мимолетный • зейн

જ⁀➴❤︎ ❝𝘼 𝙇ovesick 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍 for you, 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴.❞ ✦☆ pierro, rdj, c.w & m.m's no. 1 fan ✦☆ ★ an absolute freak, dni if oversensitive! ★

[zn-chen-0729]

Thinking about a bottom!Stephen idea, mainly ironstrange:

Stephen gets hit by some kind of spell that makes everyone (the Avengers) inexplicably fall for him. The only one who seems unaffected is Tony—because he’s already attracted to Stephen.🤔🤔🤔

[headoverhiddles]

Meister - Hans Landa x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You wait to give Landa a sexy little surprise when he comes home, but realize he’s not alone. 

Notes: requested by anon! Not as plot heavy as my other Landa ones, and much shorter, but certainly as smutty! xx Enjoy a tiny taste of our Austrian daddy, it’s been a while.  

Herr Colonel Landa’s home is a large one. He has money, and he’s not one to shy away from displaying it. He’s not overly cocky about it– he just takes pleasure in the fact that he’s living comfortably, and by proxy, so are you. 

Today, you’ve spent the day straightening up the place, telling your maids they’ve got the day off. You want to welcome the master of the house home properly… as his little French maid waiting for him. 

You had met Hans about a year ago at a party in Paris, where you’re from, and it had been an instant attraction. You had been a dancing girl, and dancing girls did not typically start relationships with patrons of the bar, but Hans had been irresistible. He’s so powerful, yet quietly so. So spontaneous, yet so well spoken. The man is a walking contradiction, and you find the mystery deadly attractive.

You wait in your sexy maid outfit on the stairs as the front door opens. You can’t wait to see his reaction– you’re determined to remind Hans just how much he means to you.

“Hermann lernte ziemlich schnell, dass zweite Chancen nicht in meiner Natur liegen–" (Hermann learned quite quickly that second chances are not in my nature, when–) Hans stops as he sees you on the steps, and your eyes widen as you notice there are other men with him. His eyes widen as well, and you try to cover up as the two uniformed men accompanying him chuckle.

"Ah Landa. Es sieht so aus, als warte deine Dame im Warten.” (Ah Landa. It appears your lady in waiting is waiting.)

“Sieht aus, als hätte das Mädchen ein Geschenk für Sie.” (Looks like the maid has a gift for you.) The two officers continue to snicker, and you’re mortified.

“That would be my wife,” Landa says slowly, and the other two men stall their laughter, fear dawning on their faces. Landa just smirks your way. “How beautiful you look, my dear. As it so happens– I am not the only one who thinks so.”

The two other men chuckle again, nervously this time. But Landa just keeps smiling your way. With that same unnerving smile on his face, he straightens his uniform coat. “Gentlemen, would you excuse me for a moment? Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be with you shortly.”

You back away up the stairs as Hans’ dark eyes roam your body. You’ve got tiny lace panties on, and a white and black frilly apron that just barely covers your breasts.

“Hans–” you try to assure him, but he’s not having it. He takes your wrist as if to lead you upstairs, but ultimately decides against it. He can’t wait that long. 

Grabbing you by the thighs, he pushes you up against the banister, and parts your legs, moving down between them. After he has them open enough and unhooks your garter belt, you feel his tongue probe your panties, and you sling a leg over his shoulder. He quiets your moans with a pinch to your ass, and mouths along your swollen bud until you’re practically crying.

“Hush, Fraulein,” he snaps up at you, “Any of them could come out and see me defiling you on the stairs, and we don’t want that. Hermann and Stefan have seen enough of you for one day.”

“Yes sir, herr colonel,” you breathe, head tilting back in ecstasy. He inserts a finger into you, and you cry out as he curves it. He continues to assault your G-spot with his fingers and your clit with his tongue, until you let out a moan, coming against his face.

He raises his eyebrows. “Très rapidement, ma cherie.” (Very quickly.)

“Je suis faible pour ce que tu me fais, Hans.” (I’m weak for what you do to me, Hans.) you growl, “Tu sais ça.” (You know this.)

You drop to your knees, urging him down as well, and he lays on the stairs as you move down to undo his pants. You take him out, licking your lips at the sight of his erection. He groans, so you lower your mouth down over him, getting him even harder. You straddle him, lowering down onto his cock, and he grabs your hips, mumbling German curse words as you ride him like that on the stairs.

“You’re right,” you whisper, “They could come out at any time daddy, see me riding you, see you fucking me hard…” You moan, pressing your hand to his chest for leverage. “Fuck me hard, Hans.”

He moans your name, and pushes his hips up, once, twice more as he gasps. “Are you close, my sweet? Mm? My sweet little whore?”

“Yes,” you moan, “Bitte… Bitte Hans, ah…”

“Look at this costume… you knew exactly what it would do to me.”

“Yes!”

You bite your lip as you grind down once more and come hard at the same time as he does. He shakes his head, astonished. 

“I suppose there will be no explanation, will there?” You crawl up between his legs, and giggle. 

“Juste accueillir mon maître à la maison.” (Just welcoming my master home.)

[headoverhiddles]

Verführung - Hans Landa x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: To help the Basterds steal a German map, you’re given the seemingly impossible task to distract the infamous Hans Landa– with seduction. 

Notes: Very NSFW (even though I wrote this at work lmao). Rough smut. Face slapping, spanking, choking, and daddy kink. Hans is a kinky man! 

@underratedcharactersimagines here it is!! 

You’re all lined up, each waiting for the leader of the group to bark a command at you. Roles are assigned for the upcoming mission, and you’re last in line.

“Hold on,” you say, “If Bridget’s doing that, what the hell am I doing?”

“(y/n),” Raine says, coming over and crossing his arms. “You… have got jus ‘bout the worst job of all of us.”

You blink, and it starts to dawn on you at all the guys’ sympathetic glances down the line. “Seduce Landa?”

“Seduce Landa,” Raine nods.

“Seduce the Jew Hunter.”

“Seduce the god damn Jew Hunter, that’s right.”

You run a hand through your hair. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I’d love to, I would, but I just don’t think I’m his type.”

You sigh. “This is shit.”

“Grade A shit, you bet your sweet lil buns it is. Tell me, what do we do?”

“We kill Nazis,” you scoff, “Not fuck them.”

“Well in this par-tic-ular instance, fuckin’ 'em leads to killin’ em. So if we’re gonna get those Nazi maps, then you’re gonna need to get down and dirty to distract the man with the plan. Just don’t let him get your name.” You must have an incredibly detesting look on your face, because Raine laughs. “Come on, fake it! Ain’t nobody better'n you at that.”

“He won’t let me,” you say, “Haven’t you heard the stories? He’s too smart. He’ll see right through it.”

“He’s sharp,” Raine nods, “But hell, you’re sharper. You’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“Do I have to go all the way?”

“You have to go pretty damn far. The longer you take, the better for us.”

“Let’s hope the colonel knows how to last,” Donnie jokes.

“Right,” you whisper, and take a deep breath.

Your heart is pounding hard in your chest, legs almost jelly as you walk into the gala. You had been talking yourself through this all night, and sure, you were a skilled conversationalist and a magnificent actress, but could you really take on the famed Jew Hunter’s wit with only what’s between your legs as a weapon? You’d never even met him before, only heard stories of the big bad Colonel Landa. You could only imagine how horrible he would look, how terrible he would be to speak to. You flatten your tight dress against your stomach, wondering if there would be bullet holes through it by the end of the night, and turn to Raine.

“How do I look?”

“Scrumptious.”

“Suits me,” you sigh, and straighten your posture, striding through the crowd with a delicate confidence that could garner the attention of any man present. You part company with the Basterds, looking around the room. Either Hans was on his way now and hadn’t arrived yet, or he had and you were up shit’s creek trying to find him for the rest of the night. You keep your calm, cool, collected persona as you scan the room. You grit your teeth as you think back to the exchange you’d had with Raine on the way here.

“How am I supposed to identify him?! I don’t know what he looks like, you never showed me a fucking picture.”

“You’ll know it’s him. I assume he commands a room, so you’ll know it’s him immediately.”

You pick up a glass of champagne, and just as you’re about to take a sip, you notice someone has just entered. He’s followed by about four men in uniform, and you strain to see his face.

Your heartbeat picks up as people part for the man.

That’s him. That’s Landa.

You can barely identify what he looks like from here, but you can tell by his presence alone that it’s him.

Keep reading

[zanewalker13]

the only word i can pronounce rn is FUCK.

[headoverhiddles]

Verführung - Hans Landa x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: To help the Basterds steal a German map, you’re given the seemingly impossible task to distract the infamous Hans Landa– with seduction. 

Notes: Very NSFW (even though I wrote this at work lmao). Rough smut. Face slapping, spanking, choking, and daddy kink. Hans is a kinky man! 

@underratedcharactersimagines here it is!! 

You’re all lined up, each waiting for the leader of the group to bark a command at you. Roles are assigned for the upcoming mission, and you’re last in line.

“Hold on,” you say, “If Bridget’s doing that, what the hell am I doing?”

“(y/n),” Raine says, coming over and crossing his arms. “You… have got jus ‘bout the worst job of all of us.”

You blink, and it starts to dawn on you at all the guys’ sympathetic glances down the line. “Seduce Landa?”

“Seduce Landa,” Raine nods.

“Seduce the Jew Hunter.”

“Seduce the god damn Jew Hunter, that’s right.”

You run a hand through your hair. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I’d love to, I would, but I just don’t think I’m his type.”

You sigh. “This is shit.”

“Grade A shit, you bet your sweet lil buns it is. Tell me, what do we do?”

“We kill Nazis,” you scoff, “Not fuck them.”

“Well in this par-tic-ular instance, fuckin’ 'em leads to killin’ em. So if we’re gonna get those Nazi maps, then you’re gonna need to get down and dirty to distract the man with the plan. Just don’t let him get your name.” You must have an incredibly detesting look on your face, because Raine laughs. “Come on, fake it! Ain’t nobody better'n you at that.”

“He won’t let me,” you say, “Haven’t you heard the stories? He’s too smart. He’ll see right through it.”

“He’s sharp,” Raine nods, “But hell, you’re sharper. You’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“Do I have to go all the way?”

“You have to go pretty damn far. The longer you take, the better for us.”

“Let’s hope the colonel knows how to last,” Donnie jokes.

“Right,” you whisper, and take a deep breath.

Your heart is pounding hard in your chest, legs almost jelly as you walk into the gala. You had been talking yourself through this all night, and sure, you were a skilled conversationalist and a magnificent actress, but could you really take on the famed Jew Hunter’s wit with only what’s between your legs as a weapon? You’d never even met him before, only heard stories of the big bad Colonel Landa. You could only imagine how horrible he would look, how terrible he would be to speak to. You flatten your tight dress against your stomach, wondering if there would be bullet holes through it by the end of the night, and turn to Raine.

“How do I look?”

“Scrumptious.”

“Suits me,” you sigh, and straighten your posture, striding through the crowd with a delicate confidence that could garner the attention of any man present. You part company with the Basterds, looking around the room. Either Hans was on his way now and hadn’t arrived yet, or he had and you were up shit’s creek trying to find him for the rest of the night. You keep your calm, cool, collected persona as you scan the room. You grit your teeth as you think back to the exchange you’d had with Raine on the way here.

“How am I supposed to identify him?! I don’t know what he looks like, you never showed me a fucking picture.”

“You’ll know it’s him. I assume he commands a room, so you’ll know it’s him immediately.”

You pick up a glass of champagne, and just as you’re about to take a sip, you notice someone has just entered. He’s followed by about four men in uniform, and you strain to see his face.

Your heartbeat picks up as people part for the man.

That’s him. That’s Landa.

You can barely identify what he looks like from here, but you can tell by his presence alone that it’s him.

Keep reading

[princessglittergore2]

could you please do another hans smut? Like one with his wife before the scene in the restaurant with Gobbels and everyone else. I know Hans shows up late which he strikes me as the punctual type so what if him and his wife got there early and got a little carried away if you know what i mean. also could he be sweet with her like she’s his long time wife?

The early bird gets to squirm 🕊️ (Sequel to look who's all tied up!)

Hii sweet face! I hope you enjoy the fic and thank you so much for sending a request :) I tried my best to make it as close to the request as possible, the only differences are that they're going to be newly married because I had the idea to make this a sequel to "look who's all tied up," set a year after the first fics events with most the basterds and Bridget being alive! This also means that it won't be a meeting with Gobbles, but instead I thought it could be an anniversary dinner/meeting with Hans friends 💞 I'm so sorry to alter the request but it inspired me to make a sequeal😫 I hope that's okay😫🙏✨ thank you again, love! I hope you enjoy it :)

⚠️Warnings!!⚠️: 18 PLUS ONLY! MINORS DENIED: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Contents: Mostly proof read! Super duper smutty, reader and Hans are a newly married couple, American! ex-(kinda) basterd reader, sweet and horny Landa,kinda jealous!Landa, unprotected spontaneous public sex, vaginal penetration, anal penetration, slight humiliation kink, Hans teasing reader, toaster strudel, spit kink, multiple positions, cum eating (to the extreme), face riding (female receiving oral), big daddy kink. This is going to be a Hans Landa fuck fest.

✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️

"I hope you'll decide to choose what we both know is best." He gave me a choice, and something told me that I knew what I wanted.

I sat and thought for a moment, knowing that this was the only choice that would both keep my friends alive and give me a chance at starting the life I've always wanted. One free of worries and the family I'd always dreamed of.

"I'll come with you..." I say confidently but quietly. I remembered my guilt outweighing the burning desire I've developed for this dangerous man.

"Smart girl. I can't wait to show you all the things we will do."

⭐

"Ist alles in Ordnung, mein Engel?"

("Is everything alright, my angel?")

Hans reached across the table to grab my hand, holding it lightly in his palm while stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. I smiled softly at him, snapping out of my thoughts and sitting up straight in my seat, looking through the menu that was laid out in front of me.

"Ja, ich war einfach nur etwas niedergeschlagen... Ich vermisse meine Freunde."

("Yes, I-I was just feeling a little down is all...I miss my friends.")

Today marks one year since the events of what took place at Shosanna's theater, the same day that would change my life forever. What started out as a mission to meet and seduce Hans Landa to gather information for the basterds, turned into the start of the rest of my new life. To even say that I miss my friends is an understatement, but the life I have here with Hans wasn't anything like I expected. I could honestly say that, with the time him and I have been together, I haven't felt true happiness like this in a long time.

He loved and adored me effortlessly, showering me with compliments and gifts, showing me loyalty and even went as far to propose to me six months ago. We married shortly after, our wedding rings a constant reminder that I was indeed his, forever. There were things that he had made very clear to me. He always wanted me to be "ready" for him, no matter the time or place. He was mostly against me wearing panties- or any underwear, especially when wearing one of the many dresses he'd bought for me.

He loved when I was clean shaven and wanted me to always smell of strawberries, making sure to give me everything I needed to make that happen. He took care of me in every way that he could, even though there were times where he didn't care much for me to have to put in that effort, it was usually expected.

To celebrate our marriage, Hans bought me a beautiful sheer white dress, taking me out to dinner tonight to meet a couple of his colleagues.

Hans lets out a sigh, taking a sip of his red wine before clicking his tongue, never letting go of my hand. Instead, his grip tightened with a small grin. "Das ist verständlich, Schatz. Ich habe dir ja versprochen, dass du sie eines Tages wiedersehen wirst. Vielleicht kann ich auf unserer Amerikareise nächsten Monat etwas arrangieren."

("That is understandable, honey. I've promised you'd be able to see them again someday. Maybe on our trip to America in the next month, I will be able to make some arrangements.") He lifts my hand up to his lips and places a soft kiss on my knuckles. I smiled back, ready to speak but a young man in a black tuxedo walked over to our table, smiling at us both, his eyes mostly staying on me and my admittedly revealing dress.

"Guten Tag. Mein Name ist Joseph und ich nehme heute Abend Ihre Bestellungen entgegen. Darf ich Ihnen etwas bringen, während Sie sich für Ihr Abendessen entscheiden?"

("Hello, good afternoon. I am Joseph and I will be taking your orders this evening. could I get you both anything while you decide what you will be having for dinner?") The young man smiles down at me giving me a quick wink, making me quite uncomfortable. I looked up at Hans who stared up at the young man, his face changing from his soft grin to a look of annoyance. His eyes flickered to me and loosened his grip from my hand.

"Ja, John. Ich nehme das Sauerkraut, und meine liebe Frau das Coq au Vin. Und noch ein Glas von Ihrem besten Wein … Frische Gläser, wenn das keine Umstände macht."

("Yes, John. I will be having the Choucroute Garnie, and my lovely wife will be having the Coq au Vin. Also, another glass of your best wine...Fresh glasses, if that's not too much trouble.")

The waiter clears his throat, eyes dropping to my breast, my arms crossing over my chest to keep him from goggling at me. "Ich bin’s, Joseph, und nein … überhaupt keine Probleme. Alles für Sie und die reizende Dame.“

("It's John, and no...not trouble at all. Anything for you and the lovely lady.")

Hans chuckles clearing his throat and holding up a finger to me as if to let me know that everything is alright. "Richtig. Junger Mann, wenn ich es nicht besser wüsste, würde ich denken, Sie würden meiner wunderschönen Frau Avancen machen… Sie ist wunderschön, nicht wahr?"

("Right. Young man, if I didn't know any better, I would think you are making advances at my beautiful wife.... She is beautiful isn't she?") Hans straightens up his jacket and stands up, standing toe to toe with the waiter and looking him deep in the eyes with an emotionless expression.

"An deiner Stelle würde ich mich entweder angemessen verhalten oder einen anderen Server suchen. Du weißt sicher, wer ich bin, und wenn du so dumm bist, deine kindisch-barbarischen Eskapaden fortzusetzen, würde ich mich an deiner Stelle als tot betrachten. Ich nehme an, du wärst lieber ein Mann, der sich voller Leben fühlt und weiterleben möchte, aber ich würde die zweite Option bevorzugen. Verstanden?"

("If I were you I would either act appropriately or get another server. I'm sure you know who I am, and if you are stupid enough to continue with your childish-barbaric antics, I would then in your position, consider myself- a dead man. While I assume you'd rather be a man who could consider himself full of life to continue to live, I would strive for option two. Understand?")

Something about Hans becoming jealous and protective set something off in me. I felt myself beginning to heat up at my core, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal at the same time. The young man looks at Hans nervously, clearly stirring with regret as to how he's acted.

"Alles klar, Sir. Ich bitte vielmals um Entschuldigung, ich werde Ihre Anweisungen sofort bearbeiten." The man hurried to grab our menus, grabbing the old glasses of wine and quickly rushing away without even giving me the slightest glance. Hans takes his seat once Joseph has gone away and places his hand on my knee underneath the table.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "Ich kann ihm nicht die alleinige Schuld daran geben, dass er sich nicht beherrschen kann. Mein wunderschöner Engel weckt die wildesten Instinkte in einem Mann."

("I cannot entirely blame him for not being able to control himself. My beautiful angel brings out the most feral actions in a man.")

Hans hand started to slide up my leg, fingers lightly tapping along the way as he glided up my thigh, feeling the plush skin beneath his finger tips. He carefully watched my facial expression form in shock, my eyes widening at the sudden gesture with my lips parted, letting out slow and steady breaths. "H-Hans? kommen deine Freunde nicht bald an?"

(H-Hans? Won't your friends be arriving soon?)

He hums softly, nodding his head 'yes', his fingers reaching the inner part of my thighs, pinky rubbing against the bare skin of my crotch. He breathes in deeply through his nose, the side of his pinky sliding up and down over my clit, my thighs squeezing together tightly at his touch.

"So ein liebes Mädchen... Wer hätte gedacht, dass mein kleiner Engel so gut zuhören kann... Hält immer alles so schön ordentlich für mich..."

("Such a sweet girl... Who knew that my little angel could listen so well.. Always keeping things so nice and neat for me..")

He flips his hand over, rubbing at my clit and pulling it up, pressing it in to create more pressure. He raises his eyebrows looking completely serious while I struggle to hold back a moan. "Was ist denn los, Liebes?" Hast du etwa die Zunge verschluckt? Sei doch nicht so bescheiden, Liebling, es ist ja nicht so, als wüsste nicht jeder hier im Raum von uns."

("What's the matter, lovely?" Cat's got your tongue? Don't be so modest sweetheart, it's not like everyone in this room doesn't know about us.")

He applies more pressure to my clit, rubbing in quick short circles before returning to slow motions, then stopping to keep me from coming close to my climax. "Oh, ganz im Gegenteil, Liebling, denn jeder weiß, dass ich dein hübsches kleines Loch jede Nacht mit meinem harten Schaft fülle. Ich bin sicher, sie wissen, dass all deine hübschen Löcher von mir gefüllt wurden... Nur von mir."

("Oh, it's quite the contrary darling, because everyone knows that I stuff that pretty little hole with my hard shaft every night. I'm sure they know that all of your pretty holes have been stuffed by me... Only me.")

He had no shame as he spoke out loud in the middle of the restaurant, seeming to get off at the thought of people truly knowing what's going on underneath this table. "Jedes einzelne dieser Löcher, all die gleichen, die sich um meinen Schwanz geklammert haben, als hättest du Angst, ihn loszulassen... Genau wie beim ersten Mal, als ich dich zum Orgasmus gebracht habe...das erste Mal, als du überhaupt gekommen bist."

("Every single one of those holes, all of the same ones that have clenched around my dick like you were afraid to let go... Just like the first time I'd ever made you cum...the first time you've ever even came.") He chuckles, sliding his pinky lower to feel the wetness dripping from my pussy, pushing past my clean shaven lips slightly.

I moaned quietly, my hips lifting forward to give him more access, Hans pinky dipping deeper into me. "All diese jungen Männer, die mein süßes junges Mädchen umschwärmen... Niemand könnte dir jemals das Gefühl geben, das ich dir gebe... So ein braves Mädchen für ihren Papa."

