until a familiar grip snaked firmly around your waist, the major's warm body radiating next to you.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked, the undertone of a snarl evident in his voice.

You eased into his touch almost instinctively. All previous thoughts of flight left your mind as you molded to his strong form. "I thought I'd lost you," you whispered to him in a voice you hardly recognised as your own. Dieter's anger immediately subsided as he looked down to you. Whatever the soldier had seen on your face he saw too, his hand pulling you closer to him.

"Dismissed," he muttered.

The soldier left with a small gesture of respect and you all but collapsed into his chest, inhaling the scent of his uniform like it was oxygen.

"Mein Schatz," Dieter whispered, a gentle hand coming to stroke your hair.

You looked up to him, eyes all but welling up. "Please, Dieter, let's go."

->(gif not mine)

summary: "i'm going to fuck that stupid smile off your face."; reader works as an undercover agent for the gestapo and seems to have the attention of every soldier apart from major hellstrom; all things come to a head when she's assigned as the major's wife on a secret operation

warnings: A LOT JC! 18+++!!! public sex, violence, angst(?), slapping, blood, forceful sex, biting

word count: 3570

a.n: requested by a persistent anon! sorry its taking a while for the requests to be done it is still my exam season and my energy stores are severely depleted. but rest assured i will get round to u!! also idk about u but whenever i write the lovely '___' all i can hear in my head is my lovely horse from father ted. also also jc im so sorry i hate the word panties but i didnt know what else to use.

~

There'd always been a quiet feud between the pair of you. It had gone on for so long you weren't even sure what had started it.

Working as an agent for the Gestapo brought with it generally a mixed response. Some men were all for it, bordering on a little too enthusiastic about your position - the general consensus was they were just happy to see a woman at all for the duration of their shifts. On the other hand, there were some who were all but repulsed by your presence. Though you were mostly a field agent, the times you did have to engage in meetings and conferences you often found yourself the subject of quiet ridicule. It bothered you for a while, for the first two weeks at least, but you knew in order to keep your job you'd have to get past it. Your supervisor told you you were the best at what you did, and that was all that mattered.

The most glaring example of this hostility was Dieter Hellstrom. From the offset he'd been cold toward you, dismissing your every suggestion with a blunt comment, glaring at you during meetings, all but ignoring you unless he absolutely had to speak to you. At the beginning you tried your best with him, using all of your charms to win him over: but they all proved useless. Where most men would fold instantly at your tricks, he couldn't seem to care less.

It drove you mad. Your annoyance slowly built into hatred, and within no time at all you were meeting his harsh eyes tenfold.

What you didn't realise, of course, was that his standoffish nature was simply a result of his undying obsession with you.

Now Dieter couldn't have this. He was a professional. He was one of the top in his field. It wasn't like him to be distracted at work because of something so stupid as a playground crush. He wasn't a boy anymore, for Christ's sake. He should be able to control himself, overcome his emotions.

But there was just something inexpressible about you, something that put you at the forefront of his mind for every second of the day. At first he'd just brushed it off, at least you were nice to look at whilst he was on the clock. But then, as the weeks passed into months, he began to grow restless every time you were sent out on the field. Part of it may have been a worry for your safety, but more than anything he worried someone else had got to you before he could.

Although, in all honesty, he couldn't see himself ever expressing his feelings toward you. He was a major in the Gestapo, one of the most feared and respected men in the whole of the German army - it was beneath him to stoop to such pathetic whims as gestures of affection.

But this was more than love. It was infatuation. Unfortunately for him, his brash nature prevented any sort of momentum on this front. Every interaction he had with you he found himself curt and short, snapping orders at you with little regard. Only as soon as you had left the room, face fallen, he would immediately begin chastising himself. As the door closed behind you his hand would air toward the handle, every fibre of his being screaming at him to follow you. He hated how he treated you, wished you would just make the first move so he could finally breathe. But every interaction only served to push you farther away, and with every passing day his chances of winning you over grew dimmer.

