Cocked & Loaded. (Hans Gruber x reader)

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* TW: descriptions of murder, sex, and the use of guns.

                             "You are disposable to me."

Hans hadn't been lying about that part, unfortunately. Despite having been spread open on top of a desk with his gun (and other things) buried between your legs, he still saw you as nothing but a bargaining chip. A useful, or perhaps useless, means to the end he truly wanted. How he was intending to use you to reach that very end, you weren't sure. You were a mere assistant. A servant to the higher ups of the company. What could you possibly offer him?

The office was stuffy and hot, the air not having much of an escape or means to circulate as you dressed yourself back into your own clothes and smoothed out any wrinkles in the material. Hans was already dressed back in his fancy suit, sat comfortably behind the large desk as he fiddled with the very same gun he had used to fuck you senseless moments ago.

You felt rather dirty, guilty for allowing yourself to succumb to such earthly pleasures given by a very dangerous German terrorist. That would make for a very interesting conversation starter at parties. Hans hadn't uttered much of a single word to you since you two had untangled from your sweaty aftermath of sex, the silence between you two even more deafening than the echoes of your orgasm-fueled screams.

You ran you fingers through your hair to fluff it up a bit, letting out an exasperated sigh as you turn to face in the direction of Hans. "So...what is your plan, Mr. Gruber?"

Hans flickered his gaze slowly up to you and he stared back with a stoic, cold expression pulling at his features. His eyes seemed emptier than they had earlier and it admittedly scared you, the heat pooling beneath your cheeks in a rosy flush once more.

He didn't answer you. His fingertips ran up the barrel of the silver gun and stopped at the tiny hole, circling the rim with his index finger as the tip of his tongue peeked out to wet his lips. Tease.

"You know, if it's about money...why not just rob a bank? Why keep a bunch of people hostage while you hide out in an office?"

You were pushing it. You could tell. A dark blonde brow raised and cocked up slowly, reaching over so he could sit the gun back on to the hard surface of the desk.

"What makes you think I'm hiding?" He purred softly, lips twitching up into a faint smile.

You crossed your arms over your chest and gave a surprised tilt of your head, letting out the quietest of chuckles. Very funny, Hans.

"Aren't you? I mean, all of your men are running around, waving their fancy guns, and doing all of the dirty work. You're sitting here in a closed off room, gazing out the window like you're on vacation."

He was most definitely about to show you just how disposable you really were. Might as well continue while you were ahead, right? Not like you really had all that much to lose, anyway. You took a few steps forward and shot him a daring glare.

"Too scared to get your own hands dirty, Hans? Afraid you might dirty up your little expensive suit?"

That was it. Hans stood up from the desk and quickly rounded it until he was right up against you, hand gripping around your throat and giving it a rather harsh squeeze. Perhaps your subconscious wanted to make him angry. Wanted to see him blow his top. But that was insane, right? He was a terrorist willing to kill anyone to get what he wanted!

His pupils were blown wide and his upper lip curled into an angry snarl, feeling his hot breath blow against your slightly open mouth.

"For as good of a fuck that you are, your personality is grossly insufferable..." he growled low and guttural as he spit each consonant out with a hiss.