Noch einer!
(Dieter Hellstrom x reader)- slight nsfw
A/N: Man idk, it's 1 am and Dieter is baby girl. I don't support nacizm/any of this man's ideologies. Enjoy!
đť Imagine being a Yugoslav Partisan camouflaged as an SS officer, when attending a nazi meeting in the basement you meet Dieter. After a few too many shots you slip up, but luckily he is too busy thinking about you rather than the things you say.đť
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The room was getting louder and louder with every second running by, yet you didn't budge. At least on the outside, on the inside though, you were on fire. The gun on your belt looked lovelier with every nazi that walked in and sat down at the table you were sitting at.
You couldn't believe that you approved of this "genius" plan The Basterds came up with. No matter how stupid it seemed, there was a possibility it could work and you wanted nothing more than to have these Schwabs out of Europe and sent straight to hell where they belonged.
The SS uniform felt too tight and uncomfortable, you tapped your black boots against the cold cement and silently cursed every officer that came in the basement, however, you decided to busy your mind with something else and stretch your legs. You got up, lit a cigarette in between your middle and pointer finger, and noticed the gramophone hiding behind a wall. Just as you noticed it, it stopped playing. Walking up to the gramophone to restart it, your eyes noticed a figure in the corner.
The yellow light from the candle lit up the left side of his face.
The SS officer was reading a book and drinking beer. The more you stared at him, your mind forgetting about the music, the more attractive he looked. "No, Y/N this isn't right," you said to yourself: "I shouldn't pray on men today, especially nazis."
Without realizing he was staring right back at you until he finally spoke: "Fräulein? Was ist los?" You broke eye contact and didn't reply.
He took a deep breath and closed the book, his hand patting the sit next to him, gesturing for you to sit down.
Your heartbeat quickened, the tension was unbearable and not in a good way.
"Y/N, do not show any compassion to him, his people are killing yours on the lines out there, he doesn't deserve it." Were the only thoughts running through your head the whole time you were slowly walking up to his side.
But for now, you had to be an actress to stay alive. His cologne smelled nice. That was the first remark you truly noticed about him, besides his amazing looks. "Wie heiĂt du, Liebling?"
"Liebling? Hah," you thought: "what an attempt to get me flustered."
"Erika Shauenberg."
It wasn't your real name, of course.
"Zigarette?" the man asked you, smiling. His smile wasn't bad either, in fact, he was the most perfect man you've ever seen.
"Why does he have to be a piece of shit?"
Your cigarette from before burned up by itself without you even putting it in your mouth. He really got you distracted so much that you forgot to smoke.
Nodding and taking one out of the box you thanked him: "Danke."
With one slick move, he pulled out a lighter and lit it. German cigs tasted different than the Yugoslav ones, but for the time being, they were good enough.
"Oh!" He remembered: "Es tut mir leid, dass ich vergessen habe," putting one in his mouth as well: "mich vorzustellen."
Blowing smoke into thin air: "Major Dieter Hellstrom."
Dieter? What an extraordinary name.
"Erik!" Dieter called out to the waiter as he approached our table. "Scotch, zwei Gläser!"
Grinning, he leaned closer to you and half whispered: "Erik hat eine Flasche Jahre alten Whisky aus dem schottischen Hochland-"
"Would you mind if we continued in English?" You interrupted him: "I was raised in France as a German kid." Tapping your cigarette on a black ashtray: "I never learned proper German because my father, well..."
Think Y/N! Think!
"He was killed in combat and my mother died from the flu when I was only 5 years old." Putting on a sad face you sighed: "I was given to a foster family in France."
"Where?" Dieter wondered.
"Menton."
"Ah, Erik!"
The waiter brought the two of you your drinks and left the scotch bottle on the table. Amazing, this was going to be a long night.
However, in reality, you couldn't complain about being in his company. Yes, he was a nazi, and yes you hated nazis, but damn was he charming.
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1 hour later....
You've never had this much fun in your life. How many shots you drank, how many cigarettes you smoked? You didn't care, and neither did Dieter. He was just as shitfaced as you.
You both laughed at each other's stories from the past.
"Noch einer, Liebling?"
"Ja, bitte!"
As he took your glass to fill it up, you watched the golden liquid splash on the table as the bottle slipped from his hand. You quickly picked it up, slightly touching his hand while leaning over the table to reach it, and laughed out loud.
"You know this reminds me when I lived in Yugo-"
Shit. No no no no no!
"Yugo? What Yugo?" he looked at you, his eyes glassy, gazing upon your face.
You swallowed hard: "Yugo? Yugo! Ah, yes!"
Think Y/n, think!
"Yugo's apartment .."
Good job Y/n
"We dated in highschool."
It was quite impressive how your foggy brain could still have such a wild imagination.
For a second he looked at you and said:
"You're aren't German, are you?"
Silence
You simply started at him and ran over the words he just spoke.
He said it's so effortlessly, his drunk tongue didn't slur one word in that sentence, as if that didn't mean that you were about to die. There was no solution in getting out of this. You do not have any evidence that you in fact were German, nor that you lived in France! Hell you don't even know France that well at all! You were pretty sure these were your last moments alive before his pretty German pistol would shoot you in the head and leave you for the rats feast on.
Suddenly the clock on the stone wall behind you started ticking slower, your heartbeat sped up and your palms got sweaty.
Meanwhile, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. His left hand was in his pocket the whole time, swiftly he pulled his hand out of his pocket and grabbed your face, to your surprise he didn't press a gun to your lips, he pressed his lips against yours. He kissed you.
To be continued...