You weren't used to this sort of treatment, at least not to such a degree. After all, you'd tried your best to be charming. It was part of your job description to be well-adept at seducing men - that's primarily why you'd been hired in the first place. And yet, with the Sturmbannführer, nothing seemed to work. To make matters worse he was rather easy on the eye himself. Before he had been so harsh, you'd almost coveted him from across boardrooms, glancing at his hands in meetings to check if he wore a ring, sneaking looks at official galas to see if he brought a plus-one.

But he was alone - always alone.

It all came to a head when you received the order that you would be accompanying a member of the party to a private government dinner. Your job, in essence, was to further the image of your partner: happily married, younger wife - the typical image of somebody with wealth and power. Between the pair of you, you were to get the dinner guest, who just happened to be a high ranking foreign official, to divulge diplomatic secrets over one too many bottles of wine, and report back to base.

This seemed fairly standard procedure. That was, of course, until you walked into the boardroom and realised exactly who it was you'd be accompanying.

The pair of you stopped dead. From where he had been sat, Dieter bolted to his feet, eyes narrowing in on you like a hawk. Had it not been for the presence of your overseer the pair of you would've been at each other's throats.

"Ah, Fräulein (Y/L/N)," the colonel said, a big smile forming at your appearance. "I was wondering when you would be joining us."

You had to keep it together. It took all your effort to tear your eyes away from the major, but you had to be professional. Professional - yes, you could do that. After all, acting was part of your job.

Giving a small laugh, you shrugged your shoulders. "What can I say? Takes a while to look this good."

The colonel was easier than Hellstrom. Pushing fifty, hair starting to thin, dying marriage. You could've had him kissing your foot if you'd lifted your skirt high enough. You made a show of greeting him, making sure Dieter was watching as you kissed his cheek. Anything to make him feel like a bachelor again.

The colonel paused a moment to watch you take your seat, noting the crook of your bare kneel curling under the table. When you met his eyes Dieter was practically shaking with rage, though why he should care about your dealings you didn't know. This is my job, you thought as you stared him down, this is what I do.

"Well," the colonel said, clearly much perkier than before, "let's get to the briefing. The pair of you are to meet with the foreign chancellor tomorrow evening for dinner. You will act as a married couple. Play house. Think of it as you being on a double date. Major Hellstrom will do most of the talking, but Fräulein (Y/L/N) it'll be up to you to entertain the chancellor's wife and help the major keep on best terms with the chancellor himself. This should be a standard job for you: all you have to do is sit there and look pretty."

Oh how you hated him, this brute. But you smiled, as you always smiled. It wasn't advisable to get on the wrong side of these men. You just found it ironic that the only man's attention you wanted was the only one you couldn't get.

"I think I'll manage," you said, leaning forward a little.

"Couldn't someone else accompany me," Dieter said. You were a little taken aback, and a little hurt even.

"Well, in case you hadn't noticed, Sturmbannführer, there's quite the shortage of women in our line of work, so no. You should count yourself lucky." The colonel gave you such a look that your stomach churned, but you simply gave him a teasing smile. "Most men would go to great lengths to spend the night with the lovely Fräulein. Even if it is only pretend."

You spent most of the following day getting ready, swanning around your quiet apartment with the case file in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Dieter was to pick you up at eight, and when you heard the beeping of a car horn, you saw the time was dead on. One for punctuality yourself you were outside your building in a minute or two, the driver holding the door open for you.

He was facing forward, his head didn't turn an inch at your appearance, even though you'd worn your best dress, spent hours on your hair and makeup. The worst part was that you'd done it all for him. Whilst men may have jumped at the chance to have an evening with you, a night with Dieter was your equivalent. Though he frustrated you to tears, deep down you still ached for him. Perhaps it was precisely because he was so unattainable that made you want him so bad, but whatever the reason, tonight was your chance.

"I hope you're not going to spend the whole night doing that."

You stopped midway through applying your lipstick. He wasn't even turned toward you, head staring squarely out the window.