("All these young men, fawning over my sweet young girl... No one could ever make you feel the way I do.. Such a good girl for her daddy.") He smirks seeing my body shake and quiver, watching everyone around us while they begin to stare as I was unable to control my moans and movements.

"Sieh dich nur an, Liebling. Du zerfällst schon bei der einfachsten Berührung. Nach all der Zeit, die wir zusammen sind, reagiert dein Körper immer noch so wie damals, als ich zum ersten Mal mit deiner wunderschönen Blume spielte."

("Look at you, love. Just unraveling at the most simple touch. After all this time we've been together, your body still reacts as it did the first time I ever played with your beautiful flower.") He leans in, planting a soft gentle kiss to my cheek.

"Ich möchte, dass Sie tun, was ich sage, und ganz genau zuhören.."

("I want you to do as I say and listen very closely..") He places another kiss to the shell of my ear, taking his hand away from my pussy and wrapping it around my wrist firmly, placing my hand on top of his crotch to feel his hardness that strained against his pants.

"Ich möchte, dass Sie aufstehen und zur Toilette gehen, und Sie dürfen sie nicht verlassen, bis ich selbst hineingegangen bin."

("I want you to get up and walk to the restroom and you are not to leave it, until I myself have made it inside.") He pushes my hand down harder, rubbing himself and letting out a small groan. "Ist das klar?"

("Is that understood?")

I nodded my head 'yes', Hans gripping the top of my hand tightly.

"Sprich. Ja, was?"

("Speak. Yes what?") I blushed noticing some of the other people sitting around us starting to whisper as they watched me and Hans at our table.

"Ja, Papa."

("Yes, daddy.") I mumbled, licking my lips and standing up from my seat. He smirked, staring at my ass and lifted his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

"Braves Mädchen."

("Good girl.") He watched as I walked past the waitress and the other tables where other guests were seated, all of their eyes following me on my way to the restroom. Hans smiles in satisfaction, waiting patiently for the opportunity to get up and follow me inside.

Once I reached the woman's room, I placed my hand on the door knob, turning it and pushing it open with a soft creaking sound. A woman applying her lipstick in front of the large mirror gave me a small smile, packing up her make-up before leaving the restroom. I sighed in relief, looking around to see if anyone else was inside. I felt my hands becoming more shaky, listening to the muffled noises of people talking and laughing at their tables on the other side of the door.

The door knob twisted again, the door slowly opening, Hans stepping inside with no sense of urgency to not be seen. He lets the door close behind him, reaching back to twist the lock with a soft click. He turns on his heels, looking over at me and smirking while he starts to undo his belt.

"Naughty little thing..My princess." Hans switched to english, letting out a moan as he was looking at my cleavage. "The best thing I've ever done in this life was making the decision to make you the center of it...my beautiful, delectable, sexy wife..." He spoke seductively in his thick Austrian accent.

He walks closer until I'm backed up against the marble counter, hands finding my waist and pulling me closer to him. "You're the most gorgeous thing to have graced the earth and everyone knows it." He mumbled, leaning down and placing warm wet kisses on my neck. "Your sounds of pleasure are the sweetest melody, and I love to make you sing for me, my love." He reaches behind me and squeezes my ass again, massaging the skin through my long dress. "After all this time we've been together. After all the nights we've spent in the same bed with you moaning my name, one would think you'd be used to it. I'd expect you to even become rather bored...Not you...not my sweet girl. You still are so loyal to me, like the good little pet that you are."

"H-Hans, please... I-I'm scared to do anything here." I moan out, his fingers lifting the back of my dress until it's over my hips and sitting loosely on top of my waist. He chuckles darkly, pushing my hair back and resting his hand behind my neck.

"You better get used to it darling, because when I grow with need, you should always be ready to take me, no matter where." His kissing lead lower, kissing the swell of my breast and rubbing my clit again, trailing lower and dipping his fingers inside of me. "I promise, you are not as scared as anyone who would dare intrude or interrupt our play time." He smiles against my chest. "Now, unzip my pants and pull out your favorite toy." He groaned.

I blush, reaching down with caution, but my fingers began to fumble with his pants, grabbing the zipper and slowly pulling it down. I pushed downwards on his pants, letting them fall down to his ankles, Hans smiling and kissing my cheek in response. "That's right, feel what you've been doing to me, lovely." He pressed his hardened cock against my thigh, his thick swollen top touching the entrance of my pussy. I moan, pulling him closer to me and biting down on his shoulder when he pushes his fingers deeper into me.

"I-I need you, please...Please don't make me beg." I grab his arms, pushing back to try and get a look at his hard dick, my wetness starting to leak down my leg.

"Ah-Ah, Sh-sh-sh." He pulls his fingers out of me and pressed his index finger to my lips to keep me quiet. "You will do, exactly as I say. Open." He says sternly. I nod, opening my mouth and letting him slide both his index and middle fingers into my mouth, his other hand stroking his cock and lining it with my entrance. He lets his fingers sit on my tongue while I wrap my lips around them, sucking softly but Hans just keeps shoving them farther and farther until they're touching the back of my throat making me gag.

The second I did, he quickly shoved his cock inside me making me gasp and almost throw up but he smiled devilishly and pushed them back and forth, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of my mouth while thrusting in and out of me. I couldn't scream and could only let out muffled moans while he pumped in and out. "I have to make sure you soak my fingers well so I could stretch your pretty ass out to get it ready for my cock...You understand that, right love? I'm only trying to help." He smirks, shoving his fingers deeper down my throat making me dribble spit all down his wrist.

He leans his head down and licks some spit off the corner of my mouth and licks his lips, his hair on his forehead swaying in the same fashion as his hips. I cry out, struggling to breathe, Hans pumping himself in and out of me. I let out a loud sigh of relief when he pulled his fingers out, pulling his cock out of me at the same time. He grips my hips and pulls me up off the sink, spinning me around and laying me face down on the counter.

"Oh, how sweet. Just like the first night we met. You were just as needy then." He moaned, pushing the tip of his cock to my ass, stretching the tight hole carefully before shoving himself inside, his moans filling the restroom loudly and reaching up to pull my hair back. "You are to look at yourself while your daddy fucks you. Is that clear?" He demanded, looking at me seriously through our reflections in the mirror. I nodded my head, gripping the sink while trying not to be too loud.

He lands a hard smack to my ass, yanking my hair back roughly. "Stop holding back, damnit!" He smacks the tender flesh once more before bottoming himself in my ass, holding himself there, biting his lower lip with pure pleasure displayed across his face. I screamed loudly, holding the sink tightly until the palms of my hands burned. He thrust in and out quickly, making harsh movements to hear me yelling out loudly, calling his name over and over.

"Just like that baby, just how I like it... Take me like the good little girl you are.. That's right Princess, that's exactly r-right...Fucking slut just for me." He moans, reaching around to pinch my nipples through my dress. I screamed, my legs shaking from pleasure, and watched myself in the mirror, taking occasional glances at Hans to see him pumping with his eyes closed tightly. I could feel his cock growing bigger, every pump of his cock bringing him closer to the edge.

"S-Sweetheart, normally I would c-cum inside of you because I love to fill you up- but this time...oh fuck!- This time I have a surprise for you." He pumps harder, pushing my face closer to the mirror. "Don't you think you look so beautiful darling? Unraveling beneath me like some whore? You're not some whore to me darling, you're my w-wife... That's exactly what the fuck everyone needs to know... you're mine." He pushes my face up against the mirror, the cold glass against my cheek.

"Kiss yourself." He says sternly, standing on the top of his toes to pump deeper, stretching my ass as wide as he could with one hand while the other held my head in place. I looked at him in shock, confused for a moment, but he pushed my face more into the mirror, a small crack forming on the glass. "Now!" He yelled.

I wasted no time and looked into Hans eyes, kissing my reflection in the mirror, sliding my tongue across the reflection of my lips and kissing myself as if it were him. "Yes- That's right, keep going." He moans watching me as I close my eyes and make out with myself messily, Hans cock pulsing inside of me. I kept kissing the glass, Hans pulling out and getting on his knees, leaning up with me still sprawled on the counter top. He pulls my hips back, letting my pussy sit over his face, his tongue lapping at my clit and rolling over my slit with hunger.

"Aren't you glad we've arrived early, my love? You know what they say: the early bird gets the worm." He licks at my clit wildly, licking small strokes over my clit before speeding the licks up making them longer.

He laps my juices, sliding his fingers back inside me and pumping them on and out while he jerks himself off, reaching his climax and trying his best to hold back until I could reach my own. Something about the things Hans made me do, knowing that anyone could be outside that door listening, hearing all the things we've been doing- it all brought me over the edge, my legs quivering and my body squirming, cumming all over Hans mouth and fingers. "F-Fuck, Hans!" I screamed, squirting all over his mouth and tongue just as he'd taught me to do many times before.

He smirks beneath me, standing up on his feet and ordering me to turn back around. "Hurry, I can't hold it much longer, love!" He groans, spurts of cum starting to come out his cock. I quickly crawled around, getting on my knees and looking up at Hans as he jerked himself off, staring down at my face and body.

"Verdammt nochmal!"

("Fucking hell!") He yells out, large spurts of cum fall all over my chest and some onto my cheeks, shooting out in thick ropes before turning it lazy little drops as he came to a finish. "Look how pretty you look." He sighs out. "All fucked out and covered in my seed." He thinks for a moment, looking as if he'd just remembered something.

"Ah! Yes, that's right." He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a shiny silver spoon. I watched him carefully as he took the spoon and scooped his cum up from my cheeks, holding the spoon up to my mouth. Knowing exactly what he expected, I opened my mouth and let him drop a few drops of his cum into my mouth.

I slowly swallowed it all, Hans taking the spoon and scooping the rest of the cum that sat on my face and breast, carefully setting the spoon down. "Listen closely, my sweet. We're going to get all cleaned up and you're going to carry this spoon back to our table as carefully as you can, and you will wait for me to get back. Alright?" He kisses the top of my head, smiling as he straightens up my dress and hair.

"Y-Yes, Hans." I muttered, grabbing his shoulders and leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Das höre ich gern, Prinzessin."

("That's what I like to hear, Princess.") He smiled softly, slowly pushing me towards the door while I balanced his cum carefully on the silver utensil. I unlocked the door, opening it up and peeking outside to see if anyone was around. I saw a clear path back to our table and began to walk back over, trying my hardest to not spill Hans seed from the spoon. I should definitely be expecting a punishment if otherwise.

Once I made it, I sat the spoon down and placed a napkin over the spoon, covering its contents. I noticed something was added to the table that Hans must've ordered while I went to the restroom to begin with.

Strudel..

Hans watched me from the restroom door as I carefully uncovered the spoon knowing exactly what it was for, staring with a smile as I spread his seed all over the top of my apple strudel. I covered his seed with the side of cream and cut into the strudel, taking a small bite. He smiled widely and watched as I closed my eyes, savoring the taste.

"Good girl." He muttered, licking his lips and looking over at the front door as he colleagues walked into the restaurant.

THE END.

✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️✨🕊️

Hii guys! Thank you so much to everyone who has been waiting patiently for this sequel! I love y'all and thank you for your support, I was going through it for a minute there but I was determined to get this out and I hope you all enjoy it! I'm sorry if it's a little rough, I've been struggling with writers block and have a few more requests I need to work on but this was definitely my first priority! ✨ I'll tag most of you guys who were anticipating this sequel the most and thank you guys too for enjoying my work and sticking around 💞✨ Have an amazing day and night and I'll be writing more content soon, my loves! Thank you SM again 🙏⭐

[judasprieist]

Hans landa x reader where he beat the crap out of u bc he jealous or something also I love ur writing style

pairing: hans landa x fem!reader

warnings: mean hans, boot worship, boot riding, hair pulling.

notes: i love this request!!! i'm blushing, thank you nonnie <3 i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i am truly sorry for making you wait! let me know if you'd like a part two because i have more nasty things in mind for my man. heh.

HANS LANDA doesn't need to tell you when you've done something wrong. You might not know what it was specifically, that has him looking at you like that — as if he's expecting you to quiver like a fawn born yesterday. You've come to realize how very good he is at that; communicating with his eyes alone.

He pats his thigh, leaning back in the chair. His chin is held high, and there's that tiniest bit of curl at the corner of his mouth. It's absolutely infuriating how little he has to say in order to be understood — not just by you, of course. He's made a career out of it.

You hold your breath when you sit on his thigh, as if touching him would burn your skin.

"Your bravery is admirable," He says, like a genuine praise. One hand rests on your hip to keep you in place, the other stays on his right thigh. "as much as it is idiotic."

You don't know what to say — he's yet to tell you what you've done wrong. The events of tonight play in your head like a movie, but you can't seem to remember any specifics due to the multiple glasses of champagne you've had. He sees it on your face, but it doesn't come as a surprise to him. Judging from the heat of your cheeks when he moves his hand to brush your hair back, all you'll remember tomorrow is how much fun you've had.

"Get on the ground." Your confusion only grows when his command reaches your ears, but you do as you're told anyway — sitting on your heels before him awkwardly. You suddenly don't know where to look, the intensity of his gaze too overwhelming at the moment.

He shifts in his seat, his left foot sliding forward without another word. You look up at him, expecting him to say something but once again, he doesn't need to. The expectant arch of his brow is more than enough.

You move closer until you're sitting directly on his boot, and when you look up at him again, he isn't even looking at you anymore — as if the lit cigarette between his fingers is much more deserving of his attention than you are.

Your hips start moving on their own, bottom lip caught between your teeth. You're much more sensitive than usual from the alcohol and the humiliation you feel, but it's overshadowed by the need to get off. You quickly realize it's nowhere near enough, as there's little to no friction on your clit unless you angle your hips in a very specific, uncomfortable way. It's clear that you're getting frustrated, which earns an amused hum from Hans.

His cock is hard, and he can't tell if it's from the sight of tears forming in your pretty eyes, or the pathetic whimpers that fall from your lips as you grow more desperate. Either way, he wishes he could get his dick wet, make you ride him until you can't think straight. Unfortunately, he has to wait until he can be sure you've learned your lesson.

The fingers of his free hand tangle in your hair, tugging it until you're looking up at him properly. Your eyes are watering from the pain, but you manage to hold his gaze.

"Shouldn't have acted like a desperate bitch in public, sweetheart. Allowing my own men to touch and flirt with you however they please. Are you out of your fucking mind?" He hissed, his grip tightening around the strands. "You embarrass me. Only thinking with your pussy. Unbelievable."

Before you could react, he's yanking you off, causing you to stumble back a little. His boot is glistening with your wetness, and you catch his lips twitch with disdain.

"Clean that up."

You lean down, tongue lapping at the toe of his boot. You grimace at the bitter taste, and you try not to think about where these boots have been. At the same time, this entire situation is incredibly arousing to you — humiliating as it is, you've always found this side of him attractive. Ruthless, unforgiving and absolutely fuckable.

"We're finishing this at home." His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, tilting your head to look up at his now standing form.

[zanewalker13]

i MIGHT be a masochist guys

[wayylori]

christoph waltz in green-ish lighting, various years.

[tahreemerz]

I've got a Bad Desire

Disclaimer: this is my first time posting on tumblr, i normally post on ao3 as 'beatmewithurbitterlies' and this will probably be cross-posted onto there as well, under the same title. This is just FAN fiction, also I-I- don't speak German, but i really don't and same with all the other languages used (french and italian) so i'm begging any native speakers to forgive my use of google translate. Also this is a loosely based off of Secretary (2002) so self harm will be referenced and explored in depth.

When looking for a job as a secretary, you end up finding more than what you could've bargained for.

Warnings: Masochism, rough sex, power imbalance, age gap, hair pulling, manipulation, self-harm, grotesque imagery, violence, improper BDSM etiquette, oral sex, and other things too, probably

Word count: 13k

It had felt as though the world was spinning around you the day you met him.

‘Him’, being Colonel Hans Landa, of course. 

The way his sharp gaze had merely just acknowledged your presence, a fleeting moment of recognition glistened beneath his cold, perceptive glare, before his eyes flickered away, much more focused on his affiliates surrounding him. It felt demeaning, having him look at you in such a belittling way, as if you were a cheap toy used to distract him for the briefest of moments. 

Disappointment clawed in your chest, an ugly emotion fighting animistically to be let free. Your freshly curled hair and pale lip gloss now felt a bit strange on you, your memory quickly replaying the shameful moments of wearing your mother's expensive makeup as a child, and her mortified face at the thought that a child your age would be interested in such things. His scrutinising stare had made you feel as if you were that child again; maybe that child in you had never left. Meek and insecure, desperate for approval, even for it just to be a fleeting glance. 

You were now standing awkwardly in his doorway, fidgeting with your fingers as if you were unsure of your presence there. The wait felt like a vexatious burden upon both parties. As you continued to stare at him, your eyes flickered between him and his associates, while he barely acknowledged your presence. Even though you both knew, you were to be his new secretary. 

Secretary.

The word rang heavy in your mind as you waited for him to finish his clearly riveting conversation; the concept of settling down and becoming a secretary for an SS colonel had never even flickered across your mind, not even a year ago, while you were still at university, your dreams grandiose and bordering hubris as you wished to continue your youth resistance to Nazi occupation in France. But the War carried on, your fellow—relatively small—resistance group had all gone their separate ways post-graduation, some being forced against their goodwill to join the military, others fleeing before the worst came to ahead. Leaving you here, desolate, all alone in Paris, alone and broke. With only a degree in linguistics and an overpriced rent to a flat that you can’t even call your own. 

That’s when reality hit you, an epiphany smashing the teeth through your skull, leaving blood ringing through your ears. That perhaps job hunting and actually embracing adult life were the most likely pursuits that were in your best interest. The taste of bitterness clinging to your tongue at the thought of engaging in adult life, a persistent notion burdening your mind every second of your youth, and an ugly disdain crawling up your spine at the thought of ‘growing up’ made you itch and shiver. That wasn’t you, you weren’t one of those mind-numbing adults who so clearly resented life and, therefore, youth in and of itself, the general tiredness and loathing for every living being around them making you gag in your mouth. 

You had sworn to yourself that would never be you, an image of your child self watching your parents scream at each other, plates smashing, and fractures of red dashing through your mind, with incessant boring phrases being thrown around. The crumbling realisation hits you that this is what maturing provides for you. 

And that made you sick. 

But soon, the chipped wall of your flat began to chip away at you. The bed frame creaking every time you dared to turn in your sleep, and the forever-dampening roof right above your bed staring down at you, a degree of indignation in its glare, with the threat of it caving in on itself ever present as you counted up whatever spare change you had managed to pawn off your friends and family. 

And when the nights sometimes waned, and the only sound penetrable between the four walls of your flat was the blaring late-night Parisian traffic, a force beyond your own managed to compel you to reach for that secret stash of blades you kept hidden. The mask of a stationary box fooling essentially no one but your own sanity, as it was never like you had any had visitors over. But good lord, those blades seemed so delicious, sharp and painful, and they were even more delicious when you would drag them across your skin, so deep and jagged blood would rush from your own self-inflicted wounds. But that was never enough for you, you would want more and more, you would gash your cuts so deep to the point all you could see was nothing but deep crimson red. Despite this, the pain was so fucking good, managing to distract you from your collapsing life as a moan erupted from your mouth. 

So incidents like those were the straws that broke the proverbial dams, so to speak, and made—no—forced you, to find a job. With a degree in linguistics from a top-grade university in Vichy, France. Your secretary application soon reached Colonel Hans Landa’s door, as you used your family's connections to pull some strings, as well as glowing letters of recommendations from your professors, describing you as a ‘pleasure to teach,’ and a ‘wonderful delight, yet quiet at times. ’ 

Although you doubt the truth and extent of that thought. Most likely, they conducted a thorough background check on your family, and upon seeing your upper-class background and education, they thought they had struck gold. And your inexperienced resumé meant a presumption of malleability, your thoughts flexible and loose, ready to be deconstructed only to be built back up again, the right, proper way. Your ‘quiet’ and ‘delightful’ nature only probably meant one thing to those Nazi scum, that you were meek and insecure, soft and ready, that you would always sit back and take whatever treatment they gave you with no complaint, like a good—

“Ah! Fräulein!” he chirped. Your head snapped to look at him, his eyes now meeting you with painful scrutiny and a tone of mockery. “Come, sit!” He motioned towards the chair opposite his own, the only barrier being the desk between you both. 

You were so out of touch, lost in your own head, that you hadn’t even noticed the Colonel’s affiliates leaving the office. It had made you wonder how long you had stood there, thinking, dozing off. And how long he had sat there, just watching you. 

Every step felt heavy as you made your way towards him; each step had felt as though you were shortening the distance between that of yourself and a predator. Nerves coursing through your veins like blood, the crippling sensation almost making your knees buckle in anxiety. With luck on your side, however, you made it to the chair in time. 

His face was almost hard, stiffened in age and maturity, like fine leather. You couldn’t help but stare at every single line and wrinkle sporting his countenance, wondering just how old he truly was. He couldn’t be older than perhaps late forties, but if the strands of grey decorating the sides of his temples suggested correctly, he very well might be in his fifties. But his eyes, his eyes told you everything you wanted to know about his age; they acknowledged you with almost a degree of immaturity, as if you were a petulant child and he knew far beyond your years. He could pass for wise if the intimidating nature of the storm behind his eyes didn’t surpass a level of cruelty, so instead, it felt like an aura of condescension radiated off of him like uranium. However, his sharp, crooked nose interested you the most; you couldn’t help but notice the line running through the tip, and you remembered an old friend who told you it was a physical manifestation of selflessness in a person, but this felt like a crude perversion of that meaning. The calculating glare he wore, paired with the hard lines of age, implied a lack of toleration for things so futile, like ‘selflessness’. 

