an officer and a gentleman (dieter hellstrom x reader)
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
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.
"Me neither," so close you could smell the wine on his breath mixing with tobacco. "Why don't you ask your papi if you can be excused and I'll give you some more rumours to spread?"