"Would you like some?" you said bluntly, offering the stick out to him.

Finally he looked at you. His eyes landed on the lipstick with disdain but you noticed the shift in his face upon seeing you for the first time in all your glory. You saw how he did a double take, how he couldn't help his eyes landing on the slit in your dress.

Wordlessly he turned away once again, but you noticed the way he shifted in his seat.

The rest of the journey was in silence, but when you finally arrived at the restaurant it was Dieter himself who opened your door for you.

"You changed your tune," you mumbled, though you took his outstretched hand. Seizing his change of heart you wrapped your arm around his, wanting to finally touch him. His whole body tensed beneath your grip, but you were nothing but relieved. After months of coveting him, any physical contact finally felt like heaven.

"I'm just playing my part," he muttered, though you wondered if he actually believed that. "I'd appreciate it if you did the same."

Even if it was pretend, you intended to make the most of it. A girl could dream.

The dinner ran smoothly, and it was easy enough for you to get the chancellor talking. Though you were technically on the job, your main focus was on the major seated stiffly by your side. Every touch you made to him he had no choice but to reciprocate, and as the evening progressed he even seemed to be warming to you a little - though that may have just been on account of all the whisky he'd had.

You had to admit, in your nerves around Dieter you'd drank a little more than was wise.

When the chancellor's wife went to the restroom you decided it was the final straw. The dinner was drawing to a close, and you were still no closer to going home with Major Hellstrom, so it was time for the oldest trick in the book.

Jealousy.

That had been the only explanation for his fury toward the colonel the other day, and it was the only option you had left. As soon as the chancellor's wife was out of sight, you reached across the table, taking his wrinkled hand in your own, running a lithe finger over his wedding band.

"Tell me," you said playfully, "what do you see in her?"

The chancellor gave a brief laugh, almost confused, eyes darting between your face and your hand. "What do I see in her? She's my wife. I love her."

You shrugged, pursing your lips. "Of course. But you must've met - what - twenty years ago? I'm sure she doesn't exactly look how she did back then."

Again a laugh, though a little more nervous this time. Though you didn't turn to him, you could feel Dieter tensing to your left. It was working.

So, naturally, you kept pushing. "I just mean most men in your position would've got a younger wife by now. Surely a man of your taste would prefer someone prettier on his arm."

"What exactly are you insinuating, my dear?"

Finally Dieter snapped. In one swift motion he pulled you to your feet, and only then did it hit you quite how much you'd had to drink - and just how strong he was.

"If you'll excuse us, I think it's time I took my wife home. She's had quite a lot to drink. Come along, my dear."

He practically snarled the term, and before the chancellor could even react was dragging you out into the foyer and pushing you into the first empty room he found. It was a small store cupboard and he quickly barred the door with a stray broom.

For a moment you were worried he would hit you. After all what you'd done was stupid, you could've jeopardised the whole mission - but by God, you were practically on the verge of tears with frustration.

He turned and suddenly he was on you, looming over you at such proximity you could almost hear his heart beating.

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" he growled, eyes narrowing and breath coming in hard and fast.

In any other circumstances you would've cowered from him, but not tonight. Tonight you were dead set on revenge. "I was getting us information. How I go about it is my job. Why do you even care what I do? You didn't even want me here!"

"This is exactly why - I'm fucking sick of you. I'm sick of how you act like a whore. I'm sick of how you flirt with every man except for me."

You were so furious with him you hardly picked up on the final remark. "Do you think I enjoy it? This is the only way I can survive in this job. I accepted a long time ago I'd never have the respect of any of the officers. So I had to resort to other measures."

"You certainly have a funny way of earning respect. You don't know how crazy you drive people."

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea."

Suddenly his hand was at your throat, squeezing only gently but just enough to make you lightheaded. His face was less than an inch from yours, so close you could smell the whisky on his breath.

"No," he growled. "You don't."