The Colonel’s office was diligently neat. Shelves of books were behind him, all of which were perfectly placed, and from what you could tell, they were ordered on an alphabetical basis. His waxed floor was so polished that when you looked down, you could see your own reflection looking back up at you, the blinds pulled down just enough to let the smallest sliver of sunlight in, yet the room was still shrouded in an aura of mystique and intrigue, as if the corners were fraying slightly at the edges. And everything on his desk was faultless, the stacks of paper perfectly balanced, not a corner out of place, even his pencils were ordered and freshly sharpened, somehow all the same size. It was honestly a bit unnerving. 

He interrupted your morbid admiration for his dedication to all things chronological, however, when he began.“So I have been told you have a degree in linguistics?” While you never had a formal interview with him personally present, the information had clearly been relayed back to him. That level of intrigue in his eyes told you he clearly approved of this. “I assume you to be multilingual, yes?” 

You cleared your throat, unsure if your voice was even still present. “Ahem—yes, sir, I am fluent in English, French, Italian, and German, of course.” Your face flushed from the attention, your fingers picking at the skin around your cuticles, wondering when the onslaught of questions would end. 

“Ah, wunderbar! Sagen Sie mir: Wie konnte eine junge Dame wie Sie so,”—Ah, Wonderful! Tell me, how could a young lady such as yourself become so— the Colonel paused, his dark gaze raking over you, as if you were a new toy, or a tantalising piece of meat, “erfolgreich werden?” —so accomplished. The switch in language caused you to jump, and you began picking around the flesh of your nail beds even deeper, praying the pleasure from the pain could distract your nerves for even just a second. 

“Ach, wissen Sie, ich habe das Lernen einfach immer genossen,”—Oh, you know, I just always enjoyed learning— you could physically feel your voice trembling, and his eyes boring into you with a disturbed fascination, but you could only stare at your cuticles, as you dug deeper and deeper into them, “und Sprachen sind sehr anregend.” —and languages are very stimulating.

“Bellissima.”—beautiful.

Your head shot up before you could even react fully, a bewildered look flashed across your eyes before the skin surrounding your thumbnail finally snapped, and you began to bleed, a lot. But despite the blood gushing from your skin, the cut was superficial, as the pain couldn’t distract you from Landa’s impenetrable gaze. 

“Ah, Fräulein! You are bleeding!” The whiplash between the concern in his voice and that hardened stare left your mind reeling, and knees heavy, “Quick.” he commanded, rising from his side of the desk, ushering you to do the same as he took you by the hand and practically dragged you out of his office and into the ladies' room. Your face burned with embarrassment as you felt everyone's eyes on you and the Colonel, your blood slowly seeping into the palm of his hand, as he conjoined his own to yours. 

“Err, C-c-colonel, I don’t think this is entirely—” you barely managed to stammer out, before he hushed you. 

“Hush, Liebling,” he turned to look at you, seemingly unbothered with everyone else's stares, only gazing into your own, somehow managing to telepathically read your mind and grasp your concern lied within the stares that continued to linger and gawk, “Don’t bother with them, when you’ll be working for me, you won’t even interact with them.” And his words provided a strange comfort while you continued to bleed.

Before you knew it, you were practically dragged through the door of the ladies' room, thanking whatever deity there is that no one else was in there as the Colonel rinsed your bleeding thumb under the sink, the dried blood slowly washing away under the cold water from the tap. And against your better judgment, you couldn’t help yourself from asking:

“Why?” You all but whispered, the single word barely louder than the silence penetrating the room. 

But, he still managed to hear your hardly audible words, his frighteningly impressive perceptive skills forcing you to realise why he was the most esteemed detective the Deutschland had. “Why what, mein schatz?” Though, you knew he was teasing you, you both knew the implication of your ‘why’. 

Your gaze flickered back to the sink and away from the mirror, tucking your hair behind your ears with your free hand as you did so, as he continued to bore into you through the reflection. “I mean,” you continued to whisper, your voice apparently unable to go beyond a certain decibel in the midst of his presence, “why are you doing this for me? I—” the words were left unsaid, but the thought was so loud and heavy, you could both hear it, ‘I’m just your secretary.’

“Because,” he drawled with a confidence only guaranteed to someone who has been granted their superiority through their own command, “Je n'aime pas que ce qui m'appartient soit,”—I don’t like what is mine to be— he began, pulling you away from the sink, and raising your head with his blood-stained hand, “endomangé.” —damaged.

****

It had been a quiet few weeks since you started working for Colonel Hans Landa, since that incident, which you like to store as an embarrassing moment in a secret, hidden compartment of your mind. Filed away with the other myriad of inherently shameful moments you’ve managed to accumulate over the years. But what you don’t let yourself acknowledge, even for a split second too long, the secret only held between you and the night.

The dead of night would chip away at your senses, your body flushed and desperate, practically fucking moaning with the how bad it was aching, for something, anything. And in lapses of shame, or perhaps something more tempting than shame, you would reach for that cursed stationary box; the illusion of innocence it provided could almost ease your desires within of itself. But once the lid was lifted, your thoughts were racing, a myriad of fantasies rushing through you like blood as you brought a blade to your thigh, slowly letting out a warm, wanton moan. Feeling the flesh between your legs grow warmer and wetter like a perverse animal, thoughts of the Colonel flashed behind your eyes as you imagined his warm fingers pressing into the now healing wound on your fingernail, the pain hardly there, but instead the memory of his hard eyes suddenly turning soft and malleable with concern. 

With concern. 

You knew it was pathetic, and there was no use in denying it, so you were pathetic. Pathetic as the blood leaking from the ocean deep cuts across your thighs, dirties your skin, and you couldn’t resist from moaning and dipping your fingers into the pools of crimson, as if it were cream for a dessert, and licking it. You revelled in the shame, the disgust, both entities liminal in the borderline that is pleasure for you. And when you closed your eyes, you would imagine it was Colonel Landa licking his fingers clean of your filthy blood, eyes reverent behind the cloak of coldness. 

The sensation was calming, in its own, mangled way. The tearing of the soft, putty-like skin on your thigh gouges deep, ugly wounds that bloom onto the surface of your skin, like freshly plucked roses during the spring. Your thighs slowly becoming a mutiliated canvas that you couldn’t help but admire, the work of art prominent on your form, with the oozing red paint decorating it. Perhaps Landa would kiss the marks littering you, old and new, licking and savouring the life gushing out of you as if it were sacred. The cold glare that normally could stop you dead in your tracks, now in full concentration. And maybe, just maybe, his teeth would rip at your damages, deepening them, claiming them as his. The message would be clear, only he’s allowed to hurt you, to provide that strange balance between pain and pleasure, wrong and right. And when time would pass, your fingers would trace the wounds, now faint bruises slowly morphing yellow in colour, wishing Landa was actually there, with you. 

And it was so, so wrong, but also so right. This was your place, it was where you belonged, where he owned you. 

Obviously, when you were at work, those thoughts were hidden, or more accurately, stored away. Not to even be reminisced, let alone actively thought about with genuine consideration. Those moments were fleeting, shameful, and they would remain so. 

But sometimes, when his fingers brushed against yours as he handed you a sheet, or when he would lean up against you from behind, guiding you in your inexperience, as if you were incapable, useless, or when his eyes would meet yours, tired from a long day at work, yet they would soften ever so slightly, you couldn’t help yourself.

You couldn’t help yourself as you would calmly dash to the ladies' room, excusing yourself in a reserved, meek tone. Inpure thoughts flashing through your mind, causing your voice to crack ever so slightly, and before you knew it, you were hiding behind a stall door, left hand muffling your moans and whines as your right sneaked underneath the hem of your skirt. Closing your eyes, you imagined it was Landa instead of you; it was Landa rubbing your clit furiously with the rough, calloused pad of his thumb. Whispering less than sweet nothings into your ear as he did so. 

‘You pathetic slut, so fucking weak, you get so wet at what, my kindness?’ 

Your knees buckled at the imaginary degradation, the fake, empty words your sick and twisted brain thought of, that you only wished the Colonel would say to you. But that couldn’t stop your eyes welling up with tears, and your thighs getting even more impossibly drenched, just at the mere thought.

The feeling of tightness curled into your stomach like a devastating hunger, as your moan was muffled once again. 

‘Aw,’ he would coo, you were just purely incapable, and he needed to supervise every move you made, ‘is my sweet thing close, already? Go on, doll, you can do it. I know you want to, you fucking whore’ And the sweetness bordering on faux sent you over the edge, as your climax finally grasped onto you, as if it had been chasing you this entire time. 

It still felt like your breath was laboured and catching up to you, even as you washed your hands and tidied up your hair. Looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling nothing but shame as the memories of just minutes before flashed into your head. Fighting the urge to groan in embarrassment, you just decided to tidy yourself up even more and sigh before opening up the bathroom door. 

You flinched in surprise, however, when the older man stood amongst his colleagues next to the watercooler, seemingly having a pleasant conversation. Yet his eyes were strictly on the door, or in its place, you. His gaze appeared interested, as if he had been waiting for you. 

Your head shook as you dismissed the thought. Why would he be waiting for someone like you? You were only his secretary. 

He beckoned you over with his finger, as if he commanded you. And maybe he did, because your body was seemingly compelled to listen, as before you knew it, your legs were making their way towards him and his fellow lieutenants and majors. 

“Ah! Fräulein! I was just waiting for you!” You gulped, okay, perhaps he was waiting for you. But what does that mean? His eyes gazed into your own with that level of curiosity that he bore when a case was particularly intriguing, like you were a game—or better yet— a puzzle, just waiting to be solved. “You need not worry, mein liebe, I have already gotten your bag for you.” He continued, as you approached closer, with a pleasant, chaotic look on his face. 

The perspiration on your forehead felt heavy; your eyes dropped to his hand, where the handle of your bag was gripped; and your stomach plummeted as you met his eyes once again. 

Shit, you thought, all panicked and wide-eyed, but trying to remain a passive smile on your face as he finished talking to his colleagues. Did he look inside the bag? Did he find the stationary box?

There was a weight on your legs that felt like ten tonnes worth of bricks, chaining your feet to the floor while you walked to The Colonel’s car. Trying desperately to listen to the torturous small talk the older man was inflicting on you.

“So, how are you enjoying working for me so far?” Landa began, after an awkward pause of silence. “I know working for me specifically can be very… taxing.” And the way he looked you up and down, with suspicion and something deeper, even pleasurable, left a shiver running down your spine. 

Your very presence felt out of place when you were beside him; your limbs felt simultaneously too long and too short, and you could feel your bones protruding grotesquely beneath the surface of your skin. Even your hair felt like unnatural clumps of fur glued onto your scalp. He just had that effect on you, you figured. 

But that couldn’t stop your practically fatal attraction to him. 

The truth was, you quite enjoyed working for him, or at least the menial tasks he provided for you. The endless letters that had you click-clacking against a typewriter for the better half of your day. If not that, you spent your time note-taking, highlighting, keeping tabs on whoever he asked you to, whenever he asked you to. The simple, mind-numbing repetition of these tasks dulled your brain in such a way that only a pleasant buzz could be left ringing through your ears. It was to the point that you couldn’t tell if your thoughts were the distraction, or your work.

“Oh, it’s no matter, sir,” you clutched onto your handbag almost aggressively, but you didn’t have the heart for aggression, did you? So it was just something weaker, more meagre. “I’ve really enjoyed working with you so far.” Your eyes were glued to the ground as your voice became progressively quieter. Feeling the Colonel’s gaze burning into the side of your neck. 

You heard him hum, the kind of hum you would give as if you were pleasantly surprised by the result of something. “You need not lie to me, Engel.” A breathy chuckle escaped him, the sound uncanny to your ears. “But I will admit, you are very good at what you do, just warn me if I am spreading you too thin.” 

The compulsion of nodding came before you even allowed yourself to speak. Not trusting your own voice. 

However, you were so lost in your own thoughts, hypervigilant of every breath you took and every misstep you made, you found yourself tumbling into the Colonel’s shorter stature. Apologies tumbling out of your mouth before he interrupted you.

“Ah, it seems we are here.” Amused by your anxious behaviour, he nodded towards his car and opened the passenger’s side door for you. “Please, Fräulien, sit.” He said with an insistence that bordered on domineering, clearly, it was not a suggestion, but a command. The ‘please’ had just been a formal nicety. 

But, as obedient as you were, your body couldn’t help but follow his command. The all-encompassing nature of his presence only forced you to be aware of his acknowledgement of you constantly, and you couldn’t handle disappointing him. 

Awkward could only scratch the surface of this strange situation, you and the Colonel both find yourselves in. The silence was bordering on deafening, only interrupted by his occasional humming, which, instead of pleasant or even domestic, felt unnatural, an irregular displacement of his usual being. 

Soon, the silence grew somewhat comfortable; perhaps it only felt awkward due to your perception. This could be an act of allowance, from him; he could be permitting you to bask in the pleasure of stillness, without having to worry about deadlines and quotas. Eventually, you allowed the calm to wash over you, and the sleep hiding behind your eyelids began to take over. Suddenly, the plush leather of the seat lining began to feel very comfortable, and the dizziness from the trees passing by, paired with the Colonel’s almost hypnotic hum, lulled you to sleep. 

******

You were always a dreamer, quite literally so. Ever since your youth, your dreams and reality often blended into one morbid dimension. On the one hand, your visions were so bright and vivacious, yet on the other, reality seemed so dull and grey; your brain couldn’t help but intermingle both entities, your conscious and subconscious constantly at a battle for dominance. And this dream was no different. 

Your breath was sharp and quickened, and if you could focus hard enough, you could see the foaming condensation of your breath in the air. The soft touch of satin sheets bundled up underneath your back, paired with the gentle callouses of the Colonel’s finger tips running up and around your thighs, peppering the litany of scars decorating them with kisses. You felt coy as you looked down beneath you to see him propped between your legs. Shame crawled into your stomach, and it left your mind reeling. But the soft kisses soon turned into rough hickeys and bites, your brain struggling to jostle between the hardened pleasure and the pliant pain. Gasping, you let out, “Ah, Herr—Herr- Colonel,” as if you were even prepared to reject him when he was sitting beneath you, looking like this. 

However, your futile complaints were soon rendered forgotten in the back corner of your thoughts. When his sharp tongue took a long, painful lick across your pussy. A moan erupted from your mouth, and your hands rushed by default to muffle your sounds. 

“Wage es ja nicht.” —Don’t you dare— he bought his head up to look at you, his gaze full of malice and cruelty, but you couldn’t help but grow wet at the sight of his dishevelled hair and reddened lips. “Ich möchte alles hören.” —I want to hear everything. 

He then returned to slowly tease you with his tongue once again; the rough texture alongside his aged pace made the experience almost painful. Just how he knew you liked it. Each stroke growing deeper and deeper, the movements were skilful, having you gripping your sheets, your moans bordering on screaming as he essentially tongue fucked you. But before you could lose yourself once again, he started to playfully bite and suckle at your clit. Causing you to cry out. “Ah-ah fuck, Hans, fuck!” Tears soon built up behind your eyes, your pupils rolling out, and you could physically feel yourself losing control. 

The strange contortion of grief at the loss of his tongue almost made you feel guilty. “Say that again.” 

Confused, all you could do was whine at the loss, too lost in the pleasurable daze he cast over you to even comprehend any noise he was making. That’s when he slapped you.

He slapped you, and all you could do was moan. 

“You fucking whore.” he spat, but the degradation only made you even more horny. Wet at his cruel words. “Stupid slut is so fucking wet, all you can do is moan and whine like a cheap whore?” And you felt yourself nodding in agreement, the shame evaporating from your pores, because yes, you were a stupid slut, a cheap whore. “I gave you an order, bitch.”

Relaying his words, the cogs began to turn in your brain, “Hans?” Unsure if you mispoke, hoping he wouldn’t punish you, but also praying he will. 

He hummed in appreciation, gripping the soft tissue on your thigh, his nails digging into your scars, “That’s my good girl.” 

*****

You awoke with a gasp, feeling the real Colonel, completely separate from the conjuration of that in your mind, actually gripping your thigh as he continued driving. It was done with such normalcy that it could pass as domestic, and perhaps it was, perhaps this was him allowing such passive domesticity between your dynamic. 

He was still humming, unbothered by your awakening, the melodic hypnosis of the tune almost lulled you back to dozing off again, as you were still dreary from your nap, sleep still fraying the corners of your mind. This makeshift plan was broken, however, when Landa broke the impregnable silence. 

“What were you dreaming about, Fräulien?” Images of his head propped between your legs, lapping up your juices, breaking you down with mere words flashed before your eyes. Face flushed, you snapped your head towards the window, feeling the heat of your blood and his concentrated focus rise across your neck, unable to make eye contact with him. 

“Oh, nothing-nothing much, sir.” You mumbled, trying hard to focus on the view outside, and not the fresh, hot arousal pooling between your thighs.

“Tsk,” the older man began, seemingly disappointed with your answer. Causing your stomach to curl, the disgust with yourself from his disappointment, with the troubling excitement of your dream, left you nearly disoriented with sensations. “Look at me when you're talking to me, girl.” 

The harsh tone of his words mimicked that of your dreams, and that made a strange compulsion take over you, and your eyes couldn’t help but sneak towards him, as if your very body was ensnared under his spell. You hated dissatisfying him, but the enchantment of his cruelty left you almost begging for more, having to constrict every muscle around your mouth so as not to humiliate yourself. 

“Good girl.” The praise and his smirk of victory, leaving you hazy, the refined smile lines and subtle dimples that only deepened with age, made your heart skip a beat; you hardly even noticed his eyes skipping towards your plump lips, before jumping back up to your own, the stormy grey of them so loud you could practically hear the thunder behind them. “Now tell me, what was it you were dreaming about?” 

Trapped. He had effectively trapped you, with the opiate nature of his gaze and commanding presence; you couldn’t escape. The knowing expression on his face would normally leave you irritated. Still, if you were honest, you found solace in your imprisonment, feeling exactly where you were, reaching a state of belonging. Accepting your fate as the simple-minded mouse, caught endlessly between the paws of the amused cat. 

Your mind ran with endless possibilities of what you could say. What would you say? Would you tell him the truth, tell him u fantasised about him in such a debauched position, would you tell him your body had an instinctual reaction to him slapping you up and calling you a whore. Or would you lie, lie and tell him it was nothing, that you couldn’t remember, it was all too vague. Like a scale, you balanced out both options in your mind, as if the former were ever a tangible option. 

Lie it was. 

“Oh, it was nothing, sir,” you silently thanked God that he turned his head to look back out the main road ahead of him, you didn’t think you could look him in the eye and lie so blatantly, “I can’t remember it quite so well.” Feigning ignorance by giving a weak smile, catching a stray strand of hair and tucking it behind your ear. 

“Hm.” Landa seemed disappointed—no, disbelieving— perhaps even insulted that you would even dare think he would ever believe that. You watched with a sinking feeling as his smile faded and his focus hardened. He continued in a grave, “I don’t think I quite believe you.” 

Panicked, an alarmed chuckle escaped you. “What—what do you mean, Colonel?” 

All of a sudden, the feeling of his hand gripping your thigh nearly made you jump out of your skin. You gasped quietly, trying to constrict your moan as his fingers directly pressed into your still-healing scars; the lasting pain made you nearly delirious. “In fact, I know you're lying.” He repositioned his grip once more, allowing his fingers to press into your wounds even deeper, with intent and purpose. Your heart dropped as the realisation hit, and his warm breath crawled around your ear as he whispered, “Do you want to know how I know?” 

You could only nod in futility, even when you both knew how he knew, but your body was incapable of any other motion as he continued to tease the pain out of you, breathy little moans and whines escaping you as you began to let yourself go. “Because,” He drawled, the accent thickening at his apparent arousal, and in a sing-song tone, he murmured, “I know your dirty little secret.” 

His fingers began to lift your skirt, slowly, playfully, as if he finally cracked the puzzle and was taking his sweet time going over the answer. However, all was confirmed once the air hit the gashes that painted your thighs. Your only protection from the biting cold was the thin layer of your tights. “You’re a masochist!” He whispered, shouting, his excitement bordered on infantile as you watched him smile with all his teeth, clearly pleased with his correct deduction. 

Suddenly, his fingers let go of the hem of your skirt and began to slowly caress the waistband of your tights, wandering with purpose as they began to pinch and tug at your soft skin, picking at the scabs of the older scars on your thighs. The quick succession of the pain left you irritated; you wanted more, the teasing nature of his appendages just wasn’t enough for you, and soon, your moans of pleasure morphed into whines of frustration. 

He chuckled, amused by your dissatisfaction. “Aw,” he began to coo in jest, “does my little angel want more?” You nodded your head dumbly in response, the remaining pride you still had left you unable to actually vocalise your needs. “Too bad, you fucking slut, you’ll take what you're given.” The shift from that mocking sweetness to the harshest of words left you weak, and you could physically feel yourself getting wetter. 

You whined at the loss of his touch as he quickly pulled away from you. Too dazed to realise he was parking the car, and even more so at the sight of the unfamiliar driveway. Confused, you realised when he graciously offered to take you home, he meant his own. Was this his intention all along? To fuck you? Had he always wanted to do this? To have you and claim you?

Your questions were left unanswered; however, when he pulled you by your arms, dragging you as if you were constantly indebted to his orders and direction, unable to do anything of your own volition. And maybe, that was true, maybe you took delight in how his large hands manhandled you, and gripped onto your wrist, not letting go, even when he was fumbling to unlock the door in front of him. 

Finally, he managed to unlock it, pulling you by the arm and pushing you against the door as he slammed it shut. His mouth was immediately on yours, biting the skin of your lips and that all too familiar metallic taste invaded your senses, causing a high pitched moan to come crashing out of you, as his tongue was a dominating force taking over every nook and cranny of your mouth, like he was searching for any more secrets, making you feel even more vulnerable and exposed. And you revelled in it. You couldn’t help but moan into him, completely melting, limbless, ready to be rearranged at his will. 

When his tongue let go of yours, you were both panting, chasing both or either of your breaths, and if you looked hard enough, you could see the condensation forming up from between you two. Just like your dreams. 

He never allowed you to think for too long, you gathered. It was almost like he could recognise when you were about to drift off, but he just couldn’t have that, and he needed all your attention to be on him at all times. So before your mind could even begin to fully wander, he pulled you towards the sofa, latching onto your mouth with an aggression that whisked away any lingering thoughts you still had. His kisses felt just as forceful and vindictive as him, but also as all-consuming; he kissed as though he was thirsty and you were the only water left for miles.

The attention he gave you was divine. 

You were now pinned down by the Colonel, fully encased under his hardened gaze. He had that same look of concentration and malevolence that he harboured when interrogating a suspect, or when he was about to kill a man in cold blood. God, you shuddered in delight, was this how he fucked? 

A gasp was torn out of you as his teeth grazed your neck, leaving wet kisses all over your nape, marking you, claiming you. There was a particularly loud scream of delight ripped from your vocal cords as he bit down into you, tearing the skin barrier. Scolding yourself internally, you attempted to muffle your own noises, but Landa’s unrelenting grip grasped onto your hands and forcibly pulled them away from your mouth. And he looked angry. Angry that you could even dare deny him what is rightfully his. 

Then, he leaned in, the harsh lines of his lips dusting over the skin of your ear. His breath was hot and strangely gentle, and he began to murmur, his voice deep and thick with arousal, “Those pretty little noises you make,” he paused to bite down onto the cartilage of your ear, eliciting yet another whine out of you, “they belong to me, alright? They’re mine to hear, mine to enjoy.” He started to nuzzle into your nape, before biting it once again, “Verstehst du, meine liebe?” —Understand, my love?

Nodding, he continued to undress you. Never allowing you too much time to think, his mouth was constantly on your own, or around the skin of your neck, or whispering sweet nothings into your ear. The sharp air nipping at your bare skin, the contrast between his warm hands on your cold skin felt near feverish. Your body shudders, and you whimper with every button undone and layer tossed away. The sound of the soft rip of your tights rang in your head like a pestering case of tinnitus, the only noise present besides the panting, groaning and whining coming from both parties. (Mainly you.) 

Before long, all that was left were your bra and panties clinging to your skin. And suddenly, you were hyper aware of every sensation that tingled against you, like the soft tickle of the frills on your panties, or the subtle tightness of your bra pressing into your chest. And most of all, Landas' thirsty hands taking up and fondling you as if you were a finite resource, and he just wasn’t psychologically prepared to let go. 

“Mein Gott,” the Colonel muttered, seemingly encapsulated by your form, “you are simply enchanting, puppe.” The veneration of his tone left you embarrassed, and your face flushed, snapping your eyes away from him, self-conscious of —what you felt was— the undeserving praise. Suddenly growing coy at the image of Landa studying your scars, old and new, feeling ashamed of your starving, cannibalistic sense of lust.

But it seemed Landa had taken offence to your bashful behaviour, because he gripped your jaw tightly; you were certain the imprint of his fingers would bruise from how hard he was applying pressure. “Don’t—don’t look away from me.” He all but growled, looking into you with a degree of possession, somehow having the ability to dictate even the most minute of your actions. 

And you loved it. 

Without thinking, you nodded vigorously, your mind beyond your soul as the only force keeping you grounded was pure instinct and his overwhelming presence. “Yesh,” you drawled, becoming so useless and latent that you could barely even speak. 

This seemingly wasn’t enough for the Colonel, because before you could even say or do anything else, he slapped you. Your eyes widened with shock, bewildered by his audacity. Still, he seemed to be placid, awaiting your full reaction, as if he could predetermine every move you could make long prior to you even being aware you were about to make it. His calculated stare was proven right once again as a prolonged slutty moan crawled its way outside of the concave structure of your mouth. 

You watched in terror and a horrid desire as his eyes widened in excitement, and he began to slowly grin with all his teeth like the Cheshire Cat. “Oh, you dirty whore,” he practically giggled with delight, “I knew you would like that, didn’t you?” 

At the lack of your reply, he slapped you once again, only for a sluttier, more broken moan to escape you, a silent beg for more on the tip of your lips. “I asked you a question bitch.” 

You gargled on your spit, and an incessant torrent of whimpers and whines was the only sound heard as he waited expectantly for your answer. You felt your body flush up and the blood pumping through your veins, “Yes! Daddy!” His eyes flashed with something dark and inhospitable, “I love it, daddy, I need more please,” tears began to form in your tearduct at the humiliation, but you couldn’t stop, “please Daddy, I need you.” 

Oh, and the look he gave you, a countenance of pure animalistic lust washed over him in the blink of an eye, and just like that, he began to manhandle you into place, pulling and pushing you into place as if you were completely limbless and in complete need of his direction. Having you sit on his clothed lap, legs hanging off his thighs, and if you looked hard enough, you could see the muscles tensing beneath the fabric of his uniform. The sight alone had you weak, and collapsing into the crook of his neck, muttering a litany of “Ah, please!” And “I need you, I need you.” Into the comfort of his neck. 

He remained silent, brooding, his arms holding you still as he unclasped your bra; they were an anchoring force, for you were afraid that if they weren’t there, you wouldn’t be able to keep your own hands off of him. 

Everything shifted when your bra finally snapped out of its place. The sound was sharp like a crack or a pop, echoing in the chambers of the home. And those calloused hands began to grope and fondle you, every graze and brush felt immensely delicate, but also hesitant; you could gather he was holding something back. 

He began to speak up once again, and you felt yourself growing impossibly wet, soaking your panties at the deep husk of his voice. “Oh, you’ve been a naughty girl,” his hot breath dewing up against the cartilage of your ear, “you’ve made Daddy fucking crazy over you, been thinking about fucking you dumb ever since I first saw you,” a tight groan escaped him, like he was reminiscing his utter restraint, “Mein Gott, you were just stood there, all dazed, and I could tell you needed a good man to fuck you into your place.” At that, his fingers pinched your nipple and twisted it, causing you to scream into him and scratch his back, feeling the skin tear beneath your fingernails. 

“Oh, do you like that, puppe?”

You squealed, unable to restrict your urges, “Yes! I love it, I love it,” you drawled, drunk off his mere presence alone. 

He merely hummed, finding your answer to be satisfactory. His attention soon diverted to your soaking wet panties, the fabric now digging into you painfully as you waited patiently for him to absolutely ravish you. 

An all-consuming shudder ran through you as he gently grazed over your clothed pussy, clearly marvelling over your overly apparent desire for him. He chuckled, continuing to stroke your desire like he would an obedient animal, “Wow, just look at that, is meine liebe that fucking horny for Daddy?”

You wanted to tell him everything, how you would cut yourself and plunge your fingers deep into your soaking wet pussy, imagining it was him degrading and praising you all the same, how you would dream of him eating you out, his death grip leaving bruises against your skin for days, how he would mark and claim you as his, and his only. 

But instead, all that came out was a strangled moan and a quivering of your marked thighs. Feeling impatient and so insatiably horny all at once, just waiting inoperatively for him to take you and do with you as he pleases. 

At the lack of your reply, he pries your face away from his neck, gripping your jaw so tight it was almost in veneration, like he needed your attention; it was a source satitation for him. But when he looked into your dazed, glassy eyes, his gaze softened as he noted what kind of state you were in. “Oh, I’m sorry, princess,” he cooed, his iron grip soon being replaced with a gentle caress against the side of your face, “I didn’t know how bad my fucking whore needed to get ruined tonight.”

You nodded your head vigorously, seemingly aware and unaware at the same time, your remaining sanity disagreeing vehemently with the provocation, but your subconscious couldn’t help but melt into it, accepting it as the truth. 

With a cruel sense of humour, he teasingly pulled the strap of your panties, letting it snap back, the sensation reverberating against your skin, as you mewled pathetically. Leaning into his touch like a lifeline, keeping you grounded. 

“Shh, shh,” and you revelled in the gentle timbre of his voice, when you would close your eyes, you could almost imagine it to be loving in a way, “daddy’s gonna take care of you, okay,” the comforting tone left you even more aroused, constantly torn between the praise and degradation, both so disgustingly beautiful.

Then finally, finally, you felt his fingers pulling down your soaked panties and threw them aside, the cold air now corrosive against your sensitivity, and you couldn’t help but shudder at the piercing sensation. Now completely bare in front of the great Colonel Landa, how humiliating, presenting yourself to him like a bitch in heat. 

The fact that he was fully clothed left you sick with delight; it was as though he was fully unaffected by the devouring lust between you two. The only things that could possibly give anything away were the visible vein bulging out of his neck, the strained erection against his trousers and the subtle grit of his teeth. But all of these things were a shock to you; you had never seen the Colonel to be so affected and catalysed by anything before in the weeks you had known him. He was always a symbol of a menacing virtue, grace and etiquette in the most despicable of hands, but to see him evidently hard and eyes red-rimmed, God, it did things to you. 

Your loins curled in on themselves when the feeling of those maliciously luscious fingers fondled your arousal, toying with your clit so softly the presence was barely there, but it was just enough to want more. The insatiable nature of your lust made you crave more, no, all of what he could give you. 

However, it seemed Landa was interested in your sheer desperation for him, “Wow,” he practically giggled, so interested in your anatomy it bordered on amusement, “look how horny you are for me,” he said, bringing up his finger that was essentially glistening with your juices. Ashamed, you wanted to close your eyes and beg him to stop teasing you, but when he pushed his finger into your open mouth, forcing you to taste yourself, it was in your second nature to allow the command to wash over you, entranced by his sheer command as you diligently sucked his finger clean. Eyes glazed over and completely enthralled by the obdurate will in his own, the subtle smirk on his face gone now and replaced with morbid fascination, watching you so easily submit to him. 

The feeling of his index finger pressing onto your tongue was almost oppressive, the pressure increasing like a heavy weight as you watched in lust as a dark haze clouded over his eyes. Something grim and morbid took over him, his pupils dilating and a subtle vein straining against his forehead; your adrenaline debating whether or not you should be scared or even more aroused than you already are. 

A gag refluxed out of you, unable to keep up with his daring intensity, and that seemed to be the moment that broke all the intensity and darkness. The question that was dancing against the tip of his own tongue was finally asked.

“Are you always like this?”

Currently incapacitated, you were unable to answer him coherently, instead only responding in muffled whimpers and gags as he continued to press down onto your tongue. Ever so graciously, however, he seemed to acknowledge your incompetence as no fault of your own, and slowly removed his finger from your mouth, an obscene line of spit trailing alongside the removal that bordered on pornographic. 

“I’m sorry, mein schatz,” he began at first, sickly sweet, the corruption of his sophisticated persona started to crumble in a near demented manner as you could physically see the anger and malice build up inside him with every ounce of hesitance and trepidation in his words. “I said, do you fuck every man like this?” 

You were left breathless at his question, unable to even answer him. How could you? Would you admit to him that you were a hopeless, pitiful virgin who got off on her sick perversions? Admit to him that you would finger your pussy every night, dreaming of him slapping you, hitting you, cutting you, as if you were his property. Admit to him that every cut, gauge, and slash was for him, that you would fantasise that he would dig deep into your wounds and scoop up your heartstrings, only to fuck you with nothing but his bare fingers and your blood, it was your grotesque, macabre, wet dream. 

Instead, you could only moan and shake your head furiously, hoping, praying to him that he would understand, because you couldn’t admit that to him, you just couldn’t. 

Anger blazed in his eyes at what he deemed to be defiance, clearly taking your lack of verbal objection to be an admission of what he feared. In contempt of your idiocy and lack of coherence, he slapped you. So hard it stung with emotion, it felt more vindictive and personal than the last ones did, while those seemed to be playful and teasing, this felt like a reflection of his outrage.

This felt like an insult.

He didn’t even wait for your reaction, didn’t wait for you to catch up as tears welled up in your eyes and your cheek reddened, the imprint of his palm already forming on your face. The sting of pain felt hedonistically guilty because you couldn’t help but moan and sob at your treatment. You wanted more, more slaps and more hits, but you couldn’t let him think you fucked other men, especially like this. You put your heart on the line for him, so exposed like this, only to think you would do this for any man with a cock and a passion for sadism, like a cheap whore. 

“Use your words, girl,” the Colonel gripped your cheeks, fingers digging in so hard they practically radiated his rage, and you were certain they would bruise, “are you that cheap of a whore, you would spread your legs for anyone with a cock, for any man willing to slap you around for a bit?” 

Your legs quivered, and your whole body shuddered at the indignation of his words. The feeling of your eyelids fluttering, trying to hold back stray tears, made the sob in your throat hiccup. God, you were pathetic. 

“N—mph—No!” However, your attempts at justification were made futile as his iron grip on your face muffled any noise you could make. Only causing more desperate sobs and hiccups to erupt out of your mouth, gushing out of you without any semblance of stopping. 

That same look of pity flickered across his face; the overly apparent humanistic nature of his sympathy unnerved you. He always seemed to be an impenetrable force, a rampart hazard, incapable of such sensitive matters as sympathy or care. But that glimpse of his humanity had your mind running hurdles, before it was gone as quickly as it came, instead, replaced by that usual hardness with something more sinister lurking beneath its surface. 

He suddenly let go of your face, stroking your hair and muttering into it, “I’m sorry, Mein Liebe.” An almost grounding motion, but less for you, and more for him. Mumbling mantras of apologies felt like a regret on his part.

But that’s crazy, Hans Landa doesn’t regret. Does he?

Before you could dwell on your thoughts further, your croaking voice began to speak up. “No—no, sir, I’ve never, never fucked anyone else,” your face began to flush, feeling the intensity of his gaze and the blood rushing up to your face all in one quick succession, whispering, you managed out, “your—my first, Daddy.” 

All time stood still in that moment. The temperature dropped in an instant, the incessant ticking on the clock seemed to slow, and you even heard the Colonel physically hold his breath. In that split second, it had felt like nothing else existed beyond you two, the whole world could be crashing in on itself, but you wouldn’t know; all that mattered were those stormy grey eyes and whatever horrible secrets and fantasies lay beyond them. 

He smirked. Long and slow. In fact, smirk was an inadequate description; it was elongated and thin and, if anything, more like a grin. Your heart dropped at the realisation of your confession, the epiphany hitting you that you had just given such vulnerable information to him. You were akin to a bleeding out deer, with its guts spilt and outstretched, presenting itself to the wolf, lingering around the fresh corpse.  

Fuck. 

His breath was hot and heavy against your skin as he mouthed against your lips, the feeling of his giddiness ever present while he talked, not only apparent through the menacing joviality of his tone, but also the fact that he was barely holding back a smile as he spoke. “Oh wow, am I my kleiner Liebling’s first?” And you could only nod your head against the open-mouthed kiss, words beyond embarrassment. “Isn’t that just wunderbar!” 

When his lips let go of your own, you were panting after him and chasing the high that was his presence. Clapping his hands once as an uncanny act of triumph and finality, he exclaimed, rather bluntly, “Ah! So am I popping your cherry then?” 

God, the crass tone of his words couldn’t leave you anymore flustered. Whimpering, your body couldn’t stop itself from melting into the Colonel’s nape once again. Silently wishing that if you hid yourself long enough, you would spontaneously cease to exist and escape this horrible embarrassment. 

Unaffected by your amalgamation of coy desire and wanton bashfulness, he ignored you, humming into your hair and stroking it once more. It was romantic, in a way. The beauty of the simple intimacy left you strangely relaxed, and you didn’t even realise how fast your heart was beating until it finally slowed. 

You shakily sighed in relief. The colonel slowly moved his right hand down to your thigh, stroking it at the same pace as his left hand was brushing through your hair. You could feel his hand graze over the rough, scarred terrain of your skin. The subtle jerks of pain when he would press especially hard on some of the fresher scars electrocuted you in the best, dizziest way possible. You were so enthralled in the hypnotic motion that you hardly even registered the fingers brushing your hair, slowing down and gripping the roots. 

Until he pulled your head back. Hard. 

A scream of gratification and agony was unleashed from you. In the midst of this distracting pain and his open-mouthed kisses, his right hand had slipped further past your thigh and was now dangerously toying with your clit once again. Pinching and twisting it like he didn’t hear what he was doing to you. All that could be heard were your pants and gasps, and occasionally, a constrained groan from the Colonel. 

Amused by your crude satisfaction, a cold tremor washed over you as you felt his attention shift, and all his decades of experience suddenly came to fruition. You felt oddly empty as the grip on your hair loosened and snuck down to your heat, his left hand replacing the right, two fingers slowly circling your clit, while you felt the index finger of your right plunge into your pussy. 

“Ah!” The foreign feeling of fingers other than your own felt bizarre, causing you to gasp, and your legs subconsciously tried to close, but the Colonel’s dominating grip pried them open. 

With leisure, he began to rock his finger back and forth inside of you, marvelling at the way your muscles engulfed him so greedily. “Just look at that.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone else, transfixed at the sight of your virgin hole greedily consumed just a fraction of himself.

‘Gott, stell dir nur vor, sie mit meinem Schwanz’—God, just imagine her with my cock—he thought. His eyes were heavy-lidded with desire, images of what he wanted to do to you flashed into his mind, and he had to restrain himself from prematurely pushing another finger in. 

He had to be careful. He had to be ready, he was your first afterall. 

He wanted you to be addicted to his cock, for it to be all you could think about, so that when you would finger yourself, it would pale in comparison to him, leaving you empty and whining for more. He wanted to ruin you for every man out there, so that when you would lie with them, all you could think about was the relief he granted you, the tension he gave you, how he let you cross that borderline between pleasure and pain so easily. 

He wanted all of you, mind, body and soul. 

Practically yelling, your nails ran down his back once again, clinging onto him like a lifeline as the pace of his strokes against your clit increased rapidly, probably to distract you from that beautiful sting of his fingers inside your pussy. 

You grew even louder, choking on your own moans when he started up his dirty talk back up, once again. “Fuck, just look at you,” his voice was laced with arousal in a thick octave, “ just a meagre virgin and already swallowing my fingers like you were made for this, made to take cock,” he paused in contemplation for a moment, his gaze hardening as a malignant haze took over him, “my cock. You understand?”

Quite cruelly, he slowed his impossibly fast pace on your clit to a halt. Making you dizzy with trepidation and an empty, unfulfilled desire burning inside you. “I asked if you understood that.” And that deep octave just grew even deeper at his impatience; you could physically feel yourself getting wetter. 

“Yes, Daddy, I understand.” You answered quickly, learning from your past mistakes and not willing to let him mistake your hesitation for insubordination. Also hoping to avert his attention from your immediate arousal at his dominance, it would be like putting all your cards on the line.

But apparently, you already had. Despite your facing away from his face, eyes bashfully looking beneath you both, you could physically feel his sneer in your peripheral vision. “Oh, you fucking slut.” he grumbled in grim delight, taking satisfaction in the way your legs quivered at the insult. “Does my little girl like that?” He cooed, clearly mocking your soft and eager pants, mimicking all your pitiful whines and that airy, sex crazed voice. 

Ashamed, you averted his gaze further, focusing on the speck of dust on the carpet, the way his hardwood desk seemed to be freshly polished, just anything but him. That was short-lived, however, when you felt his middle finger being unceremoniously pushed inside of you.

Curling over in surprise and passion, you were forced to meet his eyes. His devilishly chagrin smile caused your cheeks to heat up even further, and any coherent words that were about to come out of you suddenly evaporated at the tip of your tongue as he started rocking his fingers inside you, leisurely fucking you with his fingers as he continued to interrogate you. 

“Would you want me to flip you over? Fuck you till you can’t think, until you're scrambling to remember your own name?” And all you could do was sob and moan as the thickness of his fingers stretched you tense and stretched, the deep callouses of his skin felt tranquillizingly delicious. It was quite literally scratching you in the deepest of places. You felt corporeally tied to him, yet you were too dazed to answer him, leaving a burning desire within him to tease you more. 

“I could bend you over this desk right now.” He whispered into your ear, evidently aroused by the idea himself, “Would you like that, puppe? For me to fuck you senseless right here, right now?”

Just then, you felt a spasm racking through you, his skilful fingers having clearly found that spot, “Oh fuck! Ah—Herr Colonel!” You screamed, unable to control yourself at the attack of stimulation, “Please! Please fuck me, Daddy—need it, need your cock.” You slurred, incapacitated by the pleasure, but you didn’t want him to stop; he couldn’t. You wanted, no needed, more, more, more, more. 

“As you wish, Schatz.” And just like that, he picked you up and flipped you around as if you were nothing, the sudden loss of his fingers and the disorientation of being so easily flipped like that left you whining, confused and empty.  

But that emptiness didn’t last forever; the sound of the zipper being pulled down could be heard from behind you. Before you could focus on the biting frost that shuddered through your body at your bare breasts being pushed into the hardwood, or the sound of the clatter of books falling, or even the pressure of his hand gripping the small of your waist, fitting you into the right position and arching your back ever so slightly. You felt his cock teasing graze your clit, like a cat playing with its meal before gorging, and tonight, you were particularly delectable to him. 

Desire burned within you as you croaked out, “Please, please—ah! Daddy, please—mhm, need you, need you to fuck me.” Your words fighting with the gentle moans that bubbled inside of you. It was pathetic how you felt your eyes well up with tears in anticipation, but you couldn’t help yourself; you needed him, carnally. “Stop t-teasing me, please.” It was humiliating how desperate your whines were, but you couldn’t help it; you just felt so fucking empty. 

The feeling of his fingers gripping the roots of your scalp was almost ghostly, but when he tightened his grasp, you could only shriek and relish in the pain, pulling your head up and forcing your bare back to meet his chest. The soft tingle of his chest hair made you realise, sometime between all of this flipping, twisting and manhandling, he somehow managed to take his shirt off.