And like that, his mouth was on yours. Not soft, not sweet, but aggressive, the kiss of a man at the end of his rope. He was desperate, he tasted desperate, mouth slamming against yours with such violence it was as if he was trying to consume you.

He gave you hardly a chance to react, but once your brain caught up you finally began to fight back. Reaching up, you ran your hands through his hair, pulling hard enough that he gasped against your mouth. You fought him for dominance, but it was clear soon enough you didn't stand a chance of overpowering him.

"You're so fucking frustrating," he panted out, hands roaming every inch of you like you might slip between his fingers. "You don't know how many times I've wanted to slap that smile off your face."

You tugged his bottom lip between your teeth and bit down hard, enough to draw blood. For a split second he recoiled, astonished at your sudden violence.

Just as you were about to use the opening to gain the upper hand, suddenly his palm landed hard across your face, knocking you backwards. Your back hit the wall with a thud and before you could recover, Dieter brought a strong hand to wrap around your throat again.

"Look at me slut." Still you wrestled in his grasp, clawing at the hand around your neck. "Look at me!" Again, his hand landed hard across your face, knocking tears from your eyes. He was holding you at eye-level, so high your feet were barely touching the floor.

"I'm going to take from you now what's owed to me. I'm going to put you in your fucking place. I'm going to fuck that stupid smile off your face."

He was certainly confused when you started laughing.

"You think this is funny, you stupid slut?"

"You're such a fucking coward," you rasped. His brows furrowed, and you wondered if he'd hit you again. "You could've had me the first day I walked in the door. All you had to do was ask."

Finally he released your throat, though only to start working at the buckle of his belt. It was the first time you'd ever worked together when you helped him loose the leather strap, though he only allowed you a brief moment of freedom before he was back on you.

You gasped when he suddenly lifted you from the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pressed your back against the cold wall. He pressed into you and you could feel how hard he was through the thin material of his boxers. At this point you were ready to cry from need. You couldn't help rolling your hips to his, trying desperately to create any sort of friction. He growled low in his throat and finally freed himself, bunching up the material of your dress about your hips. With a deft hand he pushed your panties to one side, humming when his fingers brushed against your wet entrance. You thought briefly he might prepare you, but when the gentle touch of his fingers was replaced with the head of his cock, you realised you'd have no such luck.

"I'm not the kind of man who asks for things," he whispered into your ear, hot breath tracing out against your neck. "I take what I want."

Squaring up to him with what little strength you had left, you wrapped your fingers through his hair, pulling his forehead against yours. "Then fucking take it."

His eyes darkened and with one aggressive movement he pushed into you, bottoming out so hard your head fell back against the wall. The first thrust felt like a lifetime's relief and both of you momentarily forgot about your feud. He stalled for a moment, eyes slamming shut, almost in disbelief that he was finally here, inside of you, a moment he'd been imagining for months. His grip on your hips was sure to leave indents on your flesh, but right now you couldn't have cared less.

You needed more of him.

"If you're just going to stand there, I'll go and ask someone else to do it." And he was back. Without warning he pulled all the way out before slamming back into you without mercy. You cried out, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder to try and silence yourself. His hips rolled against yours as he set a brutal pace, giving you no time to adjust to his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he grunted.

You were so high you couldn't fathom a response, unable to do anything but moan against his skin.

"You drove me fucking insane, you know?" he whispered, moving a hand up to cup your breast. "Watching you parade around the office, dressed like a whore. Fuck, the amount of times I thought about this, thought about bending you over the table in meetings and fucking you in front of everyone. Show them what a slut you are." His every word was punctuated by the movement of his hips, his length stretching you in a way you never thought possible. He was impossibly deep inside of you, the head of his shaft brushing your sweet spot, making you whine against him.

"God, don't you ever shut up?" you muttered, breath coming in hard amidst his movements. Just for that he snapped his hips so forcefully into you your voice caught in your throat.

"Shut it, slut," he grunted, but you could tell his energy was failing him. His legs were becoming a little unsteady, but his grip around your frame only tightened, strong arms squeezing you like a vice. "I'm going to cum inside you, and you're not going to let a drop go to waste. Do you hear me?"