 You let out a hitched sob and moan when the Colonel leaned in close and whispered, hot and heavy into your ear. Beguiling you with his cruel words and gentle touches, “You’ll take what I fucking give you, don’t be greedy, slut.” And in all his viciousness, he continued, “Du bist so verdammt dreckig, hast du dir etwa deine enge Muschi gefingert und dabei daran gedacht? Jetzt kannst du nicht mal mehr eine verdammte Minute warten, du Schlampe.”—You're so fucking filthy, did you finger your tight pussy and think about this? Now you can't even wait a goddamn minute, you whore.

His German sounded less graceful and sophisticated, but more vile and barbaric, as if something ugly was laced into his words. He didn’t even realise the anger building up within him, preoccupied with the pit of desire in his heart, unbeknownst to him that they were one and the same. 

His hands caressed you, so soothing compared to his red in tooth and claw words, so soothing it felt hypnotic in a way. You basked in the somniferous nature of his touch until the grounding clench he had on your scalp was suddenly pulled apart from you. Leaving you to slam into the table, all limbless and stupid, proving once again your idiocy without him and his guidance. Mental and physical. 

He barely left you any time to think as you thumped onto the table, your mind still reeling from the whiplash. And when he slowly began to enter you, you were left fully inebriated by sensations. The stretch of your pussy was agonisingly beautiful, and in any other circumstance, it would be painful, excruciating even, but he was taking it so slow, so gentle, like you would collapse if he went any faster, and the slow pace of fulfillment made you sigh with relief, as he finally bottomed out, whispering and muttering nothing but praise because he “knew Daddy’s little girl could do it.” 

And you melted into it, not only the feeling of his dick twitching inside of you, rearranging your insides as he gave you a moment to breathe, but also the praise, his words. Maybe you were just his little girl, his to dote over, his to dress and arrange, his thoughts to become your own. You needed him in a telepathic sense. 

Telepathic, he was too, as if he had reached into your mind and forcibly gripped your bleeding thoughts out of your brain. He began to speak, “Isn’t this just perfect, mein Engel, having you here like this,” he hummed, fondling the ends of your hair, stroking through them as he began his pace, his movements soft and delicate as you moaned at the feeling of his hands finding their grip against your hips from behind you. “To think,” he purred, almost fondly, “every day could be like this, I could take you like this wherever we went, I could feed you, dress you, and all you would have to do is say ‘Yes, Daddy’ and I would be yours, I would fuck you, hit you, beat you, cut you, all you have to do is say the word.” 

Oh God, you could hardly think straight, and it didn’t help that he reached down and started to play with your now swollen clit. Pinching and pulling it, as if he were deaf to your shrieks of overstimulation, the relish so bright it became a discomfort, and it was fucking amazing. His gentle strokes inside you made you feel soft and loved, but his cruel fingers never made you forget your desire for that delicious pang of anguish. 

With every subtle pound, your knees wobbled with pleasure. The completely foreign sensation of a cock actually inside of you was nothing short of mind-blowing. The thickness, the stretch, how every time he would hit your spot, it would be just enough to tease you and also leave you dumb-fucked. 

The moans couldn’t stop themselves, “FUCK! D-daddy, fuck, feelsh so good,” your vowels were elongated and drawled, so fucked out you could hardly help but slur your words. “Mhm, pleashe don’t—don’t shtop.” 

His bare chest leaned into you once again, his arms wrapped around you, while his fingers pinched and twisted your nipples, in the same way he was teasing your clit, purposefully trying to disorientate you even further.

Every fibre of your skin felt hot, as if you were on fire, and the fuel was the searing passion lacing the very air around you. The Colonel’s touches and grazes that were left all over your body felt swollen and bruised, and you revelled in the fact that there would be lasting marks of him all over you, for days to come. And maybe, when you are especially lonely, you could press into your wounds and reminisce on the love you felt today, the cold memory lingering in your bones. 

But for now, you were living in the moment, and it was a high, ecstasy pumping through your veins with every slow, angled thrust, your cunt gaping for more as high-pitched wailing sounds reverberated against the walls of the lounge, his thick member hitting that spot over and over again. 

You could feel your juices leaking out of you; the sound of depraved squelches was almost obscene, but your unabashed moans of pleasure were definitely obscene, but it was all the same to Landa, music to his ears. And the sight of you, his body shuddering when he pulled your tousled hair back to see your face, so utterly fucked out, eyes rolled back, makeup pooling and smudging beneath your tears, Gott, you looked divine. 

It was at that moment, when he was boring into your fucked out expression, watching as you were too fargone to even realise what was going on, let alone the mental strife he was going through, that something just snapped. Perhaps it was his inhibitions, or perhaps it was something deeper—he didn’t know—nor did it matter to him, all that mattered to him was that he needed you now, carnally, and he was done playing coy, playing gentleman. 

As if he ever was one to begin with.

With that, he slams into you at a near-ruthless pace. Biting his lip at the sight of your mouth stuck in that whorish ‘O’ shape, enthralled in the way your mind was chasing the concept of such intense pleasure. “Did you like that, sweetheart?”

But of course, you were too fucked out, choking on your own breath as his pace quickened with every thrust, slamming into you over and over again, the table beneath you rattling at the pressure, ready to give way any minute now. And every so often, the cutest little gasps would escape you as you realised that you needed to breathe, and Landa couldn’t help but fuss over it.

“Oh my poor baby,” he cooed, each word muttered through strained groans, clearly struggling himself, “so fucked out, you can’t even breathe? That fucking dumb, huh? Only thing on your mind is my cock, isn’t it?”

He waited patiently for your answer, not even halting his offensive speed as he continued to pound into you, but only hearing your dumb squeaks and whines was an indignation that pissed him off to an extent that could only be described as arousing. 

Adrenaline pumping through his blood just led to one event after another, in what felt like a blur. It was as if a foreign force took over him as he flipped you around once more and held you up, watching the way your body sank into his touch, noting down mentally that you clearly enjoyed being manhandled. 

Just like that, he slammed you into the wall. You could faintly hear the sound of the bookshelf beside you rattling with the force. All done with his dick still straining inside of you, bulging and twitching with every pulse and clench of your cunt, your mind simply unable to get over the sheer size of him inside of you. You couldn’t imagine life without him now that you had a taste; everything else just seemed so dull. 

Before you were given time to think any further, you felt his grip on your chin as his pace continued back up once again, just as relenting with no mercy insight for your cervix. He was hitting so far that you could swear you could feel him in your stomach. God, it felt like he was claiming every inch of you with his cock. 

He slapped you. And you moaned. He slapped you again, and you only moaned again. You were lost in the sensations. He would pull your hair till the sting felt raw, bite your neck till the skin broke, but all you could do was moan for more. His thrusts became successively more direct, as if he was fucking you with a purpose, to make you come undone.  

And with that intention, he was becoming increasingly successful, your stomach clawed with an unfamiliar yet all too familiar sensation, and you could feel the pleasure tightening and constraining within you, and he could sense it too. Sense it with the way your cunt began to twitch and pulsate against his cock, and a wicked thought flashed across his mind, smirking against your skin as he kissed your neck. 

You were so close, you could feel it, release only a touch away, his ruthless pace driving you to the edge of your orgasm. Until he slowed. Slowed so dramatically you could see him wince from the contrasting feelings; however, that didn’t relent him from his crude plan. 

Whining, tears dropped from your cheeks at the frustration of your release being so cruelly taken from you, mumbling and muttering a litany of ‘pleases’, as if that would change his unrelenting gaze. 

“Ah, ah, ah, Mein Leibling,” The colonel tutted, wiping the tears from your cheeks with something akin to mercy, “You see—” he drawled, enthralled with the way you bit your plush lips from trepidation, fascinated with the way the soft skin ripped to reveal the deep red leaking beneath, the way you winced at the pain, but your pupil dilated with desire, “you see, you never answered my question, did you?” Your body shivered with the way his voice dropped an octave, and he leaned in impossibly closer next to your ear, “Are you mine? Mine to possess, mine to ruin, mine to fantasise over? Do you fuck yourself thinking about me, dreaming of my cock pounding into your tight little hole?”

God! His words were so vulgar, but his expression was so raw and earnest, his grey eyes red-rimmed at the edges, his hair sticking out of place; if you didn’t know any better, you would say he was desperate. Your voice was stuck in your throat, and you were seemingly only capable of slight moans and hitched breaths from escaping you. 

At your hesitation, he slowly thrusted back into you, drawled and elongating, practically teasing the answer out of you. “What’s your answer, puppe? Gonna leave Daddy waiting?” 

Broken from your desire, a wretched sob was pulled from your vocal cords. Inhibition begone as you couldn’t help yourself from giving him what he wanted to hear, “YES, please! Daddy, please, I’m yours—I’m yours, you're all I can think about, I swear, I swear.”

Your nails clawed against his back, grapling with your confession and the way his eyes darkened with a haze of lust. Preparing yourself with the knowledge that he was going to absolutely ravage you. 

His speed was instantly picked up once again, unapologetically slamming into you repeatedly. Your head slamming into the wall with every sharp thrust into your cervix, mind reeling from the pleasure and the unabashed way he treated you, throwing and tossing you around like a rag doll, ready to be fucked and thrown away so easily. 

All that could be heard was the sound of your pained moans, his strained grunts and that depraved sound of you falling into the wall. The smell of sex was hot and heavy in the air, thickening the atmosphere and clouding your judgment. His fingers were cruel and harsh as they gripped onto your skin, and if you weren’t battered and bruised before, you were certain you were now. 

But those sensations were thrown away when you felt that curling power within you. Chasing your body with its promise of fulfilment, and you could tell The Colonel was closer than he was letting on as his thrusts were getting sloppier and increasingly carnal, clearly chasing his own pleasure in a similar fashion. 

Your toes curled, and your fingers tingled, your moans became increasingly more high-pitched and airy, and before you knew it, pleasure crashed over you like a tsunami wave; you swore everything went white. You had never felt anything like this before, not even with your own fingers; your thighs quivered with the aftershock, and your juices leaked out of you. 

He wasn’t done just yet, though. He continued to fuck into your orgasm, if not just a bit gentler, aware that the overstimulation was probably painful for you. But it couldn’t be painful enough; you loved it. The feeling of him using you, regardless of your fulfilment or not. 

And with a strangled moan, he came into you, muttering some nonsense in German before his head fell into the crook of your neck. Exhausted in a way only sex could make him. But clearly, it caught up to you first, as you were promptly passed out against the wall. Gott, weren’t the youth supposed to be more virtile? 

Amused, he picked up your frame, bridal style, satisfied not only in terms of sex, but also that of possession. 

[rexlottie]

[jokeringcutio]

>> If you liked my Stepdad William Afton x Stepdaughter Reader one-shots, you might be thrilled to learn I am working on not one, but two, stepdad collection books. << And yes, we can get smutty! Open call for Stepdad x AFAB Reader prompts.

I’m opening prompts now, so send in your ideas (anon or not). The bolder, the better.

One collection will center around pregnancy themes, the other will be a general stepdad x reader anthology.

Drop your prompts via the form or DM. I’m ready to hear them.

PS. Those of you who have stumbled upon my smutty works before might have noticed some tales have gone missing. They're being re-edited and offered back into the world, some as remastered versions for free, others as reworked works in ebook or even paperback and hardback form 🥳 If you want to keep an eye on my works and whether they will be available to you, follow me for more or keep an eye on my socials or website <3

[princessglittergore2]

Hiii could you write some Landa x female reader? Maybe some bondage + gun stuff, if you’re comfortable with that. Thank you :3

🎀 Look who's all tied up 🎀

🎀Hii, sweet face :) Ofc, I would love to 🎀 This is going to be real fun lol, thank you so much for the request and I hope you enjoy it!

@chickhabitz !!

⚠️!!Warnings!!⚠️ 18+ ONLY: YOU'VE BEEN ADVISED!! Long read but definitely worth it!! One of my best fanfics yet!! This is going to be an absolute smut fest- Flirty! Aldo (don't get confused it is indeed a Hans fic), mentions of being drugged, breeding kink, cum play, rough and tough Hans, cream pie, cum feeding, anal penetration, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, very rough sex, bondage, knife play-you've been advised! I hope you enjoyed the fic :) mostly proof read!

⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐

"What exactly do you mean by whatever it takes?" My eyes carefully followed the man who called himself Aldo Raine, mostly known around Germany and France as Aldo "The Apache."

"I mean- whatever it takes. Exactly as it sounds, sweetheart." He let his hands rest over his hips, head tilted back slightly, eyes burning into me as he spoke.

"I-I don't think you understand what you're asking of me. This is the jew hunter we're talking about. He's far from gullible, there's no way I could ever go through with this." I pace back and forth, my palms becoming clammy with the idea of what a man like that could do to a girl like me.

I've heard horror stories of the infamous Hans Landa, told as folk tales but the only difference is, he was very much real. I was lucky enough to never cross paths with the man during my time here in France, but all of that was surely about to change.

"Well, you don't have much of a choice sweetness." Aldo walked over to me, towering over my frame with effortless intimidation, his blue eyes scanning over my flushed face. "Besides...All you need to do is look at him with those sweet eyes and smile with those pretty teeth and I'm sure you'll be alright."

The smirk displayed on his lips was enough to make me scoff in annoyance. "Yeah right, considering his status, I'm sure he could have anyone he wanted. What if I'm not enough to...keep him distracted?" I cross my arms over my chest, not taking into consideration that my cleavage would become more exposed to Aldo as he stood in front of me.

"Trust me..." He looks down at my chest, leaning back and glancing behind me to look at my hips and thighs. "I think you'll be just fine." His eyes snap back up to my face, his soft smirk never leaving his lips.

Asshole.

The only reason I was caught up in all this is because of my dear friend, Bridget von Hammersmark. I met her when she came to visit America- she was in desperate need of a makeup and hair stylist and I was the only one available who was willing to work for the German actress. We ironically met at the movies, and discovered that despite our differences in our social status, we had a lot in common.

During our time together, we grew closer and actually became good friends. I could even say best friends. Spending all of our time together, she offered me a place to stay with her out in France and eventually confided in me that she wasn't just a German movie star, but an allied spy to the British, working to take down Adolf Hitler and end the war.

It came as a shock to me at first, but with everything we've been through together, I chose to stick by her side. She saved me from a life of little to no work and I owed it to her to remain calm and help her in what could be a very lethal situation.

That's what brings us to this.

"You know, if yer little friend didn't get herself shot or a quarter of my men killed, you wouldn't be going through this right now." He steps out of my view for a moment, leaving me to think about how much of a choice I really had in this situation.

"Fine. So what? We go to the premier, say- Hey, sorry Bridget couldn't make it, but don't worry, her nobody friend is here to take her place?"

Aldo smiles and nods his head in agreement. "That's exactly right sweet cheeks. Since Bridget was smart enough to teach you German you're going to be doing all the talking, and since I speak a bit of Italian, I'll be your escort. Donny and Omar are going to be our assistants. Well, really Omar is Donny's assistant, but you get the picture."

He walks over, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing softly. "The plan stays the same. Instead of Bridget, it'll be you." He steps back into my view, looking me up and down. "You're also not going as her nobody friend." He looks into my eyes, removing his grip from my shoulder and letting his hands fall to his side, shoving them into his front pockets. "You're going to be a fellow actress that she met at the academy. I don't take Landa as the movie watching type. Too busy hunting jews. Remember?"

"You think you've got this all figured out, huh?" I ask, sarcasm heavy in my statement.

"Matter of fact, I do. Bridget left you a dress in this bag. Go ahead and get ready, and don't take too long. Got a long night ahead of us." He turns on his heels swiftly, walking out of the room and leaving me to get ready.

I sigh when he closes the door behind him, looking down at the brown bag that I now held in my hands, opening the zipper and peeking inside. The bag was holding a ruby red dress and I carefully reach into the bag and pulling it out, feeling the soft silky material between my fingers. "Fucking hell." I mumbled seeing the length, knowing I was in fact facing a long night ahead of me.

⭐

I had gotten ready in record time, doing my hair and makeup as quickly as I could and slipping on that red ruby dress. My make-up was far from subtle but also in the same breath, pretty modest. Once I thought I had finally made myself at least look the part I studied myself in the mirror, taking in what I'd spent the last half hour doing, amazed at the final product. My hands slid down either side of my body, smoothing out the beautiful gown that displayed all of my curves, beautifully.

It was a long spaghetti strap silk gown with a slit in the side, displaying my left leg pretty generously. I paired it with Bridgette's tall black stiletto heels and grabbed a small black clutch to complete the outfit. I take a deep breath feeling my nerves begin to kick in for what I knew was coming next: Meeting with Mr. Landa.

"You about ready, darlin?" Aldo's thick Tennessee accent calls out to me from down the hall.

"Coming!" I yelled back, grabbing a tissue from my vanity and quickly trying to rid my eyes of any stray tears, making sure to not ruin my makeup. I walk over to the door, grabbing my white fur coat off of the coat rack and tossing it over my forearm. I opened the door to see Aldo and Donny standing there, both of their eyes instantly dropping to my figure.

"Jesus H. Christ." Aldo breathes out, fixing his bowtie and pulling it away from his Adam's apple. Donny smirks and nods his head in approval. "Looks like Hammersmark was definitely good for something." He says, looking over my hair and makeup. I roll my eyes, slamming my clutch into Donny's chest and taking my coat, handing it off to Aldo.

"I can't believe I'm selling myself out to the jew hunter of all people and I really can't believe you're the ones who got me to do it." I mumbled as I walked past them and down the hall.

"You have Hammersmark to thank for that. Just remember, it's for a good cause!" Aldo says, watching my hips sway as I walked away from the two gawking men.

⭐

After a long and agonizing car ride with the basterds, we finally made it to the premier. I watched as everyone looked towards our car, waiting to see Bridget von Hammersmark in all her glory stepping out of it, and much to their confusion, it was me instead. Aldo held his hand out to me, helping me with putting on my coat, leaning into my ear to whisper something.

"Remember... you're a star." He teased, kissing my cheek to be more convincing as he was playing my escort. I nod my head slowly and smiled at everyone as we walked by. I looked around at everyone who was attending the premier, seeing many unfamiliar faces, looking for the man who could be the one I was meant to be seducing.

"Trust me." Aldo started as he held the door to the theater open to lead me inside. "You'll know who he is when you see him."

What does that even mean?

I just nodded in response, trying to remain calm when the realization hit me that everything we planned was way past in action. We all stood in the center of the building, crowds of people around us as they discussed their excitement of the film: "Nation's pride" over their tall glasses of champagne. My eyes scanned the room for Hans, wondering who he even was or where he could be.

That's when I heard an unfamiliar voice speak up from behind us.

"Wer mag dieses reizende Wesen sein?"

("Who might this charming creature be?")

I slowly turned around to see who we've been approached by and instantly felt my cheeks become warm. He was gorgeous. Blue eyes with a hint of grey, light brown hair, with beautiful bone structure. He wasn't at all what I was expecting, but incredibly good looking. I hate to say that I found the older man to be exquisitely attractive.

"Ich habe gehört, dass Frau von Hammersmark heute Abend nicht an der Premiere teilnehmen konnte. Ich hatte nicht den Eindruck, dass sie eine Vertretung hätte."

("I was informed that Ms. von Hammersmark was unable to attend tonight's premiere. I didn't get the impression that she had a replacement, let alone one that is so angelic.")

I heard this man had a way with words but I didn't think he'd be this suave. I guess I had underestimated him.

I cleared my throat and flashed a friendly smile. "Hallo, ich glaube, wir kennen uns noch nicht... Ich bin Bridget's langjährige Freundin und Kollegin. Wir haben vor Jahren zusammen in einem Film mitgespielt. Mein ist, y/n... Es freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen, Herr...?"

("Hello, I don't think we've met before... I'm Bridget's longtime friend and colleague. We met at the academy and acted in a film together years ago. My name is y/n... It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr...?")

He reaches over, leaning down and carefully grabbed my hand, lifting it up to his lips and placing a soft warm kiss on my knuckles. "Hans Landa, der Mann, dem das Vergnügen zuteilwird, mit solch einer Schönheit beschenkt zu sein. Ihr habt sicher schon von mir gehört, nicht wahr?"

("Hans Landa, the man fortunate enough to be blessed to speak with such a beauty. You've surely heard of me, haven't you?")

I chuckled nervously, nodding my head 'yes' and moving a piece of my hair out of my face. "Tatsächlich ja. Ich glaube, der Name kommt mir sehr bekannt vor. Sind Sie auch Schauspieler?"

("Actually, yes I have. I do believe the name sounds awfully familiar. Are you also an actor?")

I give a kind smile and try to form an expression of curiosity, which wasn't the hardest part of this conversation. You could say a large part of me definitely was curious.

This seemed to amuse Hans, who chuckles in response and looks over to Aldo, who was subconsciously starring daggers into the man. Hans smiles at them with an undeniable charm, holding his hand out for Aldo to shake.

"Bitte entschuldigt meine Freunde, sie kommen aus Italien und sprechen nur Italienisch. Ich übersetze ihnen heute Abend quasi den Großteil des Abends."

("You have to forgive my friends, they're from Italy and only speak Italian. I'm sort of translating for them for most of tonight.")

I giggle, putting my hand on Aldo's chest in an attempt to make things a little more convincing. Hans smirks, nodding to the trio while he begins to speak.

"Bene, grazie a tutti per essere venuti alla première di stasera, siete tutti molto eleganti. Potrei aggiungere che siete fortunati ad accompagnare una bellezza così rara. Se fossi in voi, la terrei molto vicina. Non si sa mai quale preda potrebbe nascondersi dietro l'angolo, pronta a farla perdere la testa."

("Well, thank you all for coming to tonight's premier, you all look very sharp. Might I add that you're lucky to be accompanying such a rare beauty. I'd keep her very close if I were you. you never know what kind of prey could be lurking around the corner just waiting to sweep her off her feet.")

No fucking way.

This guy was charming and very good with his words, but the fact that he's fluent in at least three different languages other than English, it was just nothing short of disgustingly impressive. I felt my heart pumping hard in my chest, feeling like I could start to panic when Aldo nodded and held his glass up to Hans.

"Grazie."

("Thank you.") Aldo replied with his undeniably thick southern accent.

We are so fucked.

Hans nods and hands Omar and Donny two tickets for seats twenty-three and twenty-four, looking over to me while he does.

"Ihre Freunde scheinen nicht gerade gesprächig zu sein, aber Ihnen und Frau Hammersmark zuliebe werde ich sie hier neben Ihnen und Ihrer... Begleitung platzieren lassen."

("Your friends don't seem like the conversational type, but as a favor for you and ms. Hammersmark, I'll go ahead and have them seated by you and your... escort, here.")

He takes a quick judging glance at Aldo, seemingly knowing something that we don't.

"Ich würde gern kurz mit dir unter vier Augen sprechen. Vielleicht können wir über unsere gemeinsamen Verbindungen zu Frau Hammersmark sprechen. Es ist wirklich schade, dass sie heute Abend nicht an den Feierlichkeiten teilnehmen kann."

("As for you, love, I would like to have a word in private. Maybe we can discuss our mutual connections with Ms. Hammersmark. it's a shame she could not make tonight's festivities.")

It felt like everything around me was starting to move in slow motion, seeing a look in his eyes that contradicted the friendly smile plastered on his handsome face. I nodded over to Aldo, who sipped on his glass of champagne, raising his eyebrows at me as if to tell me to play along.

"Ja, natürlich. Ich bin gespannt, wie Sie beide sich kennengelernt haben."

("Why, yes of course. I look forward to hearing about how you two must've met.") I smile at Aldo, my eyes screaming for a way out, but to no avail. I couldn't believe what was happening and little to my knowledge, things were just about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Hans holds out his hand to Aldo one more time to shake. "Arrivederci, caro signore, ci vediamo alla première."

(Goodbye good sir, see you during the premier.)

"Arrivederci."

(goodbye.) Aldo says, his accent sounding less convincing than when he first spoke, if that was even possible.

Hans motions for me to walk with him, moving past the crowd of people who seem to make way for Landa, seemingly afraid of stepping on his toes in any way.

We walked down a long hallway, eventually finding ourselves in front of a large red wooden door. He twisted the gold door knob, pushing the door open and holding his hand out to the inside of the room, allowing me to step inside. He smiles softly, stepping in himself and closing the door behind him.

My nervousness was reignited with a soft 'click' after the door was shut, indicating that the door has been locked. I take a seat in front of a large desk, Landa walking around and standing behind it, dusting off his suit before taking a seat himself.

"Und...Wie kam es, dass Sie und Frau Hammersmark sich wiedergetroffen haben?"

("So...How did you and Ms. Hammersmark come to meet each other again?")

I fiddled with the rings on my finger, trying my best not to chip away at my polished finger nails due to my growing nervousness.

"Nun ja, wie ich schon sagte, wir haben vor einigen Jahren gemeinsam in einem Film mitgespielt."

(Well, it's like I stated before. we starred in a film together a few years ago.)

"Wir haben uns auf Anhieb gut verstanden und sind sehr gute Freunde geworden."

("We hit it off, and became very good friends.")

I continued watching the smirk on Landa's face grow wider, almost as if my answer had satisfied him.

"Wie interessant! Nun, verrate mir: Wie hieß dieser Film? Habe ich ihn vielleicht schon einmal gesehen?"

("How interesting. Now tell me, what is this film called? Might I have seen it before?")

I could promise you that I was not expecting him to go this deep into details with me. Clearly, that was my first mistake.

"Oh, ähm … Ja, der Film war ein Liebesfilm über zwei Ehefrauen, die auf die Rückkehr ihrer aus dem Krieg zurückgekehrten Männer warteten. Das Leben zu Hause war in dieser schweren Zeit nicht einfach. Das wissen Sie sicher."

("Oh uhm...Yes, the film was a romance movie about two wives awaiting their husbands to return from war. Life back at home being difficult to navigate during those trying times. I'm sure as you know, of course.")

I laughed nervously, hoping that my explanation of the film would be enough to distract him from the fact that I couldn't make up a name for this 'movie.'

"Nun ja… Wie gesagt, es ist wirklich schade, dass von Hammersmark heute Abend nicht zur Premiere kommen konnte. Es wäre schön gewesen, einen alten Freund wiederzusehen. Darf ich noch eine Frage stellen?"

("Right...Well. As I've said, it's such a shame that von Hammersmark could not attend tonight's premier. It would be great to see a familiar friend. Another question, if I may?")

"Wie lange hat sie gebraucht, um dir unsere Muttersprache beizubringen?"

("How long did it take her to teach you her mother tongue?")

My body became stiff, fear taking over me completely as I sat there with my mind racing, trying to think of what I should say.

"Was? Ich bin mir nicht sicher, was Sie damit meinen, Herr Landa.."

("What? I-I'm not sure what you mean by that, mr. Landa.")

"Of course you don't." He suddenly spoke in English, sighing while leaning forward on the desk, interlocking his fingers together while giving me a stern look, the friendly facade disappearing rather quickly.

He leans back, relaxing in his seat, reaching below him to pull out a bottle of wine and two tall empty clear glasses.

"It occurred to me that, Ms. Hammersmark's absence was at first seemingly odd. Especially since I'd found a hand written note from her just this afternoon. It was found in a local tavern, where there were also the dead bodies of some German soldiers, along with a man named Hugo Stiglitz- who I'm sure you know and a British man who has allied with the basterds, who I also know you're familiar with." He held a small smile as he poured the wine into the two glasses, setting the bottle down and reaching into his jacket pocket.

He pulled out a small white box, popping it open and revealing a little white pill. He takes the pill and shows it to me with a devious grin, dropping the pill into what was presumably, my glass.

I gulped and sat in silence, watching his every move while he continued.

"Now, Miss. Y/l/n. I'm sure that by now you're aware that we have apprehended your colleagues, Aldo the Apache and the little man-Utivitch who are both in the custody of my men. You seem like a bright girl, so I'm going to give you two choices."

He held two fingers to emphasize his point.

I felt my hands beginning to shake as tears form in my eyes, one single drop traveling down my cheek. Landa leans over, wiping the tear away swiftly with his thumb.

"Now, now. Don't cry. It'd be a shame for you to ruin that beautiful make-up." He brings his thumb up to his lips, sucking the tear drop off casually. My eyes dropped towards the two glasses, watching the white pill dissolve in my cup.

"Now, your choices are very simple. You can tell me everything you know about what Bridget was meant to be doing at this premier and how you all expected things to transpire...or...you could have a drink with me. Note that this could very well be the last glass of wine to ever touch your captivating lips. The choice is yours." He says sipping from his own glass.

"Now tell me. Who are you, where are you from, and what decision have you made?" His face returned to his serious glare, prompting me to speak but the words wouldn't leave my lips as much, as I tried. Finally, I gained the courage to speak.

"M-My name truly is y/n y/l/n." Another tear falls, my voice sounding strained as I spoke to him. "I'm... I'm from the city of New York."

He smiles and claps happily, adjusting in his seat. "Some of the most beautiful and delectable women come from your city. I guess that theory is proven true." He circles his index finger around the hem of my glass.

"What is your decision?"

I look down at my thighs, taking deep breaths and think of everything I've been through with Bridget and the basterds.

"I want a drink." I mumbled softly, my eyes going back to the glass, slowly reaching for it.

"Interesting... You'd give your life up so willingly for the German actress and the basterds. They must've treated you well. Alright then, go ahead... Have a drink." He slides the glass directly in front of me, my shakey hand reaching up and grabbing the glass by the neck. I lick my lips, bringing the drink up to them slowly. I tilt my head back the first drop of wine hitting my tongue. I close my eyes and quickly down the rest, just wanting all of this to be over.

I felt like after everything she'd done for me, I owed Bridget my life. If this meant ending a war and giving her the peace she deserves, I'll do anything. Including drinking this poison.

"Don't worry, Süßes Mädchen. You'll be asleep soon." He coos, standing up from his seat. The glass slips from my hands, my vision becoming blurry. The last thing I saw was Hans walking over beside me and planting a kiss on my forehead. Then everything went black.

⭐

I woke up with my body feeling completely numb. My eyes slowly flutter open to see that I was in an unfamiliar room with dim yellow light coming from candles and a flickering light bulb in the canter of the ceiling. It was dark and quiet, the only sound that I could hear being a wall clock that was ticking as the seconds passed. I tried my best to move, my blood running cold once I realized what had happened.

I was laying flat on my back on some sort of table, my wrist had both been bound together with a thick rope, arms placed over my belly, my legs tied together as well with duct tape. I squirmed for a moment trying to release myself but it was no use. I felt tears flowing down my cheeks in a panic, wishing that it really would've just been my last drink of wine. I lifted my head up to look down at my body seeing that I was still dressed, not even a small piece of my clothing or jewelry was misplaced and for that I was grateful.

I looked around the room, not seeing any windows but spotting only one door, that being the only way in and out. I started to sob uncontrollably, trying to remain calm, but I failed miserably in the process. My cries came to a halt hearing the door softly open, Hans walking in and shutting the door behind him.

The soft sound of their shoes hitting the ground grew louder as he approached me, and I inevitably prepared for the worst, shutting my eyes tightly.

"Hello, y/n. Sleep well?" He places his large hand over my head, petting it softly.

"Screw you." I grumbled, sniffling as the tears continued to roll down my face. I screamed when I felt a hard smack come down on my inner thigh, causing me to squeeze my legs tightly together.

He grabs me by my face roughly, holding my head still while squeezing at the sides of my mouth. "You would think, given as smart as you are, you would know better than to back talk the man who is responsible for whether you get to see any of your friends again."

I tried to look away, but Hans wasn't having it, forcing me to remain with eye contact and slowly loosening his grip on my face.

"That pill I gave you... It's an experimental drug made up by a German scientist to work both as a sedative and also as a narcosynthesis- of course, you Americans formally like to use the term: truth serum."

He releases my face from his grip, pacing circles around my body as I struggled against the binds.

"So, Liebe...I want to ask you a few questions and since you were not very willing to comply, I figured I'd use the one thing that I was certain would get those pretty lips moving. Your sense of loyalty." He paused for a moment from his pacing to stop in front of me, pointing his index finger in the air to make a point. "I will say, I do admire a loyal woman."

"If you want to see any of your friends again and have me promise to ensure their safety.. You will answer all of my questions, truthfully. Not that it should be a problem, anyways." He puts his finger under my chin, rubbing softly, tracing my jawline.

"Fuck you." I groan out, my body shuddering at his touch.

He smiles wickedly, adjusting his jacket and smoothing out his hair. "That leads me to my first question." He begins to pace around me again, slow and steady circles around the table I was laid on, pushing my dress up slightly as he passed by my legs.

"Lt. Raine....Is he really your...romantic partner?" He awaits my answer, keeping his eyes on my body as he walked.

I tried to remain quiet but whatever he slipped me was making me talk, and fast too.

"N-No." I mumbled.

"That's what I thought. Next question: Are you interested in him the way I assume he is interested you? The question may seem inane but I'm just trying to see how effective this experimental drug is." He chimes the last part with false innocence in his tone.

"No... I'm not."

"Very well, let's make things a bit more interesting shall we?" He stands behind me, something cold pressing against my shoulder, sharp and long. "Tell me, Fräulein...Have you ever...how do you Americans phrase this? Have you ever been fucked before?" He questioned, his Austrian accent sounding more prominent than before but that could be the fact that the room was so quiet, you could hear the sound of my quickened breathing.

I felt myself becoming wet between the legs, the sharp object pressing closer from my shoulder to my breast, pushing between them and drawing blood. I could feel the warm sensation of the thick liquid trickle upwards with every breath I took, traveling to the nape of my neck.

"No." I bit my lip, knowing the feeling I'm experiencing was familiar.

"No? I find that hard to believe, if I hadn't drugged you, I'd say you were lying." He chuckles, coming back over to face me. "Have you ever...Played with your pussy, imagining what it's like to feel someone stretching you out from the inside...pumping your sweet little virgin hole with everything they've got? To leave you squirming and begging for more?"

I let out a small moan, feeling my panties becoming soaked at the thought, my hands pushing at the top of my wet mound, trying to relieve myself even in that moment.

"Y-Yes!" I cry out desperately. I watched Hans as he took my dress by the plunge that hung low on my cleavage, taking the object which I could now clearly see was a large knife, and placed the tip over the silk fabric.

"That's right...I could smell it on you.. Poor girl... just full of desperation and wonder." He takes the blade and drags it down my dress, the sound of it being torn apart filling the air. Once he can't cut it anymore, he grabs either side with his bare hands, pulling it apart and leaving me exposed in small black panties and no bra. His eyes fall to my bare chest, the same mischievous look across his face.

"Your body is just as impressive as your mind." He steps closer, taking the knife and turning it on its side, pressing the cold blade against my nipples. I moan loudly at the feeling with my nipples hardening instantly to the touch.

"P-Please."

"Please what, engel?... Speak." The last part was more of a demand as he pressed the blade harder against me.

"Please, help me." I stared at him with my eyes teary, my body shaking uncontrollably, and now the blood dripping on my breast was the least of my worries. My wetness was clear through my panties, forming a small puddle in them, something I knew Hans wouldn't miss it.

He smiles, pulling the blade away from my nipple and shoving the knife back into his pocket. "If you insist." He turns around, his back facing me and slides off his jacket, starting to work on the buttons of his shirt.

"Since you're being such a good girl." He paused for a moment, turning his head to speak to me. "You are a good girl, aren't you?"

"Yes, please, please... Just help me." I whimper, trying to loosen my restraints.

"Well, to be completely honest with you... It's been quite some time since I've felt such...arousal, let alone being in the presence of someone I'd deem worthy of such intimacy. Given my occupation, I never had any time for such a thing. Then here you come, falling into my lap all of a sudden. It was almost as if your pathetic prayers had been answered."

He takes his shirt completely off, tossing it aside along with his jacket. He turns back around walking towards me again, looking over my body as he places a finger in the center of my chest, trailing it downwards towards my belly button, then going even lower until he hits the top of my panties.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Hiding that beautiful muschi (pussy) from me?" He pulls them upwards, snapping them against my skin in a sudden movement making me squeak. "Do you want me to fuck you, Fräulein?"

I nod my head yes, Hans giving me an unsatisfied glare. His pressed his fingers together, a hard smack coming down to my soaked clit. "Speak when you are spoken to."

"Yes! Hans, please!" I beg, pushing my body toward him as much as I could.

"Good girl. Now, you're going to do exactly as I say. When I release you from your restraints, you are to remain still. I'll first be undoing the tape around your ankles- when I do, you are to follow my instructions. Understood?" I nod my head yes again, Hans hand smacking my pussy once more.

"understood?" He says louder this time.

"Yes, Hans, yes!" I moan, crying at the throbbing sensation in-between my thighs.

"Good. Now stay still." He walks closer to my legs, carefully unraveling the duct tape, undoing it slowly while staring at my face the whole time. I shyly look away making him click his tongue. "Eyes on me." I quickly looked back towards him, the duct tape finally getting my legs free.

"Spread those perfect legs for me, dear." He groans, the tent in his pants growing at the sight of me slowly opening my legs for him. "Wider." He demands as he palms himself through his pants, undoing his belt and zipper with the one hand. I do exactly as he says, Hans stepping in front of me, staring directly at my core, reaching down to slowly remove my panties.

"Soaking wet... Just as I suspected you'd be considering the mess you've left on my table...just leaking with the desire to be stuffed with my cock." He kneels down, taking my thighs on either one of his arms, leaning in and closing his eyes, taking a long sniff along my slit. I blushed, wanting to close my legs but Hans forced them back open.

"You smell divine... Don't try robbing me of what I want." He leans in, licking a small stripe across my clit. I moan loudly, Hans massaging my thighs as he licks up and down my slit slowly at first, but eventually flicking his tongue back and forth quickly over my clit making me leak more of my wetness onto his chin. He moans into me, poking his tongue into my tight hole, pushing in as far as he could.

I scream, reaching down with both my hands still tied to push his head further. To my surprise, he allowed this, seemingly encouraging for me to do so. "H-Hans!"

"Mmm?" He moans in a question. He removed one of his hands from behind my thighs to reach down and pull his cock out of his underwear, taking his hardened cock into his hands and jerking himself off under the table. He pushes his tongue flat up against me, moving his head up and down, spitting generously onto my clit.

"F-Fuck, please!"

He keeps licking, returning to small kitten licks on my entrance, his free hand reaching higher to my ass cheek, massaging slowly while his tongue lapped.

I felt him pull away, watching him stand to his feet, cock and balls fully exposed to me. He was probably around six and a half inches in length and very girthy. His balls were big and full, I could tell he was just as desperate as I was for pleasure.

He grabs my wrist, undoing the rope and grabs me by my hips. "As much as I'd love to watch the pretty faces you make with my length inside of you, I need to explore more of you, angel." He breathes out before flipping me over onto my stomach. I gasp feeling his hands slap onto my ass, massaging the plump area, spreading my cheeks apart wide. I scream when I feel his saliva drip onto my asshole followed by his finger tracing a circle around the hole.

"This may hurt, or it may not. Bear with me, darling." I scream out feeling his finger push into my asshole, Hans groaning as he slides his finger in and out slowly at first, his pace quickening along with the grip he held around his cock.

"I'm sure you know, but it's a pleasure to be the one taking your innocence... Why not both at the same time?"

I hold back a scream but small whimpers leave my lips when he lines his cock up with my pussy, pushing it inside me. "Hans!" I cry when he eventually gets all his inches inside me, stretching me widely with his index finger still pumping in and out of my ass.

"Oh, it's been so long since I've felt a pussy as tight as this!" He moves himself closer to me, his balls slapping loudly against my clit giving me more pleasure.

"F-Faster, please!" I moan, he slaps my ass, pushing my neck down onto the table, my face pressing against the cold wood while he pulls his length out leaving the tip of his dick inside me, slamming back into me with much force. He lets out a low growl, speeding up his thrust and applying pressure to my neck.

"Just think of how devastating it should be for Lt. Raine to know that h-his little crush is getting f-fucked senseless by the man he's been trying to kill? Ruining her perfect body with his brute force... Spilling his seed inside of her as she begs him to keep going?" He slaps my ass again, harder this time, grabbing the skin and spreading it to get a better angle.

"Y-Yes, please! Please, Landa!" I scream pushing my hips back to him while my hands gripped both sides of the table in desperation.

"Begging me so sweetly... Taking me like such a good little girl!" He pulls his finger out of my asshole, reaching up and grabbing my shoulder tightly, pushing in and out harder and faster than before, swear dripping down to his forehead. "Ich werde deine ruinierte Muschi mit meinem Samen füllen und deinen Mund mit noch mehr von mir... Ich werde dich zu einer jungen Mutter machen!"

( "I'll fill your ruined pussy with my seed and your mouth with even more of me.. I'll make you a y-young mother!" )

I scream feeling his cock get harder and his moans and groans became more driven, a knot forming in my lower abdomen.

"Yes, that's right darling... Let go, soak my cock with your release!" He says, his hips snapping back and forth with need.

"I-I'm coming!" I screamed, hearing the sound of messy squelching while I came all over Hans cock, him reaching his own climax.

"Braves, braves Mädchen... Ich werde dafür sorgen, dass du meinen Samen in dir trägst, bis du meine Kinder gebierst! Verdammt!"

("Good- Good girl... I'll make sure you carry my seed until you birth my children! F-Fuck!") He screams before spilling his hot seed into my ruined cunt, his thrust growing sloppy, his hips eventually coming to a halt. I tried to catch my breath feeling Hand pull out of me, his cum spilling out of my hole. He catches some on his palm, and watches as it oozes out of me. He walked back in front of me where I was laying on my belly still, hot and sweaty. "Lick up your mess, love." He holds his cupped hand in front of my mouth, allowing me to lap at the cum in his palm like a cat with water.

He groans in pleasure, petting my head softly while giving small praises. "That's it, clean it up silly girl."

I sigh once I'm finished, licking my lips and slowly pushing myself up off the table. Hans quickly grabs me, moving my body to face him as he stands between my legs after sitting me up straight on the table. "Given everything we've just done and my undying infatuations with you, I want to let you know that you now have a third choice in this situation."

I listened carefully as he spoke.

"Your third choice is entirely up to you, but considering you are most likely going to be bearing my children- I assume you'll make the right decision. Leave your old life behind and I could give you what Aldo Raine couldn't." He stared into my eyes, a slight longing behind them. "I think you and I both know that unlike your non-interest with Lt. Raine, you have an undeniable curiosity about me." He takes my hand, lifting it up to his lips and kissing softly with more passion than he did when we first met, holding it gently in his hand. "I hope you'll decide to choose what we both know is best."

I sat and thought for a moment, knowing that this was the only choice that would both keep my friends alive and give me a chance at starting the life I've always wanted. One free of worries and the family I'd always dreamed of.

"I'll come with you." I say confidently but quietly. He smiles, leaning down and kissing my forehead, pulling me in for a small hug.

"Smart girl. I can't wait to show you all the things we will do."

THE END.

✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨⭐✨

Thank you guys so much for reading and thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it and yes this was a very long fic but some of my best work! I love writing and I hope that you guys can enjoy this absolute smut fest lol. Requests are open for inglorious basterds and Christoph Waltz so keep that in mind ✨ thank you again and have a great or night!!