You tried to maintain your animosity toward him, but the way he was fucking you, you truly did feel like a slut. His hand groped your breast as his thrusts became sloppier, bucking into you at an uneven pace. You knew you were close too, the knot building in your stomach, and when he brought two soft fingers down to draw circles on your clit, you couldn't hold out.

It was a wonder he could still hold you up, your frame going limp in his arms as you cried out against his chest, your form shaking in his arms. His warm seed spilled inside you, and true to his word he held still for a good while, making sure not a drop was wasted.

He held you rather tenderly as you both came down from your highs, his flesh now adorned with a sweet layer of sweat that was warm against your shaking body. You brought a gentle hand to stroke the nape of his neck.

-> (gif not mine)

summary: dieter's solution to the reader's pregnancy pain is rather unorthodox - but that doesn't mean it doesn't work

warnings: pregnancy sex, medical misinformation (im making ts up as i go along) 18+!!

word count: 1558

a.n: requested by an absolutely deviousss anon. thank you for fuelling the fire and letting me write this for you you know me so well. written oh so late i am oh so sleeby

~

The pain was becoming unbearable. You had spent the last two hours clutching your stomach, eyes slammed shut in agony and trying your best to not scream.

You were only about four months through your pregnancy at this point, but if this was how it was going to be you weren't sure how much more you could take. And of course this had to happen on your husband's first day off in weeks.

You had planned a whole day for Dieter, you would make him breakfast in bed, bring him his papers, make him coffee; after all the man deserved it, working all the hours that God sends. Then, just as you woke up to the sun peeping through the curtains, the pain started, a sharp feeling in your abdomen that was like no cramp you'd ever experienced before. Of course the doctor had warned you that some pain would be natural, that you could expect things like morning sickness and muscle ache, but this was a whole other level. You could scarcely detangle yourself from the fetal position you had instinctively curled yourself up into at the first wave.

Dieter was still sleeping softly beside you, and you tried desperately to keep your pain to yourself. Every second that passed you tried to fool yourself into thinking it was getting better, that somehow the circular motions you were rubbing onto your bump were alleviating the pain: but it wasn't enough. Then it came again, a sharp burst of agony that made you cry out, folding in on yourself even further in sheer agony.

So much for letting your husband have a lie in.

Dieter woke up instantly, practically bolting into a seated position. "Liebling, what's wrong?" His voice was heavy with concern and sleep. You didn't even have the strength to reply.

When he turned on the light Dieter finally realised the situation. For a moment he wasn't quite sure what to do; of course he was used to comforting you, but he had never seen you so bad before. As an immediate attempt his hand came to your back, softly running up and down, just how he knew you liked. That only made you feel nauseous, which you quickly tried to communicate by shaking your head.

"Is it the baby? Is something wrong?" He was almost cautious with his words, rather unsure how to handle the situation. The best you could do was nod. "Is it bad? Do you need me to call the doctor?"

You shook your head no. You weren't ruining his day by having him look after you. The one day you finally had him to yourself.

After another five minutes or so of agony, the sharp pain receded into a dull ache, and you turned over on your side to rest in your husband's embrace. Dieter's arms wrapped around you, strong yet gentle, as though you were a fragile antique. You nuzzled into his bare chest, the first time in so long you'd been able to have a moment's peace with him.

"Does it still hurt?" Dieter whispered, running a soft hand over your hair.

"It's better," you mumbled against his skin. "It just aches now."

He paused, and you could almost hear the thoughts rushing around in his head. He only ever went silent like this when he was about to make a bold suggestion. "You know," he began with a slight musicality to his tone, "I've heard the best way to get rid of pregnancy pain is sex."

Pulling your head away from his chest, you craned your neck to look at him, raising an eyebrow, bemused. "Really? That's interesting. I've never heard that one. Who told you that?"