[zanewalker13]

FUCK YEAH

[lyburnxm]

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

-> (gif not mine)

summary: "is that not one of the best things you've ever put in your mouth?"; reader is dieter's sister, and on the day she finally manages to escape his protection, she falls straight into the hands of the most dangerous man in the ss

warnings: who knows, he's a bit handsy

word count: 2512

a.n: requested by the lovely @climbf. i hope you enjoy!!

~

"Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"Dieter, for the last time, it's fine."

"I can drive you into town it's no problem for me."

"Dieter."

He had asked once when you were making coffee, once whilst reading the paper, once whilst you were brushing your teeth, a fourth time as you were brushing out your hair, and now, stood by the side of his car, he asked again.

"Alright, alright," he sighed, giving the bridge of his nose a harsh pinch.

"Dieter if you don't leave now you're going to be late. I'm not going to be the one to get you into trouble. You've got to get going."

You reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb in a circle as you had when you were younger. Though Dieter was six years your senior, you had often found yourself comforting him when he'd got into fights at school, holding his head protectively in the playground as he balled his hands into fists. And even now, both of you well clear of your teenage years, you were still the only person who could calm him down. Your close childhood years had left him protective over you to such a degree that you could scarcely go out without informing him. He knew all of your friends, all of the bars you went to, usually screening them before allowing you to become a regular: he couldn't stand the idea of letting you out into the wild.

You knew it came from a place of love, but you were in university now, and you wanted to experience all of the recklessness that came with it; even in the war, there was still a little room left for fun. However, in the midst of his shadow over you, you spent most of your weekends with him. As some kind of compensation he always let you pick the activity, but it meant you spent barely any time apart. Of course you loved him: he was your brother after all. You just would've liked to explore a little: live a little.

It was a grey Wednesday, and you unusually had the day off. Your classics lecturer had called in sick, instead giving a list of required reading for the next couple of days. Although you were happy for the small sleep in, Dieter was anything but pleased at the disruption to his schedule: you went to university during the week, and come Saturday his eyes could be back on you.

Now he found himself in an impossible situation. You had obtained free roam of the city and his duties prevented him from keeping a watchful eye over you. He'd already tried pleading that you just stay at home, to even spend the day studying in the library, but you had protested you did enough of that anyway - you needed a change of pace.

"But where are you going to go?" he almost whined. One hand was outstretched to the car door, ready to get in: you just needed to coax him a little further.

Sighing, you leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I'll just go to our usual cafe." Nearly. "You know everyone in there. It'll be fine. You don't have to worry. Now-" You moved forward, practically ushering him into the car yourself, much to the amusement of his driver. "-you have a good day. And I'll see you tonight. We can even go out to dinner if you want to. I love you."

He scarcely had chance to say it back before you signalled for the car to start and you finally waved goodbye to him.

You were good to your word. Packing up your books from the living room and wrapping a scarf up to your chin, you braved the cold morning and made your way down to the cafe. The waiter remembered your order - or at least, remembered whose sister you were - and within five minutes of entering the place you were sitting back in a booth by the window, puffing at your first cigarette of many and sipping away at your coffee.

The reading for the day was quite heavy; you were starting on translations from ancient Greek, and the preliminary work had you piling books up on your table, spending twenty minutes per sentence trying to figure out what was going on. You loved your subject, and the soft music of the band across the way was gave the perfect atmosphere for your studies, but after two hours or so you were beginning to develop a headache. Leaning back against the plush, jade booth, you pinched the bridge of your nose, a habit you and your brother shared. The soft jazz was soothing and the pain was just beginning to retreat when you heard the groaning of a chair at your table being pulled along the wooden floor. You opened your eyes and were met with a tall figure dressed in a long, leather trench coat. An army man, as most of the clientele here were, but from the decorations on his chest you could tell there was something different about him. The way people from other tables glanced over their shoulders toward the pair of you, the whispers they exchanged at the sight of him.

"Mademoiselle, I don't believe I've had the pleasure," the figure said, reaching out for your hand. Even before introducing himself his lips were placing a coarse kiss against your knuckles, holding your gaze the whole while. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

"No, of course." Even from this small encounter you could already feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. Something about his manner told you you had met him before. There was something hidden behind those light eyes, something a little off in the way he smiled at you. For a moment you thought perhaps Dieter's fears had been well-placed, that maybe you should've just gone to the library. But then again, when would you ever be awarded such freedom again? Better to make the most of it while you could.

"I couldn't help but notice you were having some difficulties with your studies. It pains me to see such a beautiful woman so stressed."

"I'm perhaps being a little dramatic," you laughed, letting your hair fall over your face in an attempt to hide your new complexion. "It's just Greek."

"Ah, you are a language student?" His face lit up. "I, myself, am rather skilled when it comes to translation: perhaps I could be of some service to you."

The officer leaned forward eagerly, taking up one of your reference books with a pale hand. "Not languages," you admitted. "Classics. It's ancient Greek."

"Ah, that, my dear, may unfortunately be a little outside of my skill set. What a brain you must have!" He moved to light his own cigarette, studying you from across the small table like you were a piece of art. "I'd love if you'd let me pick it."

Your breath hitched. He must've meant it innocently. Perhaps it was just your closeted mind overcompensating for all the years Dieter had hidden you away. It had been so long since you'd had any interaction with a man other than your brother, and suddenly you felt like a shy schoolgirl again. In all fairness, your guest must've been at the very least twenty years your senior, so perhaps he too saw you as such.

In the midst of your racing mind you had forgotten to give him a response, which only made his smile grow.

"Well perhaps if I cannot aid you academically, I could at least help you relax a little." He must've known the effect he was having on you. Every line that rolled off his tongue was dripping with sensuality, the slow pace he dragged at his cigarette, making sure to give you a full profile of the movement of his lips. Though it brought shame to your cheeks, you began to wonder what they would feel like against your skin. You'd had a sample when he'd taken your hand earlier, but your imagination had more in mind. You couldn't stop thinking about how experienced a man his age would be.

"Tell me my dear - ah, my sincerest apologies! I haven't even introduced myself. Colonel Hans Landa, and you are?"

You thought your heart might stop in your chest. How you hadn't connected the dots yet you didn't know. Dieter had warned you about him, bringing home stories of the most dangerous man in the SS: and coming from your brother, that was quite the statement.

But even now that he had revealed his hand, you couldn't believe someone who had been so kind to you could've committed all of the atrocities you knew he was the perpetrator of.

"(Y/N)," you muttered, thumbing through a few of the pages before you absentmindedly. You shifted in your seat. His eyes were unrelenting.

"Do you have a second name?" he laughed.

You prayed the ground would open beneath you. You prayed for the rapture. Anything to save you from having to admit your family name.

Your prayers were heard. "Are you ready to order, sir?" A small, white-haired waiter stood a little away from the table, smiling softly with a pad and paper anticipating his order.

"Ah, excellent!" Saved by the bell. "My dear, have you had the strudel here? No? Well, we must fixed that immediately!" Hans ordered two portions of apple strudel, making sure to order cream alongside it, and helped you clear the table of your books. "Now, where were we?"

But he knew exactly where you were. You tried your best to linger as long as you could slipping your texts back into your bag, but there was no getting out of it.

"Hellstrom." You kept your voice barely above a whisper, hoping somehow he would fail to hear you. From the way his hands clapped together, you knew he had.

"Hellstrom? It cannot be! You are the little sister?"

"My reputation preceeds me," you laughed. It had never occurred to you had Dieter would discuss you at work, and now a new worry arose at what he might've said. You had been inseparable since childhood, for God's sake he used to change you when you were a baby: there was no such thing as a secret between the pair of you.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm just surprised because I know he watches over you like a shadow. Every time I've worked security with him he's been fretting over who might've got their hands on you." Hans laughed, turning his head to blow an ashy smoke cloud toward the window. "I never thought it would be me."

Now you were nervous. Nervous? You thought it was nerves. No - perhaps something else.

"I'm joking of course. You couldn't be in better hands." One of those hands now reached across to rest a top yours, enveloping it completely. You found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him, desperate to know what was hidden behind that smile, why every small brush of his finger against your knuckles sent a wave of heat to your breast.

"Two apple strudels, moinseur, mademoiselle." Oh thank God for strudel. The waiter swooped in to save you, forcing the colonel to release you from his grip.

"Excellent!" Landa thanked the waiter and immediately moved to retrieve the small silver spoon buried deep in the pot of cream. "If you'll allow me." He dropped a spoonful of white cream down on top of your pastry, a devilish smile plastered across his features. It smelt gorgeous, you had to admit.

You anticipated your sweet tooth was about to get you into trouble.

"Go ahead, little Hellstrom." The name just brought visions of your brother back to your mind, and you scooped up a mouthful with great rapidity, hoping occupying your mouth might help silence your racing thoughts. A wave of sugar overwhelmed you, your eyes widening a little.

"Is that not one of the best things you've ever put in your mouth?"

You nearly choked. Trying to cover it up desperately you gave a small nod, moving your hand to cover your mouth.

"One cannot survive on black coffee and cigarettes alone," he cautioned.

"Now you're starting to sound like my brother."

Hans laughed, scooping up another spoonful, deliberating over every bite with minute detail. "Well, my apologies. That's the last thing I want. How shall I correct my behaviour?" Hans put down his spoon, crossing one leg over the other, waiting.

He expected a true response. He was patient. He could wait. You fumbled for something clever to say. You wanted with all your might to be able to match his fire, to show him that you were so much more than your brother's sister. But maybe that's truly all you were. "You know," you began instead, trying to steady your breath. You knew what your body was urging you to do and the very thought scared you: but your limbs had a mind of their own. Your lust was running on autopilot. Crossing one knee over the other, you stretched out your heeled foot just far enough so that it could brush against his trousers and continued to speak. "You know if Dieter found out I was sat alone with Colonel Hans Landa, he would lock me in my room and throw away the key."

Who was this person? Where had these words come from?

"Well then-" Slowly, you felt a hand slip out onto your bare knee, rustling up the fabric of your skirt at an agonising pace. You were so shocked you cast a glance about the room to make sure no-one was looking. "We'll have to keep this our secret, won't we?" His hands were surprisingly warm against your skin, beginning to draw out small, teasing circles from your knee to your mid-thigh. You wondered how far he would go. You wondered how much you could take. Your imagination alone had been enough to set your body a fire, and now he seemed to be only indulging you further. Niggling away at the back of your mind, that little voice continued to scream out Dieter's going to kill you.

But louder than that was the voice crying out, begging for his hand to climb just a little higher, just a little further.

Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, Hans withdrew his hand and reached once again for his leather gloves. You could've weeped from pure frustration.

"Sadly, my dear, I must say goodbye."

"No-" The word slipped out of your mouth before you could realise what you were saying. You must've stunk of desperation. You were sure you'd humiliated yourself, however Landa only gave you a sympathetic smile.

"I'm deeply sorry, but I do have my duties too. Although, little songbird," he said, leaning down to offer you a low promise, "do come and find me the next time your brother lets you out of your cage."

[zanewalker13]

hoOOolY SHIT i am OH MY GOD BRO WHY more. Ive never been so frustrated in my DAMNED LIFE.

[lyburnxm]

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

-> (gif not mine)

summary: "is that not one of the best things you've ever put in your mouth?"; reader is dieter's sister, and on the day she finally manages to escape his protection, she falls straight into the hands of the most dangerous man in the ss

warnings: who knows, he's a bit handsy

word count: 2512

a.n: requested by the lovely @climbf. i hope you enjoy!!

~

"Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"Dieter, for the last time, it's fine."

"I can drive you into town it's no problem for me."

"Dieter."

He had asked once when you were making coffee, once whilst reading the paper, once whilst you were brushing your teeth, a fourth time as you were brushing out your hair, and now, stood by the side of his car, he asked again.

"Alright, alright," he sighed, giving the bridge of his nose a harsh pinch.

"Dieter if you don't leave now you're going to be late. I'm not going to be the one to get you into trouble. You've got to get going."

You reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb in a circle as you had when you were younger. Though Dieter was six years your senior, you had often found yourself comforting him when he'd got into fights at school, holding his head protectively in the playground as he balled his hands into fists. And even now, both of you well clear of your teenage years, you were still the only person who could calm him down. Your close childhood years had left him protective over you to such a degree that you could scarcely go out without informing him. He knew all of your friends, all of the bars you went to, usually screening them before allowing you to become a regular: he couldn't stand the idea of letting you out into the wild.

You knew it came from a place of love, but you were in university now, and you wanted to experience all of the recklessness that came with it; even in the war, there was still a little room left for fun. However, in the midst of his shadow over you, you spent most of your weekends with him. As some kind of compensation he always let you pick the activity, but it meant you spent barely any time apart. Of course you loved him: he was your brother after all. You just would've liked to explore a little: live a little.

It was a grey Wednesday, and you unusually had the day off. Your classics lecturer had called in sick, instead giving a list of required reading for the next couple of days. Although you were happy for the small sleep in, Dieter was anything but pleased at the disruption to his schedule: you went to university during the week, and come Saturday his eyes could be back on you.

Now he found himself in an impossible situation. You had obtained free roam of the city and his duties prevented him from keeping a watchful eye over you. He'd already tried pleading that you just stay at home, to even spend the day studying in the library, but you had protested you did enough of that anyway - you needed a change of pace.

"But where are you going to go?" he almost whined. One hand was outstretched to the car door, ready to get in: you just needed to coax him a little further.

Sighing, you leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I'll just go to our usual cafe." Nearly. "You know everyone in there. It'll be fine. You don't have to worry. Now-" You moved forward, practically ushering him into the car yourself, much to the amusement of his driver. "-you have a good day. And I'll see you tonight. We can even go out to dinner if you want to. I love you."

He scarcely had chance to say it back before you signalled for the car to start and you finally waved goodbye to him.

You were good to your word. Packing up your books from the living room and wrapping a scarf up to your chin, you braved the cold morning and made your way down to the cafe. The waiter remembered your order - or at least, remembered whose sister you were - and within five minutes of entering the place you were sitting back in a booth by the window, puffing at your first cigarette of many and sipping away at your coffee.

The reading for the day was quite heavy; you were starting on translations from ancient Greek, and the preliminary work had you piling books up on your table, spending twenty minutes per sentence trying to figure out what was going on. You loved your subject, and the soft music of the band across the way was gave the perfect atmosphere for your studies, but after two hours or so you were beginning to develop a headache. Leaning back against the plush, jade booth, you pinched the bridge of your nose, a habit you and your brother shared. The soft jazz was soothing and the pain was just beginning to retreat when you heard the groaning of a chair at your table being pulled along the wooden floor. You opened your eyes and were met with a tall figure dressed in a long, leather trench coat. An army man, as most of the clientele here were, but from the decorations on his chest you could tell there was something different about him. The way people from other tables glanced over their shoulders toward the pair of you, the whispers they exchanged at the sight of him.

"Mademoiselle, I don't believe I've had the pleasure," the figure said, reaching out for your hand. Even before introducing himself his lips were placing a coarse kiss against your knuckles, holding your gaze the whole while. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

"No, of course." Even from this small encounter you could already feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. Something about his manner told you you had met him before. There was something hidden behind those light eyes, something a little off in the way he smiled at you. For a moment you thought perhaps Dieter's fears had been well-placed, that maybe you should've just gone to the library. But then again, when would you ever be awarded such freedom again? Better to make the most of it while you could.

"I couldn't help but notice you were having some difficulties with your studies. It pains me to see such a beautiful woman so stressed."

"I'm perhaps being a little dramatic," you laughed, letting your hair fall over your face in an attempt to hide your new complexion. "It's just Greek."

"Ah, you are a language student?" His face lit up. "I, myself, am rather skilled when it comes to translation: perhaps I could be of some service to you."

The officer leaned forward eagerly, taking up one of your reference books with a pale hand. "Not languages," you admitted. "Classics. It's ancient Greek."

"Ah, that, my dear, may unfortunately be a little outside of my skill set. What a brain you must have!" He moved to light his own cigarette, studying you from across the small table like you were a piece of art. "I'd love if you'd let me pick it."

Your breath hitched. He must've meant it innocently. Perhaps it was just your closeted mind overcompensating for all the years Dieter had hidden you away. It had been so long since you'd had any interaction with a man other than your brother, and suddenly you felt like a shy schoolgirl again. In all fairness, your guest must've been at the very least twenty years your senior, so perhaps he too saw you as such.

In the midst of your racing mind you had forgotten to give him a response, which only made his smile grow.

"Well perhaps if I cannot aid you academically, I could at least help you relax a little." He must've known the effect he was having on you. Every line that rolled off his tongue was dripping with sensuality, the slow pace he dragged at his cigarette, making sure to give you a full profile of the movement of his lips. Though it brought shame to your cheeks, you began to wonder what they would feel like against your skin. You'd had a sample when he'd taken your hand earlier, but your imagination had more in mind. You couldn't stop thinking about how experienced a man his age would be.

"Tell me my dear - ah, my sincerest apologies! I haven't even introduced myself. Colonel Hans Landa, and you are?"

You thought your heart might stop in your chest. How you hadn't connected the dots yet you didn't know. Dieter had warned you about him, bringing home stories of the most dangerous man in the SS: and coming from your brother, that was quite the statement.

But even now that he had revealed his hand, you couldn't believe someone who had been so kind to you could've committed all of the atrocities you knew he was the perpetrator of.

"(Y/N)," you muttered, thumbing through a few of the pages before you absentmindedly. You shifted in your seat. His eyes were unrelenting.

"Do you have a second name?" he laughed.

You prayed the ground would open beneath you. You prayed for the rapture. Anything to save you from having to admit your family name.

Your prayers were heard. "Are you ready to order, sir?" A small, white-haired waiter stood a little away from the table, smiling softly with a pad and paper anticipating his order.

"Ah, excellent!" Saved by the bell. "My dear, have you had the strudel here? No? Well, we must fixed that immediately!" Hans ordered two portions of apple strudel, making sure to order cream alongside it, and helped you clear the table of your books. "Now, where were we?"

But he knew exactly where you were. You tried your best to linger as long as you could slipping your texts back into your bag, but there was no getting out of it.

"Hellstrom." You kept your voice barely above a whisper, hoping somehow he would fail to hear you. From the way his hands clapped together, you knew he had.

"Hellstrom? It cannot be! You are the little sister?"

"My reputation preceeds me," you laughed. It had never occurred to you had Dieter would discuss you at work, and now a new worry arose at what he might've said. You had been inseparable since childhood, for God's sake he used to change you when you were a baby: there was no such thing as a secret between the pair of you.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm just surprised because I know he watches over you like a shadow. Every time I've worked security with him he's been fretting over who might've got their hands on you." Hans laughed, turning his head to blow an ashy smoke cloud toward the window. "I never thought it would be me."

Now you were nervous. Nervous? You thought it was nerves. No - perhaps something else.

"I'm joking of course. You couldn't be in better hands." One of those hands now reached across to rest a top yours, enveloping it completely. You found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him, desperate to know what was hidden behind that smile, why every small brush of his finger against your knuckles sent a wave of heat to your breast.

"Two apple strudels, moinseur, mademoiselle." Oh thank God for strudel. The waiter swooped in to save you, forcing the colonel to release you from his grip.

"Excellent!" Landa thanked the waiter and immediately moved to retrieve the small silver spoon buried deep in the pot of cream. "If you'll allow me." He dropped a spoonful of white cream down on top of your pastry, a devilish smile plastered across his features. It smelt gorgeous, you had to admit.

You anticipated your sweet tooth was about to get you into trouble.

"Go ahead, little Hellstrom." The name just brought visions of your brother back to your mind, and you scooped up a mouthful with great rapidity, hoping occupying your mouth might help silence your racing thoughts. A wave of sugar overwhelmed you, your eyes widening a little.

"Is that not one of the best things you've ever put in your mouth?"

You nearly choked. Trying to cover it up desperately you gave a small nod, moving your hand to cover your mouth.

"One cannot survive on black coffee and cigarettes alone," he cautioned.

"Now you're starting to sound like my brother."

Hans laughed, scooping up another spoonful, deliberating over every bite with minute detail. "Well, my apologies. That's the last thing I want. How shall I correct my behaviour?" Hans put down his spoon, crossing one leg over the other, waiting.

He expected a true response. He was patient. He could wait. You fumbled for something clever to say. You wanted with all your might to be able to match his fire, to show him that you were so much more than your brother's sister. But maybe that's truly all you were. "You know," you began instead, trying to steady your breath. You knew what your body was urging you to do and the very thought scared you: but your limbs had a mind of their own. Your lust was running on autopilot. Crossing one knee over the other, you stretched out your heeled foot just far enough so that it could brush against his trousers and continued to speak. "You know if Dieter found out I was sat alone with Colonel Hans Landa, he would lock me in my room and throw away the key."

Who was this person? Where had these words come from?

"Well then-" Slowly, you felt a hand slip out onto your bare knee, rustling up the fabric of your skirt at an agonising pace. You were so shocked you cast a glance about the room to make sure no-one was looking. "We'll have to keep this our secret, won't we?" His hands were surprisingly warm against your skin, beginning to draw out small, teasing circles from your knee to your mid-thigh. You wondered how far he would go. You wondered how much you could take. Your imagination alone had been enough to set your body a fire, and now he seemed to be only indulging you further. Niggling away at the back of your mind, that little voice continued to scream out Dieter's going to kill you.

But louder than that was the voice crying out, begging for his hand to climb just a little higher, just a little further.

Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, Hans withdrew his hand and reached once again for his leather gloves. You could've weeped from pure frustration.

"Sadly, my dear, I must say goodbye."

"No-" The word slipped out of your mouth before you could realise what you were saying. You must've stunk of desperation. You were sure you'd humiliated yourself, however Landa only gave you a sympathetic smile.

"I'm deeply sorry, but I do have my duties too. Although, little songbird," he said, leaning down to offer you a low promise, "do come and find me the next time your brother lets you out of your cage."