"Oh a doctor some time ago, I think. You mustn't have been there." His hand continued to flatten over your hair, almost trying to distract you from the suggestive way he way nudging his frame closer to yours.

"Are you sure this isn't just because we haven't fucked in a couple of months and you're starting to get frustrated?"

Dieter assuredly shook his head no, trying his best to give a serious face, though his eyes very obviously gave him away. He couldn't hide his thoughts from you, and his case for innocence wasn't exactly helped along by the growing hardness poking at your inner thigh. He was dressed only in his boxers, and you had to admit the feeling of the hair on his legs brushing against your calves sent shivers down your spine.

"Oh, absolutely not, liebling. I have only your best interests at heart."

But as he said this, Dieter leaned his head down to press soft kisses along your shoulder, slowly rising to the crook of your neck. You couldn't help the effect he had on you, your hand instinctively coming to run through his hair as his hands came to cradle your form. His kisses continued as he ran a hand along the curve of your bump, lingering for no more than a moment before slipping down between your legs, rubbing gently through the soft of your panties. A small whine from you was enough of an affirmative for him to slide below the material, the cool of his touch against your clit making you gasp.

Dieter chuckled against your skin, nipping ever so gently at your earlobe. "It seems I'm not the only one who's been frustrated."

"Dieter, please-" His every touch brought back the memories of the nights spent with him, the times he would make love to you for hours, and the rough sessions when he just needed to take out his anger. As soon as he'd found out you were pregnant, he'd been so paranoid about harming the child he'd hardly gone near you for the first month or two. Your hormones were raging, though, and every small touch, every sight of him in his uniform had been driving you insane. Now, it seemed he had reached his breaking point. Finally.

"What was that?" he teased, continuing to rub small circles at your clit. "Do you want something mein schatz?" Without warning he slipped his index finger inside you making you gasp at the sudden intrusion. It had been so long you'd almost forgotten how well he knew your body, just how to angle his fingers inside of you to have you seeing stars.

"Please, Dieter - fuck me," you begged, moving now to grip his hair, a little tighter than you would normally allow yourself.

He let out a low groan that reverberated against your neck before moving to free himself from his boxers. You were almost crying from frustration at this point, even moving your hand to help guide his cock toward your entrance, watching him intently. You rested your forehead against his, your breathing coming in hard now with anticipation and your other hand moving to rest upon the nape of his neck.

The first contact felt like coming home, and you almost collapsed into him with relief when you felt his length settle inside you, stretching you out so well.

"Mein Gott," Dieter breathed, his eyes slamming shut. He was still for a moment savouring the sweet feeling of you wrapping around him. You began to move slowly against him, once again getting used to his size inside you. "I can't believe it's been so long. Fuck - you feel so good for me." His face was pure bliss as his hips slowly began rocking up to meet your thrusts, his hand coming to your hip to guide you to match his motion.

It wasn't long before he began hitting that sweet spot inside you, angling his body to press deeper into you. His hand tried again to run along your back and this time it had the desired reaction; you let out a shaky breath as his fingertips graced along your spine, only adding to the sensitivity. You reached your leg up to wrap around him, pulling him closer so that there was hardly room to breathe between the pair of you.

Your hand came again to run along his scalp and you knew he was getting close by how his thrusts became erratic, finally breaking his perfect pace within you.

"Dieter, I-" You could hardly speak, your every nerve standing on end. Dropping his head once again into the crook of your neck, Dieter tightened his grip on you, his rhythm almost aggressive with desperation. He knew you were close. He always knew. A soft hand dipped back to your clit, pressing only lightly but it was enough to send you over the edge. You cried out against him as your orgasm hit you, clutching at his back, your nails pressing so hard into him they were sure to leave indents. He wasn't far behind, moaning into your neck as he finished inside you, his warm seed painting your walls, a feeling you had greatly missed.

It took a while for you to come down, your period of abstinence only making your high hit you harder. Softly, Dieter's hand moved to brush against your bump, and you smiled at how his face transformed to one of pure love. He looked back to you and leaned to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.