[zanewalker13]

for ur william afton rec list, there’s a blog called @crpsebnny i think you’d enjoy. also, here’s a link to a fic as well!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46161556

WOWZERS!! Thank you so much!! I'll defo check them out! Sorry for not replying sooner, I haven't been active in a while unfortunately 😭💔

[malkogromit]

when a fic hits so hard you have to draw him

[yanderecandystore]

shouta aizawa x !student reader hcs 👹👉👈

This isn't a Yandere ask, so it's going to be a little more different than usual.

This may low-key be ooc, I'm sorry everyone. I do have some personal headcanons that I prefer to put above canon in my head, and sometimes that may show in my writing 👉👈 (endeavor is a total himbo in my mind).

TW?: Teacher x student relationship. Like, reader is 17-18. Also low-key NSFW mentioning. Also low-key fluff mentioned. Out of character, probably.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Proibido (forbidden) [Teacher Aizawa x Student Reader - Headcanons]:

Some people say that the sweetest of fruits are the forbidden ones.

Little secrets are one of the most intimate things humans can have, and the sheer adrenaline that humans can get out of doing something they shouldn't, is just so intense it can be easily substitute ecstasy.

To have a crush on your teacher, would normally be judged as just that. Just a silly crush. Most would look at you as if you only admired your teacher, others would constantly make fun of your crush.

"- Tsc, you really are a stupid nerd. Having a crush on that old fuck ...."

I don't think they know in to what extent you truly like Aizawa. If they did, you wouldn't have friends.

On the other side of the spectrum, we have the man himself. The man you should look only for guidance, and a man that should only look at you as his most valuable student.

He shouldn't get so, personal, with a student.

But is he the one to blame? He doesn't think so. You seem oddly dependent on him.

Always asking for his advice, always asking for his opinion on a good fighting stance, asking him what he thought of your quirk and how would be the best way to use it.

You were asking for attention, weren't you? Consciously, unconsciously, it doesn't matter.

But it wouldn't be fair if he didn't acknowledge his own part of this game, right?

He did try to steal your attention as well, even if he did it unconsciously. He was the one that decided that you needed more supervision, even if his original excuse was your quirk (believe me, your quirk was fine the way it was, but he needed at least one excuse to keep a better eye on you).

He is a really tired man, he can't hear everyone questioning him about his decisions all day.

Oh, and don't get me started on your personal trainings. How would anyone guess that kicking the shit out of your mentor (or at least trying to, and failing miserably) would lead to a somewhat romantic and sexually tensed moment between you two??

Anyone could have seen you two. Such recklessness.

Shinsou has been out of this particular trainings, and he never stops asking why do you need to train alone with Aizawa, and all you two can think of is "It's so [Y/N]/I can do better!".

It's not. Well, it was at first.

But after you two got a little too intense once, you each found out how the other one felt about this whole situation. A little kiss on the cheek after training never hurt anyone, right? And no one was looking….

It was his little, gift, his l-little reward towards your good work in training!

Although it wasn't a little peck on the cheek, it was a: little too intimate kiss on the lips by your dear teacher.

That lead to a lot of awkward moments during your usual routine for at least a week. It's funny how whenever your classmates asked you something about Aizawa, you would get instantly defensive not matter what the topic was.

"- Oh, that's a nice shirt. Looks good on him right?"

"- Bitch, who's shirt?? I don't see no one's shirt-"

Don't worry he also acted the same. If not worse.

Imagine finally confronting each other. Coming to terms that yes, he kiss you, yes, you like him, yes, he likes you, yes this is kinda wrong, yes let's fuck in this goddamn classroom right the now-

Yes, that happened. More than once. Maybe a lot, after classes.

I wouldn't say he is a rough lover, I would say he has a thing for making you not be able to walk for a couple of hours (don't get me started on yandere aizawa).

Okay, but seriously, he is a man that can be a little gone on his own little mind whenever you two find yourselves alone. Yet he doesn't really enjoy seeing you in pain, if anything he wants you to enjoy it as well, so expect him to pay off by making you have the best after care in the world.

It includes snacks and being lazily cuddled. And cats.

I hope you're good at keeping a secret, cause my boy can make a little bit of a slip up sometimes. Look, he isn't dumb, he is just a sweetheart.

You would have to wait hours everyday for you two to have some privacy. What started as just making out behind everyone's back, started becoming a actual relationship.

A relationship behind walls, sealed with the promise to keep it a secret until the right time. Don't get me wrong, he does love you, but you need to have a little more patience.

Would you do that for him?

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[zanewalker13]

rah

[oftenwantedafton]

the assistant | william afton x f!reader x dave miller

chapter two

Explicit content, 3.6k words, new 5/15/25

ao3 link

There is a figure sitting in William Afton’s chair, but it is not William Afton.

You immediately freeze upon entering the workroom, using the dim lighting of the hallway to try to discern the shape partially facing away from you that seems all wrong, even in the shadows. The light switch beside the door is unresponsive. The fuse box must need to be reset again. You silently curse, vowing you’re going to bring a flashlight to work from now on. Maybe a spare as well, just in case. You hurriedly push the door open wider until the magnetic clasp bolted to the floor makes contact, keeping it propped open so the light from the hallway can spill in. It doesn’t help much and your hands tighten into balls of frustration and fear. Someone’s broken in. What did they want? Why are they sitting in the darkness?

“I don’t know who you are or how you got in here, but I’ve already called the police,” you declare, wishing your voice sounded more confident. “They’ll be here any minute.”

No response. You should call the police. You should turn and run right now. Instead you move forward, reaching out to grasp the first tool that comes to hand off a nearby table, then the back of the swivel chair to turn it around.

It seems to take an eternity to complete the process, your heart thumping wildly while you await the grand reveal of the invader, your impromptu weapon raised in the air.

A soft clicking sound precedes a sudden burst of light in the room, directly beneath the intruder’s features. Or where the intruder’s features would be, because they’re currently obscured by a yellow rabbit mascot head. A flash of silver from the name badge pinned to the uniform shirt is etched with a familiar name that makes you lower your arm, your body sagging in relief.

“Boo,” a muffled voice sounds from inside the partial costume.

“Dave! What the hell are you doing in here?” You know, even though you can’t see it at the moment, that the security guard is grinning like mad.

“Waiting for you, of course. You’re lucky the old man’s not here yet. You’re tardy again.” He rises from the chair.

“I’m not that late,” you argue. “And you should be more respectful. So Mr. Afton’s not here?”

“No. He did make it home rather late this morning. Probably still sleeping off the previous evening’s booze, I can only assume.” The handle of the flashlight rotates deftly in his fingers, spinning the beam around the workroom. Something in the movement is oddly familiar, but you can’t quite place it.

“Was he…was he upset about me leaving early?”

“Waking up so late in the day to find his pupil gone? Yes, I rather suspect he was, though he didn’t mention it and neither did I. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it when he does manage to make his way here.”

“You’d better hope he doesn’t see you wearing that. He’s always made it very clear that Spring Bonnie is special.” This particular animatronic, as it turns out, is one of a pair of unique characters designed to be worn by the co-owners themselves, the interiors specially rigged with mechanisms to keep the internal components away from the wearer. Of course, those mechanisms were quite dangerous. William himself had already endured one unfortunate encounter with the so called springlocks, resulting in what he had classified as “diffuse injuries and scarring”, though as yet you’ve never actually seen them. He’s always careful to keep the majority of his body covered.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to harm his precious rabbit,” he scoffs.

“You should be more concerned with it harming you. You’re going to get both of us in trouble. Please take it off and put it back where you found it.”

Dave clucks his tongue and sighs. “Fine, if you insist. And if you’d be so kind,” he adds, holding out the flashlight for you to take while he uses both hands to lift the headpiece free. His eyes flit down to the tool you’re still clutching in your other hand. “A pair of needle nose pliers? Was that meant to be my demise, then?”

You feel your cheeks grow warm. “It was the only thing within reach. I could still do some damage.”

Dave smirks. “What, are you going to pinch me to death? You might want to practice that little speech of yours about the police being on the way as well. You’re a terrible liar. You’re not going to convince anyone like that.”

Your chin lifts defiantly. “Yeah, well, if the security guard actually did his job, intruders shouldn’t even be getting inside here in the first place. Instead you’re too busy pranking people and…and lurking around in the shadows,” you conclude weakly.

“Is that what you think I do all evening?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, your gaze shifting away. “But you shouldn’t be in here snooping.”

Dave sets the mascot head against his hip and snatches the flashlight from your grasp, turning to stride across the room towards a large steel cabinet where the suit is kept. “I wish you’d make up your mind. First you want me to patrol—part of my duties, as you are always so quick to remind me—then you don’t. No wonder he finds you so exasperating.” He returns the item to the shelf with more gentleness than you’d been expecting, running his fingers over the rabbit’s gold fur with a kind of reverence before shutting the door.

“He…he said I was exasperating?”

“Maybe not those exact words. But the suggestion was certainly there.”

“He talks to you about me?” You ask in disbelief, your stomach churning nervously at the thought.

“Well, of course. Not much else to talk about these days, is there? Of course he has to brag about his protégé every chance he gets.”

“He brags about me?” A little hopeful bit of pride bubbles up in your chest, that roiling burst of nausea in your gut subsiding.

The security guard frowns. “Are you going to keep repeating everything I say? Yes, he does.” He pauses by the doorway. “Are you coming with me to flip the breaker? Or would you rather wait here?”

You hesitate, then shrug and nod, depositing the pliers on the table on your way out of Parts and Service.

“Nice having you follow me for a change, instead of running away,” he remarks, shutting off the flashlight and returning it to his belt.

“I don’t run away,” you protest. “I just have a ton of work to do.”

“Ah, yes. Those old animatronics. So much maintenance required. I found a miniature version of one in Deep Storage, you know. Looks to be in good condition, comparatively speaking, but then again, I’m not the expert.”

“Well, it must be there for a reason.” You find yourself hurrying to keep up. Dave takes wide steps with those long legs of his.

“Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just been forgotten. William does tire of things so easily,” he murmurs.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Two years.”

“So you talk to Mr. Afton a lot, then?”

The dark haired man’s steps slow and he halts near the door leading to the kitchen. “As amusing as your clumsy attempts to surreptitiously derive information about our mutual employer are, I think I’d prefer you simply ask me outright what it is you want to know.”

Your mouth falls open but you can think of no clever response. This is the longest conversation you’ve ever had with the guard over the past couple of months, and it’s left you feeling even more unsure of his intentions.

“Are you worried he’s going to dismiss you? Deem you unworthy and find another more suitable assistant?”

Damn. Hit the nail right on the head. “It’s a concern, yes,” you reply stiffly.

“There have been predecessors, of course. None have lasted this long.”

Something sour flavored like jealousy settles on your tongue. “How many others?”

“I’ve lost count.”

“I’ve only been here two months so far.”

“As I’ve said, he’s quite fickle. He tires of people nearly as quickly as he does of his creations.” His arms fold across his chest and he taps his shirtsleeve with an index finger, as if debating about revealing more details. “He likes you,” he finally declares.

You bark a laugh. “Likes me? He insults me every chance he gets!”

“Because he thinks you are metal worth tempering. If you can endure it, you’ll come out the other end stronger for it.”

Once again you’re speechless. Before tonight you’d never have imagined William and Dave having any sort of intellectual discourse. You’d never have imagined yourself engaging with him in this manner. You suppose it could all be total bullshit, another prank in disguise designed to humiliate you at a later date, but…the long game doesn’t seem like Dave’s style. That’s William’s, apparently.

“I told you I could help you,” the guard replies softly.

“I thought you meant…”

“Yes?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know.”

Dave’s arms drop to his sides and he resumes his trek, guiding you to a large box mounted on the wall. “Ready?” You nod and he jerks down on the handle, the lighting above suddenly extinguishing before it returns, accompanied by a faint sizzling hum as the main control switch is flipped. “That should do it.”

“Thanks.” You watch him dust his hands off before setting them on his slender hips.

“You can keep me company if you like. We can watch for your esteemed mentor on the security monitors.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t really want to spy on him. Besides, he’ll probably want to get to work right away once he gets here. I’ll just wait for him in Parts and Service.” Another thought occurs to you. “Do you…do you watch me on the monitors?”

Dave grins. “Of course. That’s part of my job, remember? Making sure you get inside the building safely and make it out to your car every morning.”

“Since when?”

“Since the first day you started.”

“I had no idea.” A nervous little spasm tingles through you. Is that why you always had that feeling of being watched? How many areas of the property did the cameras focus on?

As if sensing your discomfort, Dave suddenly leans forward, his lips close to your ear. “No need to worry. I’ll keep you safe.” When he straightens you see his trademark grin. “Anyway, I’d better get back to it. I’ll see you around.” The guard turns and walks away, leaving you to stare after his retreating figure.

***

Another hour passes before William Afton enters the workroom, his steps crisp, his suit pressed, and his hair finally trimmed and styled neatly.

He pauses behind his chair, his fingers curling over the back as he regards your seated figure beside it. You’ve been dreading this encounter, unsure of how you’ll be disciplined after arriving late and leaving early; if the sober man’s pride will create even more tension as he ignores his own errors in judgment in the workroom the previous evening.

“We’ll consider today’s delayed start an answer for yesterday’s late arrival,” he rasps, clearing his throat after this statement.

So that’s how he’s handling it, then. One mistake canceling out the other. And he hadn’t even mentioned you leaving early. Dave must have covered for you after all.

“Okay,” you respond.

His eyes sweep around the room and then his focus returns to you. “Right. Let’s wrap this up so we can move on to other things.” He gestures towards the upper extremity limb still resting on the workstation’s surface before pulling the chair back and settling into it.

Another hour and a half of guided labor restores the animatronic arm to full functionality. The reprimands have been light today, you notice. Perhaps he’s feeling a little embarassed about the intoxicated lessons last night. Maybe he’s just in a good mood.

Or maybe it’s simply the calm before the storm. With William, you never know.

“Is the new facility also a restaurant?”

The older man pauses midway through demonstrating how to extract a damaged eye from the socket to glance at you. “It will feature a dining room, yes.”

“So similar to Freddy’s, then.”

“In some ways.” He places the eye down, revealing the scorched rear of the orb. “It will be an entertainment complex. A greater emphasis on gaming, to account for the rise in its popularity. A humble pizzeria is no longer satisfactory for the populace, it seems. This seam here is where you want to insert the tweezers. Yes, there. Gently, now. Fried circuits. Too much current,” he remarks, watching you collect a board that is the size of your pinky nail.

You lick your lips, hesitant about pushing your luck and continuing to pump your employer for information but decide to barrel forward anyway. “Will I eventually be working there, then?”

Receiving no response, your gaze veers from the artificial eye to your mentor’s face.

“Possibly. It depends on how well you perform,” he replies. It’s one of those moments; those ones where he looks not just at you, but into you. You can feel the force of it, hot and penetrating.

“What will happen to Freddy’s? Will you sell the land? I bet it’s worth a lot.”

The chair creaks as he shifts his weight. “I wasn’t aware that you were so keen on learning about the financial aspects of the business.”

“I was just wondering.” You try to keep your tone as light and innocent as possible, not quite consciously aware yet that you’re headed into dangerous territory.

“I thought you were here to learn about the animatronics,” he continues, his voice taking on a hard edge, your first warning.

“I am,” you reply hastily. Shit. You’d pushed him too far. So much for being in a good mood.

“What time did you leave here this morning?”

“I…what?”

“It’s a simple enough question. I could check the security camera footage, of course, but it’s far faster to hear the simple truth from your own mouth.”

You gulp nervously. “Twenty minutes. Maybe twenty five.”

“It was a professional courtesy, not requiring you to clock in with a badge like the other rabble that’s worked here. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I—”

“—Don’t lie to me,” he snarls, banging a fist on the table, making the eye rock precariously on its divoted platform and the replacement circuit board lift and fall. “What were you doing with Spring Bonnie?”

Oh, shit. You’re screwed. “Nothing, I—”

“—Do you think I don’t know what goes on in my own building?”

You wish you could ease your chair back away from the irate man, but yours doesn’t have wheels. “I never said that.”

“There is not a single detail that I miss, do you understand me? None. I know when my personal belongings have been tampered with.”

“I didn’t touch it, I swear.”

“Then who did?”

Your breath hitches. Even twenty four hours ago you wouldn’t have hesitated to throw Dave under the bus. After your conversation tonight, though? It doesn’t feel right.

“Was Dave Miller in here?” The use of the security guard’s full name seems almost absurdly comical, as if there could be any confusion about who he was referring to. “Answer me,” he barks.

“Yes,” you admit meekly. “He…he wanted to prank me. He put the head on, but I made him put it right back.”

William glares at you, his eyes flashing. “What else happened?”

“Nothing. He flipped the breaker because the lights were out in here. That was it.”

“You comprehend what a rare opportunity this is, don’t you? A chance to work with one of the few individuals expert in this field. And you’re throwing it away because you want to socialize with a security guard. Because you’re messing around with things that don’t belong to you,” he growls.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t keep apologizing. I already told you those words are meaningless. You’re so ungrateful. There are plenty of other people who would beg to be in your position.” His lips twist in a bitter smile. “That’s what you should be doing. Begging. Begging for me to keep you employed here. Begging to work beside me. Begging for me to take you with me to that new location,” he continues, lurching to his feet, the chair shooting back across the room, “instead of leaving you hear to rot with that miserable excuse for a man skulking the halls. Or maybe you’d prefer that. Maybe you two deserve each other.”

The humiliation worms through your throat in coiling tendrils that threaten to choke you. It takes every ounce of willpower to give the man what he wants, to push each word out. “No, please, I want to keep working with you. I want to go with you,” you whisper.

“I can’t hear you.”

“I said I want to go with you.”

“That doesn’t sound like begging.”

“Please let me go with you,” you repeat, swallowing back the bile rising in your throat.

“Not good enough.”

You’re at a loss for words. What more does he want?

“Begging,” he begins, “typically involves a measure of physical subservience.”

“I don’t…”

“Kneel,” he commands. “Get on your knees and beg me, and I just might consider letting you finish another shift.”

You grip the edge of the desk as you rise, then descend to your knees. You can feel the grit of the cement grinding against your pants. Tears burn at the corner of your eyes.

“Good. Now ask me again.”

“Please let me continue to work with you.”

You feel fingers in your hair and you flinch, surprised to find the touch gentle. Your head is tugged back slightly. “Look at me.”

Your lashes lift to discover his chest heaving. “Don’t ever forget it’s a privelege to be here. A privilege I can revoke at any time.” His thumb sits against the outer canthus of your eye, tugging until the salted liquid slides free. He quickly collects it, raising his hand to his lips and smearing the tear against his tongue. “Stand up,” he says huskily, holding the same hand out for you to hold as you’re pulled upright, slightly off balance until you’re braced against the tall man’s torso. “He has nothing to offer you,” he says softly. “I alone hold the keys to your future. Understand?”

“Yes.” Your voice sounds raw, your throat aching. His face is so close. His breath bathes you in warm pants. A wave of dizziness washes over you. You’re not sure if your knees would even support your weight and keep you upright if he released you right now.

“Good. Let’s get back to work.” He steers you back into your seat before recovering his own from where it’s skittered to, returning it to its previous position. He settles into it and reaches for the tweezers, sliding them across the table to place them within easy reach. “Let’s see how steady your hands are. This is some of the smallest tech you’ll be working with.” His voice has returned to normal volume. You lift the metal tool and immediately drop it, your fingers refusing to cooperate. Your eyes slide shut and you mentally brace yourself for the onslaught of reprimands that is surely to follow.

“Here. Let’s do it together.” His fingers glide over yours, nudging them until they make contact with the tiny tool. His other hand rests on the small of your back, warm and reassuring, his thumb stroking up and down. Another sense of deja vu rockets through you, but you force yourself to focus, sitting up straighter, lifting the tweezers and grasping one edge of the replacement circuit board.

William leans back, his hands dropping, a slight smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Alright, then. Show me.”

***

When you reach the exit at the rear of the building six hours later, you’re surprised to see Dave waiting for you.

“Well, look who it is. How was it?”

Your heart sinks. The security guard’s toothy grin is really not what you want to see right now. “Dave, look, I’m really exhausted. I don’t feel like chatting. I just want to go home and shower and crash, okay? I’ll talk to you tonight.”

You reach for the door handle and his hand promptly clamps over yours, his smile fading.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Please, I’ve had enough for one day.” You attempt to extricate yourself but his grip is like iron.

“What happened?” He repeats, his gaze now migrating to the dirt staining your pants.

“Nothing. It’s a messy job, you know.” You attempt a laugh but it sounds pitiful.

“I didn’t tell him you left early,” he says. “Or that you were late again.”

“He figured it out anyway.”

“He knew I was in the workroom?”

“Yes.”

He makes a disgusted sound. “I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter. Can I go home now?”

“What did he say to you when he found out?”

“The usual,” you reply evasively.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says gently.

“He said I shouldn’t waste my time talking to you. And he…he made me beg him to keep me employed here.”

“And you did it?”

“On my knees and everything. Yup. Pathetic, right?” This time you don’t feign amusement. You think you might burst into tears at any moment. It’s hardly the first time the man’s made you weep, but you usually do that in the privacy of your own home. Or car, if you don’t make it there first.

“Are you alright?” His grip on your hand loosens.

“Yeah. I guess.” You swallow past the lump forming in your throat. “I’m gonna go home now.”

“Let me walk you to your car.”

“No, I’ve got it. Make sure you lock up after me. I don’t need him chewing me out for that, too.”

You tug open the door without further interference and emerge from the building into a sunlit morning that feels almost like an insult. It’s too cheerful. Too normal. Too sharp a contrast from what you’d just endured in that decrepit building at your back with that monstrous owner and the security guard you still can’t make up your mind about.

You’re proud of yourself for making it all the way to the street you live on before the first tear slides down your cheek.

[zanewalker13]

TO READ AAAAAA